“Come inside. I’ve something to show you.”
Lux stared after Riselda’s retreating figure, angry with herself for having chosen this particular route home. She pondered feigning misunderstanding and scurrying away, but when her aunt’s frown found her from above a puffed pile of orange tulle in the loosest form of a dress, she knew it wouldn’t be worth the consequences of her ire.
And Riselda had healed her ankle…
Clenching her teeth, Lux climbed the steps, pushing the door aside. The inside of the shop smelled worse than it looked; theair thickened with perfumes that burned her nose and coated her throat.
“Riselda, I’m busy.”
Riselda turned from the shopkeeper with a swish of plum skirts. “Aren’t we all, but the festival is right around the corner. And this year will be especially spectacular.” Lux studied the gleam in her eyes. “How is your ankle? All healed?”
Lux coughed. “Yes, thank you.”
Riselda tilted her head, her eyes delving into Lux’s own, searching for answers. She found none and shrugged, a laugh leaving her lips. “So secretive. No matter. You’re welcome.”
Riselda spun back to the slight woman she’d been speaking with. “Yes, yes. That one. A perfect match, I’m sure.” The woman skipped away, likely ecstatic over Riselda’s expensive purchase.
“You used to wear such lovely colors, Lucena.” Riselda stepped forward to finger the red taffeta at Lux’s back. “It’s a pity you’ve lost your love of them.” When the woman returned with a dress slung across her arms, she added, “But I do hope you’ll at least consider this one.”
Signaled, the shopkeeper released the skirt, holding the dress high. It was fitted through the waist with capped sleeves and a round neckline, silver leaves delicately stitched into the pale green silk from the bodice through the skirt. An exact match of Lux’s eyes.
Eyes that burned.
“No, thank you.”
The shopkeeper’s face fell, the promise of profit falling through her fingers. “But it would look so lovely on you, dear! Your hair, your eyes. That skin. Yes, you must try it on.”
Eager hands pushed the fabric toward her own.
“It’s time to brighten up your wardrobe, Lucena. Ghadra’s Necromancer doesn’t always have to be dressed in shades of death.”
The woman’s eyes bulged.
Shine bright, Lucena.“Oh, but I adore death. How else could I afford my sweet rolls?”
The color left the shopkeeper’s face entirely at Lux’s words, and her hands began to shake.
“Be that as it may, I don’t believe you need to dress the part of corpse if you’re to accompany me to the festival.”
This was new information. “You’re attending? And you’ve decided I am too?” Nettled, irritation threaded her voice. She’d gone too long making her own choices, and this pushed too far.
Riselda’s brow furrowed. “Yes. It’s special to me. This one particularly so.” Her eyes unfocused, and her gaze drew far away, when she rasped, “It’s been a long time.”
Lux blinked against the change overcoming the woman before her when Riselda suddenly lurched back to the present, staring down at her with a smile painfully wide.
“I don’t ask much from you, darling. Please consider it?”
Without waiting for a response, Riselda paid the paled woman who then dumped the dress into Lux’s arms before staggering back with a quick bow. She hadn’t even offered to wrap it. Lux tucked her hands around the skirt to bring it further into her arms where the silver leaves glinted against her sleeve.
“Well then.” Riselda patted her cheek, sending slivers of ice through the soft skin. Lux jerked away, and as if only now noticing her wet hair, Riselda inspected her. “You were at the bathhouse?”
“Enjoying the latest gossip.” At Riselda’s quirked brow, Lux humored her. “I’ve apparently begun refusing my services. Even as the mayor’s daughter begs and pleads.”
Riselda’s mouth thinned, the skin whitening around her lips. “I see.”
Lux had thought the whole encounter comical, a pathetic ploy of Morana’s to further ruin her. Yet, Riselda was clearly andabruptly furious, and Lux frowned at the raging storm beneath the surface.
“I will find you later. Hang that up so it doesn’t wrinkle.” Riselda’s clipped demands were followed by a sweep of skirts and a nearly collided hip as she strode through the door.
