Page 74 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

I raise my eyebrows, then spread my fingers into claws and mouth a roar. Meroe laughs out loud, and after a moment I join her.

“This is what Zarun thinks the Council wants to see,” I say, testing my range of motion.

“Rot that,” Meroe says. “We can do better.”

I look up at her. “You think?”

“Trust me.” She grins. “It’s a princess thing.”

16

“Almost ready,” Meroe says. “Stop squirming.”

I do my best, sitting in our room on a borrowed chair, while her strong, clever fingers work on my hair. She slides in the steel pins, long, dangerous-looking things like miniature stilettos, fixing the carefully crafted braid in place like a butterfly in a collection box.

“There,” she says. “That’s not going anywhere.”

It’s odd, having my hair up. I haven’t worn it like that in years. The back of my neck feels cool and vulnerable.

“I still don’t know where you found all of this,” I say.

“I’ve been out in the markets while you’ve been fighting crabs,” she says. “I’ve gotten to know a few people.”

Meroe’s ability to insinuate herself into Soliton’s society has been, frankly, astonishing. When we went to the market together, she seemed to be on a first-name basis with half the hawkers, and every one of them was happy to see her. I don’t think I knew my ward in Kahnzoka half as well as she’s come to know the Upper Stations in just a few weeks.

She holds up the mirror. “Want to see?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Have a little faith,” Meroe says.

I’m not sure why this bothers me so much. Back in Kahnzoka, clothes were never more than a means to an end. Maybe it’s the fact that Zarun and Meroe both seem to think they’re important that puts my teeth on edge. Regardless, I’m being stupid; I steel myself and look into the mirror.

“That’s…” I blink. “Not bad.”

It’s a long way from skirts and lace; that’s for certain. The trousers are worked leather, accented with carved crab shell, tight and dark. More crab shell on the top covers the shoulders, decorative but nonetheless suggesting armor plate. Deep red slashes are worked into the leather, visible only briefly as I move. It doesn’t flaunt my chest, but it doesn’t hide it, either. And it leaves my midriff bare where the line of twisting blue marks winds across it.

When I turn my head, the steel points of the hairpins wink at me. Meroe is watching, and I suddenly realize she’s nervous.

“It’s good.” I look down at my hands, which are wrapped in leather cords. “Very good. Definitely more … me.”

“I don’t know what Zarun and the others will think,” Meroe says, setting the mirror aside. “But I think it makes you look beautiful and dangerous.” She puts a hand on her stomach, where the marks are on mine. “You’re the Deepwalker. You should look the part.”

Beautiful and dangerous. Not a description I’ve heard very often. I clear my throat to cover a moment’s hesitation. “It’s unfair, isn’t it? You came back from the Deeps as much as I did.”

“Technically, I didn’t do much walking,” Meroe says. She leans on her cane to add the last part of her own costume, a thin silk shawl around her neck. Then she spreads her arms. “What do you think?”

I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own problems that I’d neglected to watch Meroe changing. Her dress was modest, with a high neckline and long sleeves, but it clung to her figure in appetizing folds. It was cream and light blue, contrasting with her skin, and blue gemstones sparkled at her ears and in her hair.

“Beautiful,” I say. “And dangerous.”

Meroe smirks. “Good.”

Berun gapes visibly as we leave, and even Aifin sits up to watch. Jack is waiting, her hair slicked back, crisp in a white shirt and black tailcoat. She gives Meroe a smile, then raises an eyebrow at me.

“Thora is with Zarun,” she says. “Shall we proceed, brave companions?”

“Lead the way,” I tell her, looking back at Meroe. “Slowly, if you please.”