5. Chapter 5
Ines
This afternoon, Dona Otero has Lupe escorting me to visit Yasmin Romero – the most lavish and desired dress maker in Orlencia. Her gowns are of the finest quality and her craftsmanship is nothing short of artistry.
But as our carriage trots through the Market District, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach.
I tell myself the discomfort is from gorging myself at breakfast this morning, but I know that’s not the truth.
I’ve not seen the Market District in the middle of the day before.
My kind – people born in the Brogratto – are not welcome to shop or trade here.
These businesses are reserved for the wealthy and nobility.
If anyone from the slums is caught in this district, the Black Guard will gladly drag them to a dead-end alley and remind them of their place. We are not welcome here.
I myself learned that lesson early and kept out of sight during peak daytime hours. The darkness of night was my friend and up until the night I was arrested, it served me well.
“Stop fidgeting.” Lupe swats my hands. “Lady Elena Lozano does not squirm.”
My eyes slide to meet hers. “She sounds like the perfect female specimen. Perhaps the Dona should have recruited her and left me - ”
“Left you where?” she interrupts with a judgmental chuckle. “If Salvador left you where you were you’d be dead.” She scoffs, straightening in her seat across from me. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”
The old woman might annoy me, but she has a valid point. If they hadn’t roped me into their rebellion, I would be dead, with no hope to enact my own revenge.
I roll my shoulders back and stare out the window. We pass shop after shop, the next more colorful than the last, until our carriage comes to a halt.
“Keep your chin up, shoulders back, and for the love of all Twelve Saints, act like you belong here.”
Lupe’s words nearly fall on deaf ears as we stand before Yasmin Romero’s shop. Even if I had no idea of how to find her storefront, I’d know it the second I laid eyes on it.
In stark contrast with the other shops, Yasmin’s storefront is crimson with an inky black door. The establishment oozes sophistication, of which I am lacking.
“Let me do the talking.” Lupe waves her hand, beckoning me to follow her to the door and I obey without argument.
Lupe thrusts the front door open and a tiny black bell jingles to alert the seamstress of our arrival.
Instead of a woman appearing, a fluffy white shop cat slinks around the counter.
Even the feline – whose gem encrusted collar identifying her as Camilla – exudes more grace and poise than I possess in my entire body.
I reach down to pet her and she purrs. I haven’t seen a cat in years. With meat being a rarity in the slums, any animal spotted in the Brogratto isn’t seen again.
“Buenas dias!” a sweet voice calls from the back of the store.
Startled, I leap to my feet and am met with Lupe’s scowl.
“What?” I hiss. “Does Lady Elena not like cats?”
Denied the opportunity to respond, Yasmin claps her hands together and reaches for Lupe.
“Ah, Lupe! The Dona sent word you would be bringing her niece to see me. She said my services were needed urgently.”
The curvy seamstress pulls Lupe in for a kiss on both cheeks.
“I am grateful you were able to see us on such short notice,” Lupe smiles. At least now I know the old woman is capable of looking cheerful.
“Dona Otero is one of my best customers.” Yasmin tucks strands of salt and pepper hair that escaped her bun behind her ear. “How could I possibly say no to her?”
As if she is just now noticing me as her cat rubs her body against my shoes, she permits her curious and calculating gaze to peruse me from head to toe.
I swallow hard.
She knows I’m an imposter.
She can see right through me. I can sense it.
Any second now, she’s going to scream, and the Black Guard will kick in her door to drag me back to jail – or worse – the Brogratto.
“Hmmm,” she approaches me, scratching her chin.
I force myself to stand my ground and not cower before her.
“You must be Dona Otero’s niece.”
I clear my throat and smile. “I am Elena Lozano.”
She smiles and wraps her arm around mine to usher me to the round pedestal in the middle of the room. The seamstress reaches for the measuring tape around her neck. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Elena. I am Yasmin Romero.”
Without further introduction – as if she’s deemed small talk unimportant – she dives straight into her work.
“How many dresses do you need?”
Thankfully, Lupe says, “Enough for the season.”
Yasmin’s mouth drops, as if to imply the task is impossible, but she snaps her lips shut and smiles.
“I have never backed down from a challenge before and I don’t intend to today.
You will have the most covetous dresses in Orlencia.
You have my guarantee.” She winks conspiratorially and all the tension in my body releases.
