I look back across the hall. Mima has been carried off to bed, and Lissy now sits with my three unmarried sisters crowded around her. Brynna has her notebook open. Saskia is shouting something about armor. Mirelle guards a plate of cake while Lissy laughs and promises them things.
I'm not going to tell her about Voss. Not yet.
She has enough to worry about. I can look into the tariffs first. I can find out whether Princeton's interest in her shop is part of something larger.
Am I protecting her, or am I deciding for her again?
I don't know.
I tell myself I'll speak when I have proof.
The musicians begin another song. Lissy looks up through the crowd and finds me immediately.
How does she keep doing that?
For one foolish second, I think about crossing the hall.
Then I leave.
10
LISSY
"Is Torgan not coming in?" I ask, nodding toward the window.
Through the glass, I catch the back of him halfway down the street. His shoulders are up around his ears like it's raining.
It isn't raining.
"He says he has errands." Brynna sets three books on my cutting table and unwinds her scarf. "In Starling Vale. Where he knows no one and has no business. Errands."
"Well," I say, making my voice do absolutely nothing interesting. "Errands are important."
I do not look at the chair by the window where Torgan sat through all of Ysolde's fittings. I certainly do not think about how I expected to see him there today, pretending to read his newspaper.
Brynna looks at me.
I busy myself with the teapot.
She is here alone for her consultation, at her request. I have secrets with this that I want to keep, she'd told her sisters. To my surprise, Ysolde, Saskia, and Mirelle respected that.
Sisters must know when a secret is serious.
It's been nine days since the wedding. Nine days since I danced with Torgan. Nine days since his face closed and he walked away from me.
He hasn't spoken to me since.
I keep telling myself it means nothing, but now he won't even come through my door. Isn't that an answer all by itself?
It was just a dance.
"So," I say brightly, sitting across from Brynna. "Let's continue the consultation we started at the wedding. A dress with writing in it?"
Brynna opens the first book, and something in her changes.
She talks with her hands. I never knew that about her. She has brought a book of pressed-flower plates, a Valeforth grammar book older than my shop, and a slim volume of poetry with so many ribbons tucked between the pages that it has nearly doubled in size. The spine is cracked and soft from use.
Well-loved.
