I’m immediately enraptured by its beauty. It’s lighter than silk, but feels like velvet, or a baby bunny rabbit. The base is pitch black, so dark that it seems to absorb all light—yet it’s intricately embroidered with a rainbow of galaxies, speckled with glowing stars.
Abaddon stands behind me, looking over my shoulder. “What better to wrap a fallen star in than the night sky?”
I want to tell him that I amnotthe star. It gave me its power and left me, leaving its ghost burning on my chest. But... “This is so stunning, Armaros. I love it.”
“Many thanks, Your Grace.” Armaros beams. “I created the fabric myself from the feathers of angels, then I imbued it with the essence of the sun and the bottomless pit.”
“Feathers?” I look up, shocked. “Youpluckedpeople?”
“No, no, Your Grace.” He wrings his hands before making more overt motions, talking in quick, jumbled syllables that I can’t fully make out. “Ahha—no angels were harmed in the making of this cloak! The featherswrrmrr… gathered from naturalsrhrhrwrr… bathe. They’re quite a commodity on the markets here,vshyssh... Thoughmrnrhrrtr… none can re-enable their protective properties. None but I!”
I’m starting to think Armaros might be missing a few marbles.
“That’s, um, very resourceful of you.” I can’t quite put together everything he was trying to say there, so I go for the small bit that I did manage to pick up. “You said it has protective properties, right? Like what?”
“It can channel your strength, of course! Please, try it on!”
“Uh, sure, okay…”
I slip it over me, immediately noticing how long it is, sweeping all the way down to my feet. True to its wizardly nature, it’s complete with draping sleeves, an oversized hood, and lots of pockets. The only thing somewhat surprising is the skintight sleevesinsidethe draping sleeves. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why there are two sets of fucking sleeves, and I don’t want to offend Armaros by asking.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“It will also adapt to maintain your body temperature as needed.” He nods a few times, clearly enthusiastic about his work. “So it doesn’t get too hot or cold. It’s also waterproof! Well, not just water, but everything in the natural order, really. The perfect cloak of protection—as long as you don’t get into a fight with an elemental spec, ahha.”
“Have you made progress on my other orders?” Abaddon asks the smith.
“Yes, we completed the fittings, Your Grace,” Armaros blubbers. “However, we received only half of the necessary metals yesterday…”
My eyes wander around the shop until they land upon a reflective shield, large enough that I can see my full body in it.
I tune out of their conversation, walking across the shop to get a good look at myself. However strange this coat may be, I think I quite like it. Idolook like I’m cloaked in the night sky. The stars even match the uncanny brilliance of my new eyes. I lean in, and?—
Oh?
My attention is stolen by a little dagger, tucked away at the back of a junk-filled table. The onyx black of it seems to catch every dazzling flicker of the various candles and firelight in the forge, and I can’t stop myself from picking it up to look closer.
At my touch, little nebulae reveal themselves in the center of the blade. Or maybe I’m imagining it? Perhaps it’s just reflecting my cloak. Regardless, it’s gorgeous… God, and it’s perfectly balanced, too. Lightweight, with a grip that practically sticks to my hand. I wonder if Armaros would be willing to part with it?—
“Your Highness,” the smith clears his throat behind me.
I think about it for a split second. If the dagger Dusk had made for me was considered to be exceptionally high quality, then this one must be truly special. There can’t be any harm in just asking about it.
Holding the dagger delicately in my hand, I turn around.
The frown Armaros has on his face comes close to making me lose my nerve, but I look down at the dagger’s beauty again, and I decide to push through the discomfort.
“I don’t suppose this is for sale?”
Somehow, he looks even more concerned by that idea.“Tumultuariis not a blade that I’d wish upon anybody.”
“Why? Is it bad luck or something?” Surely angels don’t believe in anything so ridiculous.
Abaddon joins me at my side, peering down at the weapon. To my surprise, he scowls at it, too. “Azael’s dagger seems to be calling to her.”
I immediately throw the cursed thing back onto the table, my eyes flaring wide.
“Nevermind.” As much as I’d like not to, Idooccasionally believe in bad luck. It’s something I picked up from spending too much time in the hospital, where saying ‘it’s slow tonight’ will notoriously result in the worst influx of emergencies imaginable. No, I can’t risk it. I don’t want anything to do with the personal effects of a serial rapist and mass murderer—that’s just asking for trouble. “You can keep it. Forget I asked.”
