Still, it wouldn’t do to lose what little breakfast he’d eaten.
Briar prepped the model wearing his dress from the press release. It had to be adjusted to fit. He resented letting anyone else wear it, but it had been his greatest creation yet, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make good on Finola’s bargain that he bring something of his own to the runway.
Finola appeared, wearing her braids piled in a colorful scarf on her head, the long sleeves of her robes trailing like wings. She spoke, to his surprise, with Linden’s parents. There were stilted laughs and polite, overly wide smiles. She caught Briar’s eye, said her farewells, then whisked over to him.
“Nervous?” She gave his shoulder a pat. “You look a bit pale. Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. Is it strange to just want to get it over with?”
In a conspiratorial whisper, “You seemed to love the cameras before. What’s so different now?”
“I’ve waited for this day my whole life.” It was half the truth.
“And your nerves have nothing to do with Linden?”
She’d been so reticent to let the Fairchilds near her show. Briar said, “Are you on better terms now?”
“You know, at first, I thought it was rich.Nowthey want to talk to me. Now that I’msomebody. But after speaking to them today…” She tapped a finger against her elbow. “They said they’d missed me, and they sounded genuine. Makes a girl wonder, you know?”
Once, Briar might have considered the implication ridiculous. Linden was their son, their junior. How could he possibly have that kind of influence?
Now, he knew Linden better.
“Shit, speak of the devil,” she said. “Oh well, it’s time to start. Knock ’em dead, yeah?”
Finola left at Linden’s approach. His garments were forest green with gold embellishments like scales. His hair had been drawn up into an elegant knot, a decorative pin dangling jeweled drops from it. He appraised the models, each wearing something Briar’s fingers had bled to create. It raised all the hairs on the back of Briar’s neck to feel him stand so near, their arms touching from shoulder to elbow.
“It is a fine thing we’ve created,” he said.
“How much longer until it starts?”
“Ah, these things always run over. It feeds the anticipation of the crowd. You need not be nervous.”
Briar held his arms tightly around himself and, with a hand, felt along the edge of the journal hidden within an interior pocket of his vest, magically masked from sight. Not that it needed much. The curse rendered him thin enough that it probably wouldn’t show anyway.
“I have something that might take your mind from it,” Linden said. “I thought to surprise you, but…”
Briar knew what he would pull from his pocket. It was a velvet box, which he flipped open to show the ring inside. An enormous, glittering thing, a band of tiny diamonds set with one huge gem and a waft of magic—the enchanted contract that would prevent Briar from ever speaking a word against Linden to anyone. It did nothing to stifle Briar’s terror.
He pretended to be awestruck. Linden tucked it back into his jacket before anyone else could see. With a smug laugh, he said, “Our work will be the star of the show, but you will be the envy of everyone.”
Outside, the crowd hushed, spotlights spun, and Finola’s voice rang out, magically projected to the audience of fellow designers and celebrities. She introduced herself, the show, talked about how excited she was to present the stunning, innovative work of many new and untried designers.
Then she called their names.
Linden took Briar’s hand, and they walked out together. Briar plastered on a smile, though his jaw felt like rusted iron. He squeezed Linden’s hand hard. The lights shone so brightly that many faces were mere shadows, for which he was grateful. After the applause died down, Linden told the story of their meeting, their project, how their work together brought them closer.
Briar spoke his rehearsed lines verbatim.So lucky to be here.And the one line that mattered most to him, “This is for my mother, without whom I’d have never made it this far. I wish she was here.”
It was the only moment where the painful, stilted speech made his voice bubble with real tears. He hoped she would be proud of what he was about to do. He hoped, if her spirit watched, that she did not feel responsible for what he’d landed himself in. If his resolve to do it alone, to prove himself, had been for her, he understood now that she would never have wanted that loneliness for him. She’d tell him it was okay to need people.
They retreated backstage, and the models strutted out in an even stream, garments billowing, springtime cherry blossom charms dancing around them. From backstage, Briar saw appreciative nods, some murmurs of approval, but he could also see Finola. She watched the outfits with a pursed mouth, recognizing Linden’s trademark influence, which had consumed Briar’s vision. Until the second-to-last garment.
Linden hadn’t allowed Briar’s to take the runway as the show-stopping finale. He’d insisted it be the penultimate. Still, Briar felt a small glow of pride as the model glided across the stage with a train of flowers sweeping behind him. The dress Briar had made and worn himself, not long past. Finola’s stern expression melted into one of nodding approval, her eyes following the outfit to the runway’s end and back again.
Briar saw the last two models return as if watching the blade of a guillotine slide toward him.
Linden took his hand again. They walked out to applause and the standing ovation of some. He and Linden bowed deeply, twice. Blood rushed to Briar’s head, made his vision swim. To the tune of many hands clapping, Linden pulled the ring smoothly from his pocket and got down on one knee. The noise of the crowd was a crescendo of applause and cameras clicking. Briar ceased breathing, steeled himself. Vatii gave his cheek an encouraging touch of her cool beak.
