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Clare waited. And waited.
“I tried,” Chalen whispered. “When I first came here, I tried. No one wanted to buy from me.” Their lips twisted into a snarl. “Well, some of them did. The clothes are good. But they expected me to sell everything for nothing, as if I should be grateful for their business. And I should have been. I should have swallowed it down and done what they wanted until I established enough of a name to finally charge what I was worth, but I couldn’t.
“If Nu—If Taius—hadn’t bought out everything I had I would—” They cut off, shaking their head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t sell to anyone. That’s why I’m here. Are you happy, now?” They were angry, as if they couldn’t understand why they’d told her what they had.
Clare had always had that effect on people. It was in her voice, in that ripple of magic that flowed in her words that wasn’t the Song, but was something all her. Something that had people telling her truths they’d rather not and frequently blamed her for.
“So that’s why you’re here. Now what do you want?”
“I want them to know my name. I want them all to want something I’ve made and when I refuse, I want them to beg, and maybe then I’ll make them something.”
“And Taius can’t make them know your name?”
Chalen snorted. “Not in any good way. The only reputation I’d gain from that wouldn’t be a useful one.”
“What if I can do what he can’t? Lend me a dress for this evening. No charges to Taius. Give me a dress for one night, and I guarantee that by tomorrow evening, everyone in Hightown will be knocking down your door.”
Chalen studied her, and Clare swore small twists of flame flickered in their eyes. “How do I know you can deliver on that promise?”
“What do you have to lose?”
“Hope,” Chalen said at long last. “But I suppose I’ve already lost it once, so a second time can’t hurt as much.” Their fingers skimmed over Battle Armor. “You can’t have this one. It should only be worn by one person, who intends to keep it. But I’ll give you another.” Her gaze flicked down to Clare’s boots. “And shoes. Return them by tomorrow evening and don’t cross me. You won’t like the results.”
“You’ll have it back. And Chalen? I’d triple all your prices.”
Chapter Eleven
Things She Never Expected
Clare stood inside the empty Rival Theater. The main stage, where Estrella Vane would sing in less than three hours, lay far to Clare’s left. It was a large stage, the one intended as the focal point of the audience. All the seats pointed toward it, the stage lavishly decorated, its chosen accoutrements meant to enhance the singer and draw the crowd further into the performance.
A few feet to her right, at the opposite end of the spectator’s seating, stood the rival’s stage. It was less than a third of the size of the other, more a dais than a true stage, and until a moment ago it had been hidden from view by thick, black velvet curtains. The theater attendant who had drawn back those curtains looked nervous to have done so. He wiped his hands on his thighs, a slight whine in his voice as he addressed Taius like Clare wasn’t even present. “You sure about this? Miss Vane’s a platinum member of the Musicians Guild, and this girl don’t even have a one-use license.”
“I’m sure.” Taius sounded bored. Or annoyed. Possibly both.
The attendant crept in closer, lowering his voice, as if that would keep Clare from overhearing when she stood less than two feet from him. “I know he’s the biggest supporter of the arts in Veralna, but does he know what he’s doing? If she isn’t any good, I could lose my job.”
Given his anxiousness, Clare guessed he hadn’t had the job very long, and that it was a sight better than any he’d had before. It didn’t stop her from being irritated with him, or hoping he was just nervous enough to slip up and reveal who the “he” was whose name Taius had used to get her into the theater. Mostly because she suspected “he” was probably Taius’s actual identity.
“Think back to what you just said,” Taius said. “Remember whose judgment you’re questioning and ask yourself what’s more likely to end in you losing your job—a disastrous performance tonight, or me explaining to him that I couldn’t make this happen because you thought he didn’t know what he was doing.”
The attendant paled. “I didn’t mean that I just—I need this job.”
Taius sighed. “You aren’t going to lose it.”
“But—”
Clare sang. It seemed like the most expedient method of shutting them both up and allaying the attendant’s concerns. She chose the song she instinctively knew would speak to him, about a person who’d just come into a newfound security, and was both happy and terrified of it. She sang of easing those fears, and painted a nice pretty picture of a nice pretty life.
By the time she finished, the attendant’s color had returned and his posture relaxed, a slack look dominating his face. Taius was giving her another one of those looks she couldn’t read. The inability frustrated her, and she reminded herself that it didn’t matter. That she was never going to see him again, so whether she could or couldn’t decipher his expressions was of no consequence.
The attendant didn’t awaken from his daze until Taius snapped his fingers in the man’s face. He startled, blinking.
“Any further concerns?” Taius asked.
“N-no.” The man shook his head. “No. The dressing room is through here.” He led them past the dais to the hidden door at its back. “Will you want the stage curtains open or closed?”
“Closed,” Clare said without hesitation. Half of a performance was how good you were. The other half was presentation, and an element of mystery, of surprise, never hurt. She didn’t want anyone in this theater tonight—especially Estrella Vane—knowing she waited behind the curtains until she opened her mouth.
