When my mother died, Papa tried to have her library sealed off. Not only to protect the illicit pre-Rift materials she collected, but because it so deeply reminded him of her. In grief and inpetulance, I staged a protest and locked myself in the library for two weeks until he agreed to leave it open. He never stepped foot inside it again. Leader Thorne looks to have done the same. The room is musty and dark, frozen in time.
“It’s like an ancient Egyptian tomb in here,” I whisper, trying not to disturb any potential spirits.
Taylor remains unmoved, her eyes doing that thing where she looks like she’s staring through walls, her breaths silent. I can only imagine she’s working every possibility of our scenario.
Atop a dark fireplace, a shelf clock with looming owl eyes leers at me. “Geez, she really liked owls.”
Taylor abruptly gets up and swings open the door to the closet. She flips on the light and illuminates the generous walk-in. Dozens of dresses line one wall, shoes on another, in a full spectrum of color and material. A mirror stretches from floor to ceiling in the back next to equally tall dressers, which I imagine hold a lot more clothing. The assassin gives the room an intense inspection, fingers gliding along the fabric of the dresses.
The dim bulb in my brain flickers on and I take her shoulder and whirl her around. “Let me go to the party.”
“What?” She inspects my expression, perhaps wondering if I somehow sustained a head injury. “Absolutely not.”
“What’s the alternative? Put you in a dress and hope you’re about thirty times more charming than you were at the ball?”
“You weren’t complaining,” she grumbles, mostly under her breath.
“Look at these dresses. They’re like two feet too long for you. I’m clearly the right size and I speak Thorne’s language. I can get him alone, I’m sure of it.” She frowns at me. “We both have our skills, Tay, and one of mine is charming atrocious men. Let me help.”
Her mouth twitches at the nickname, but she appears thoughtful, considering the pros and cons of my offer. Before shecan protest again, I brush past her and swiftly undress down to my undergarments.
“I do not want to put you in unnecessary dang—oh geez.” I crane my head over my shoulder and Taylor suddenly does an about-face toward the bedroom. “You’re naked.” She wrangles the words from her mouth in a hilariously high-pitched whisper.
“How traumatizing for a cold-blooded assassin who summers in a brothel.”
I’m sure I’m not the first person she’s seen in their undergarments, considering I currently have more clothes on than everyone in that brothel combined. I snatch a dress off a hanger for inspection. It’s a golden yellow satin, with no shoulder straps and a faux belt around the center.
Leaning into her ear from behind, I purr, “Hold this a second.”
She obliges me as I gleefully force her to hold my unmentionables. “You are enjoying this too much.”
Once I’m in the dress and wearing a suitable set of heels, I clear my throat. “If I haven’t irreparably offended your delicate sensibilities, could you zip me?”
With one hand on the small of my back, she slowly pulls the zipper up to the top of the hem. It’s unexpectedly intimate, made more so by her fingers delicately tracing down the length of the zipper, and her breath puffing against the exposed skin of my back.
Once I’ve gathered the courage to turn around, she takes a step back. Breaking the heavy tension, I present myself with a tiny curtsy. “So? How do I look?”
“Yes.”
“I look…yes?”
Big eyes blink back their focus, and she clears her throat and says, “You look appropriate for the occasion.”
“Geez, don’t flatter me too much, I might swoon.” But actually, I might swoon, as Taylor beholds me like I’m a work of art. I’m not sure she realizes it, but warmth spreads through my body under her stare. “Feels like a lifetime ago when I wore a dress this nice. I thought that night was going to go differently.”
“Oh? How did you see it going?” Her infuriating innocence burns the tops of my cheeks. Before I can comment on her possibly teasing me, worry engulfs her expression. “Are you sure you want to do this? There are a thousand ways this can go wrong. He may recognize you.”
“I doubt it. Plus, you’ve already done the math in your head, haven’t you?” I ask, and she tilts her head to the side. “You know this is the only way. You knew these dresses would fit me. The minute we got here you knew what we’d have to do. What I would have to do.”
“You wanted the choice.”
“And I made my choice, hero.” I’m honestly touched by her concern, but this is no time for sentiment. I need to be pragmatic and calm, like she usually is.
Her chest rises and falls thrice in succession. “I have a lot of reservations.”
“No, you? Look, I realize it’s not one of your intricate, best-laid plans, but it will work. If he doesn’t recognize me, it’ll go perfectly fine. If he does, he isn’t going to disrupt his party to out me. He’ll want to know what I want, or what he can get for me. Besides, you’re here.”
“You need to get him up to me. Or, at the very least, alone. I need you to make sure I can get a clear shot at him, away from you.”
