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She looked startled. “But it is a gift.”
“A gift?” I put a hand back to the delicate tracery, feeling it slide solidly under my touch. “But . . . I couldn’t. It’s too much—”
“Too much?” Those beautiful eyes flashed.
“Uh, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” It was grim. “I have seen how you have been treated, since you arrived. I did not add to it, but I did not object, either, to my shame. The men’s crude comments; the women’s jealousy; virtually everyone declining to so much as touch your hand, thinking you tainted. And for what? An accident of birth you could not control, and which gave you the abilities to save us all?”
I blinked at her. “I . . . didn’t exactly—”
She didn’t want to hear it. “You saved our consul. Our leader for time out of mind, and my Sire. I will not forget that. I do not speak for the others, but as for me, you have made a friend this day, Dorina Basarab.”
“Dory,” I said, and tried to ignore the pang that the other name caused. It was hard considering that, while I may have helped to solve a problem for Hassani, I hadn’t done a damned thing about finding my sister. She’d been gone for almost a day, and I knew little more than I had when she was taken.
I needed to change that.
“Thank you,” I said to Maha. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I’ll be grateful to count you as one.”
She smiled, and then impulsively hugged me. “I will leave you to change.”
“Is Hassani going to be at the party?” I asked, because I had a few questions for the wily old consul.
“Yes, he says he is feeling up to it.” She looked fondly exasperated. “And none of us would gainsay him.”
She left and I turned to the next challenge: what to wear.
Twenty minutes later, I was still working on it, thanks to dear uncle Radu.
I hadn’t had a lot of time to prep for this mission, and my wardrobe was seriously deficient for a high-level diplomatic trip. I’d made the mistake of calling on Radu for help, as he had the time and was interested in fashion. And, yeah, I don’t know what I’d been thinking, either.
&nbs
p; Laid out on the bed and hung around the room were a couple dozen evening outfits. All of them were beautiful, all of them were expensive, and all of them would have looked perfectly appropriate on a high-priced hooker. Radu’s idea of diplomacy apparently involved vamping the hell out of whoever I met by showing as much skin as possible.
In fairness to him, the sexy all-black, all-silver, or all blood red color scheme, and the sleek, sultry lines worked great at our home court, where they complimented my father’s minimalist Armani wardrobe and heightened the already strong family resemblance. Clothes were weapons there, designed to remind people of your age or power or family affiliation. And the Basarab faction was looking strong these days.
But it couldn’t have been more out of place here.
Maha had had on a white and gold caftan like garment with long, fitted sleeves and delicate gold embroidery over the shoulders and down the front. It had covered her from neck to toes, yet hadn’t looked restrictive, moving gracefully when she walked and highlighting her dark beauty. I needed something comparable, something elegant but classy, something . . .
Completely unlike any of these.
I sighed, biting my lip. I never cared much about clothes, but these people . . . they were trying, suddenly. I’d been mobbed all afternoon by shamefaced men bearing flowers and embarrassed looking women inquiring after my health and plying me with food I didn’t want, because whatever sedative Maha had given me had shut down my system. We’d all misunderstood each other, but now . . . well, I wanted to show that I was trying, too, by respecting their customs. But the only caftan-y thing I owned was—
Well, there was a thought.
I walked over to my luggage and pulled out the package from Aswan. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, which seemed completely inadequate for the spill of royal purple that fell into my hands, shimmering softly. The color had been in-your-face glaring in the simple market stall, but now it looked deeper, richer, and far more luxurious. I hesitated for a moment, then shucked my bathrobe and pulled the swath of silk over my head. It was careful not to catch it on my new floral accessory, but needn’t have worried. The smooth, golden lines stayed flat against my skin, and the garment itself was surprisingly light.
Despite the embroidery, it felt soft and filmy, almost like I wasn’t wearing anything. But it fully covered me from neck to feet. And the fact that there were only a couple of short slits at the sides that didn’t even make it to my knees, the modest vee of the neckline, and the full length, loose sleeves meant that, for once, I didn’t have to worry about flashing anyone. I might even be able to wear normal panties!
I found myself getting ridiculously excited by the idea, before calming back down.
I hadn’t seen what it looked like yet.
There was a full-length mirror in the bathroom, but I didn’t need it. The one over the dresser was big and showed something like two-thirds of my body from this far back. I kept my eyes closed, bracing myself, and uttering a little prayer that this would work, because I didn’t know what I was supposed to do otherwise.
It’s gonna be bad, I told myself. Just accept it. The question was, is it better than the others?
