I looked at her, a little nervous to say it.
“Come, Pip, just spit it out. Something is off, and I know it.”
“The neckline,” I said. “You’ve got it cut high, and it feels severe for her majesty. But at another angle”—I draped the panel across the bodice on a diagonal—“see how it shimmers? The light moves through it. If you drop the neckline, turn this piece of fabric on the bias, and widen it to here”—I traced a line with my finger—“you get this sweep that frames the collarbones, and the shimmer catches right where the light hits.”
Lyriel stared at the drape I was holding, then grabbed a piece of chalk from the table and started marking the bodice.
“On the bias,” she muttered, her hands moving fast. “If I do that, the sleeves can drop to here, wider on the shoulder.”
“Yes!” I said. “And the skirt join can sit lower too, which gives more movement.”
“What if you drop the waist by an inch and add a godet panel here and here, so when she turns—”
“—the fabric fans out—”
“—and the shimmer catches the light in a full circle—”
“—and it looks like she’s wearing starlight!”
Grukk grunted approvingly.
“Grukk agrees,” Lyriel said. “You must help me with these changes! And you must teach us this crochet technique you mentioned.”
As she chattered on about what we needed to get done, I beamed at her, unable to believe my good luck.
Chapter 18
Pip
Mysecuritydetailforthe day, a fae guard named Dakath, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but Lyriel’s workroom. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the picture of boredom—a sentiment I absolutely could not relate to. This place was perfection.
“Come on, Dakath, join us!”
“You can’t be serious. Do I look like a person who enjoys making frilly things?”
“I’m deadly serious,” I said, holding up one of the crochet hooks I’d finished sanding this morning. “It’s called crochet, and I’m teaching a class. It’s a great stress release.”
He sighed and pushed off the wall to get a closer look, his eyes narrowing. “And what is that?” He pointed at my stack of newly crafted crochet hooks.
“They’re called crochet hooks. I made them myself, for the class.”
“Those were perfectly good crossbow bolts. Now they’re all wonky.”
“Oooh, that explains why Aeldryc had so many of them.”
His eyes widened. “You turned the Lord High Commander of the Grey Guard’s weapons into knitting needles?”
“Crochet hooks! Just try it, Dakath. It’s fun.”
The workshop door opened behind me and I spun around in my chair, too fast, nearly knocking over my stack of yarn.
Lyriel beamed at me, as she helped me clean it up. “Ready for your class?”
“Almost. I just need to make sure there’s enough yarn. Dakath has decided to join us, too. He’d like to crochet a scarf for his crush.”
“I didn’t say that I would,” Dakath muttered. “Or that I have a crush.”
Lyriel laughed, picking up one of my hooks. “You figured out how to make them! I can’t wait to see how they’re used.”
