Page 22 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

The discoloration of her non-golden teeth suggests a longtime smoking habit.

“Good day, ma’am,” Jaxon greets with a charming grin. “My friend here is in need of gowns for our travels. Would you be able to assist her?”

The woman’s eyes sweep over me, head to toe. “Aye.”

Then she turns and vanishes into the shop.

“Excellent!” Jaxon beams and gives me a gentle shove.

I whirl on him, wide-eyed. “What⁠—”

“Relax,” he says. “Buy something pretty.”

And before I can protest again, he strides back toward the tavern, disappearing into the crowd.

The bell chimes as the door closes behind me.

“Come, girl,” the woman snaps. “I don’t have all day.”

I spin around.

The old woman hobbles across the shop, pulling premade dresses from rods hanging along the edge of the room. She looks back at me a couple times with sharp eyes.

“I assume you will not have time for a proper fitting?”

I clear my throat. “No, ma’am.”

“Hmph.” Her wrinkles deepen with her frown. “A belt will have to do, then. Come, stand there.”

I follow the direction of her hand and step onto the carpeted rising in front of a trio of mirrors. The reflections catch me from every angle, revealing just how disheveled I am. I lower my satchel and bag to the floor.

The woman hobbles over with a measuring tape and takes the length of my arms, then measures from my hips to my ankles. Mumbling under her breath, she moves to the dresses she laid out and selects a stunning navy-blue one with white embroidery on the bodice.

“Here.” She thrusts it into my chest. “Try this on.”

My fingers grip the luxurious fabric, and I hesitate. “Oh no… This is too fine.”

“That coin purse looks full enough.” Her eyes dart to the black bag still clutched in my hand.

I swallow. “I don’t know⁠—”

“Well, I do. Go change.” She pushes me toward a velvet curtain to my left with impressive strength.

I stumble behind the fabric, clutching the coin purse and dress. The woman snaps the curtain shut behind me.

I stare at the swaying material. Then, with a resigned sigh, I place the purse on the wooden stool tucked in the corner and shimmy out of my wrinkled gown.

The new dress glides over my skin. It’s as smooth as silk, but light and breathable like cotton. I trace the lovely embroidery, marveling at the craftsmanship. I’ve only seen one dress more lovely, and it was my mother’s. The same one I wore to the Late King’s Festival. The same night I was torn from my bed and ultimately ripped from my childhood home.

“Girl?” the woman snaps from the other side of the curtain. “Are you done? I already told you, I don’t have all day.”

I lift the sleeves higher on my shoulders, then step out from behind the curtain.

Her sharp eyes take me in, and she clicks her tongue. “Good length.”

She wraps a bony hand over my wrist and pulls me back onto the platform.

Then she snatches a belt from the low table at her side and tightens it around my waist. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”