I bob my head in agreement.
Once I’ve taken my shoes off, she asks me to stand up straight so she can take my measurements.
She’s a whirlwind. Moving with efficient speed as she drags her measuring tape down my arms, around my bust, hips, and waist, across my shoulders and from the top of my head down to my feet.
As she moves, she plucks a pencil from her bun and jots down all the numbers in a notebook.
As her experienced hands fly, I remain perfectly still as to not disrupt her flow. But that doesn’t mean my eyes aren’t allowed to wander.
Yasmin’s shop is lined with dark shelves that house thousands of neatly folded fabrics varying in pattern and color. Aesthetically pleasing to my eye, they’re organized in shade. Naturally, my gaze drifts to the black section – my preferred color.
However, I know black is not befitting a young, unmarried woman in Orlencian high society. It signifies death or a time of mourning. It’s typically worn by widows for an entire year after losing their husbands.
I force myself to abandon the idea of showing up to every single ball in black and peruse the brighter colors.
I grimace. I can only hope the seamstress doesn’t insist on something peppy or obnoxious in nature like orange or bright pink.
I freeze the second I catch sight of a sage green fabric with a sparrow pattern.
Carmen loved sparrows.
My childhood friend’s face pops into my mind and sadness hovers above me like a dark cloud.
She would have been tickled to be standing in this shop and measured for a custom gown of her own. In fact, she would be more than happy to be draped in eye-catching colors. It would suit her personality.
Despite us not remembering anything about our parents or our lives before the orphanage, we forged a sisterly bond through hardship.
It was us against the world. We would scrounge for food daily and cuddle together at night to keep warm from the alley chill.
Carmen would attempt to sew our torn clothing and patch any holes in the soles of our shoes.
Through every high and low, she always had a smile on her face.
She was a far better person than me. Sometimes I wish I was the one who died.
“What do you think of red?”
“What?” I shake the image of Carmen free and stare at Yasmin.
She has a bundle of scarlet fabric clutched in her hands and takes the liberty of draping it over my shoulder.
“I think red would compliment the olive tones in your complexion. What do you think?” She tilts her head when I don’t immediately respond. “Would you prefer something brighter like pink or yellow like the other ladies this season?”
I don’t mean to crinkle my nose in disgust at the mention of pink or yellow but the thought of wearing one of those colors makes my skin crawl. She laughs reminding me to smooth my features.
“My thoughts exactly!” She tosses the pale yellow to the side. “So, red?”
I nod in agreement. It’s certainly not black, but red suits me.
“Then that’s settled.” She bobs her head. “I will start preparing your dresses today and will have them all delivered to you before the inaugural ball.”
“Perfect!” Lupe hoists herself up from the couch. “Thank you again for squeezing us in. The Dona sends her gratitude.”
Lupe hands the seamstress an envelope and when she glances inside she smiles and presses the bundle to her chest. “The Dona is most generous. Please tell her it has been a pleasure to serve her, as always.”
“I will relay the message, Senora Romero.”
With goodbye pleasantries exchanged, Lupe and I slip outside. The streets are buzzing with elegantly dressed men and women and part of me wishes Lupe would grant me an hour to walk around to see what I’ve been missing out on my entire life.
Our driver hops down from his seat and opens the carriage door for us to return to Otero’s estate.
When Lupe motions for me to hop inside, I open my mouth, hoping to convince her to permit me to walk around when I’m nearly knocked over by a boy no older than eight.
He stumbles into me and quickly apologizes.
However, his pick pocket ways aren’t missed.
I feel his nimble fingers slide inside the purse I carry.
It's how I started my burglary career. I was a pickpocket from ages six through fifteen. And I was pretty damn good at it.
This youngster is still learning but I can’t help but smile at his brazenness of picking pockets during the middle of the day. His clothing is slightly too large for him, but it’s nice enough to go unnoticed as a child from the Brogratto.
“Are you alright?” Lupe reaches for me, but I wave her off.
“I’m fine.” I assure her, though my eyes are fixed on the boy as he bolts down the street.
I grin, rooting for him to escape with his ill-gotten gain. It will serve him better than it will me.
But my stomach sinks when two soldiers step into view and one of the Black Guard clamps a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He yanks him back, pinning him to a wall.
“Another Brogratto rat playing dress up,” the soldier snarls. “When will you little bastards learn to stay on your side of the river?”