Lyriel shot me a panicked look.
“We find the gown to be quite extraordinary, Lyriel. We shall avoid any executions, for the time being.”
“I mean, you don’t really execute people, do you?”
“Pip,” Lyriel hissed. The Queen didn’t answer, but her expression made me wonder if she was enjoying my panic.
The fitting itself was a fascinating process. Lyriel circled the Queen with pins between her lips and her bright green eyes narrowed, tugging at seams and adjusting the fall of fabric with tiny, exact movements.
I sat on one of the cushioned benches with a pincushion on my lap, handing over more pins when Lyriel held out her hand, which she did without looking. I didn’t yet have the expertise to understand how she was making the call on adjustments, but I could already see the difference in the fit. I took a quiet pride in being an excellent pin assistant.
“The bodice is perfect,” Lyriel said, stepping back to assess. “The waist may need to come in a fraction. Your Majesty, if you turn?”
As the Queen turned slowly before the three mirrors, the gown caught every angle of the enchanted light, making the constellations glitter.
“So,” the Queen said, while Lyriel pinned something at her left hip. “Tell us the news, Lyriel. We have been trapped in council all week and we are starved for information that doesn’t involve troop movements.”
Lyriel smiled around a mouthful of pins. “The news, Your Majesty? The weather has been fine. The kitchen gardens are coming in early this year. The head gardener says it’s the warmest spring in a decade.”
“We do not want weather,” the Queen scoffed. “We want gossip.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. There was something deeply satisfying about hearing the most powerful woman in Qoksmere demand gossip with the same regal authority she used to command armies.
Lyriel removed the pins from her mouth and set them on the tray I held out. “Gossip. Well. Let me think.”
“Don’t be bashful. Seamstresses hear everything,” the Queen said.
“Well,” Lyriel said, kneeling to adjust the hem. “Gladys in the kitchens is expecting her fourth child and has requested a maternity gown.”
“We admire her commitment to reproduction.”
“The stable master has a new apprentice who is apparently pretty, and three different members of the household staff have asked me for advice on what to wear to impress them. One of them asked if I could make a hat.”
The Queen pursed her lips. “A hat?”
“A hat, Your Majesty. I told them I don’t do hats.”
“This gossip is boring,” the Queen said.
Lyriel caught my eye and I saw the flicker of something there—amusement, certainly, but also a glint that I couldn’t quite read. She stood up from the hem, brushed off her knees, and moved around to adjust something at the Queen’s shoulder.
“Grukk has asked me to dinner,” Lyriel said, with studied casualness. “For the third time this week.”
I sat up, smiling. “Is it getting serious?”
“I don’t know. We’ve been…” She trailed off and waved a hand, which could have meant anything from casually dating to deeply in love. “He’s attentive and surprisingly creative. He made me a set of knitting needles carved from heartwood.”
I smiled dreamily, loving that for them. Grukk wasn’t just the quiet troll committed to fine tailoring; he was the one with the flower tattoo that meant something, the one who always worked at the table closest to Lyriel’s station.
“I think that’s wonderful,” I said, meaning it completely.
“He wants to cook for me,” Lyriel said. “He’s been learning recipes. Elven recipes, so I feel at home.”
“Lyriel’s love life is mildly interesting,” the Queen said. “But we note that she is deflecting.”
Lyriel’s hands paused on the Queen’s shoulder.
“Deflecting from what?” I asked.
