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Sutherland owes them sixty Silvers this time—lost in a game of cards—and I’m not bailing him out. Some lessons can only be learned by the scars they leave behind.
“Your debt is your problem. Your people are mine.” I level my gaze on him, allowing a fraction of my magic to seep into the air. Sutherland shifts as it touches him. “You gambled away their earnings. You need to figure out how to settle your debt on your own. Anything I earn is mine, and I choose to give it to the staff.”
“Khiara, please.” Sutherland drops to his knees and clasps his hands together, hoping I’ll understand. “If I don’t pay, they’ll kill me.”
I clench my teeth, wanting to tell him again that his problems are not mine, but he is the only blood I have left. I sigh, my shoulders sagging, knowing he can see my resolve breaking. When all is said and done, if I can, I will settle his debt one last time.
Iwait until the sun is high in the sky for the only dress shop in Central Arcane to open. It’s a small establishment, and the singular window at the front displays the season’s latest fashion, or so the dressmaker would like us to think.
Bright colors. Oversized, poofy sleeves. Lace and sequins on a bodice that looks as stiff as bone. And with so many layers to the petticoat beneath the skirt, it would be impossible to do anything but stand. If its purpose is to look beautiful while gliding across the ballroom… I’m not sure how a woman could walk in such a monstrosity, let alone glide.
I wrinkle my nose at the dress and hope the dressmaker has other styles because I would rather wear my torn petticoat and yesterday’s clothes than look like a porcelain doll for the prince.
A small overhead bell chimes as I enter the shop, and a woman calls, “Just a moment,” from somewhere in the back.
The shop is about the size of Sutherland’s sitting room. It is small for a store but big enough to serve its purpose. Pale yellow light filters in from the large bay window, filling the spaces the fireplace can’t reach with warmth. A single rack of dresses rests beside a full-length mirror, stuffed to the brim with bright, fluffy gowns that look painfully similar to the one in the window. I frown and search the room for something usable, but nothing else is available.
“Welcome, how may I—” The woman’s words fall short as soon as her big blue eyes, wide with shock, land on me.
I can’t help but smile, although I try to fight the reaction. I’m just assurprised to see Sage this morning as I am relieved to find a friendly face in this providence. Had I met her like this—a tunic beneath a full-length dress that stretches from her chin to her wrists, her hair fashioned into a thick braid that wraps like a crown on her head, and plain-faced—I would never have imagined this woman had the gall to work as a lady of the night.
“I’m searching for a dress,” I say, trying to hide my amusement. If I’ve learned anything in my lifetime, it’s that women hold the best secrets. To underestimate them is akin to opening yourself up to death’s scythe.
Sage’s eyes dart from left to right, and she quickly looks behind her with an expression that begs me not to mention how we know each other. I would never tell her secret. How a girl chooses to spend her evenings is her business.
“Marisol,” a gruff voice growls, coming up from the back of the store. Seconds pass before its owner shows his ugly face, and simply from a vanity point of view, I understand why Sage seeks comfort elsewhere.
The man is older, with a round belly, but not so old that he could be her father, I don’t think. I’d expect a man with a child her age to be gray and weary. This man is just burly in the most rugged, unattractive way. He grabs Sage by the arm and jerks to pull his face close to hers. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you see we have a guest?”
“I,” she stutters. “I was… she…”
Sage swallows hard, and I now wonder if the marks I saw on her arm last night weren’t from acts of love but from this man’s rough touch. I clench my fists, wanting to knock some sense into him. If we were in West Arcane, on my uncle’s lands, I wouldn’t hesitate, but I can’t risk being arrested for assault. Not with so much at stake.
“You don’t need to have such a harsh touch. Marisol…” Stars above, her name feels wrong on my tongue. “Was welcoming me and about to show me your finest dresses.” I curl my lips into a smile and impatiently wait for this brute to release my friend.
The man glares at me and forces a grimace. I’m sure it’s taking every bit of restraint he has not to speak his mind. The single factor saving me from a verbal lashing is that I have something he wants. Silver. The only way he’s getting a single coin from me is to play nice, and he knows it. “I’ll touch my wife however I choose, thank you.”
He shoves Sage forward and grumbles, “Get back to work.”
Sage stands straight and tries to smooth her skirt. Her lip trembles, and I know she’s fighting a war inside herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my words just above a whisper. I look past Sage to the hidden corner her husband retreated to. Heat simmers in my chest, and I have to fight to dampen it. A man should never touch a woman with anything less than respect. Especially his wife.
“I’m fine.” She touches my arm and draws my gaze to hers. “Thank you for not saying anything about how we know each other.”
“Your secret is safe, but please, tell me you have something less frilly than this wanna-be princess, porcelain doll crap.” I stroll to the rack of dresses and thumb through them.
Yellows and pinks and spring green. This is winter. Where are the wine reds, winter blues, and midnight blacks? I hold up a peach gown that looks like a cupcake. Layers upon layers stack to make the skirt, while a white sash with a pattern of matching beads enhances the waistline. There is a shapeless line that cuts across the neckline with spaghetti straps. Someone draped a fur shawl over the hanger and tied a small, bright red hat to the hook.
Is the prince looking for a bride or a snack?
“Are you going to the Culling?” Sage asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Originally, everyone in town was invited to watch, but now only those with an invitation can get in.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I put the dress back on the rack and thumb through the options again, this time looking at the accessories. If I can find a decent skirt to lay over my petticoat, I can use my blouse as my top and spice up the outfit with a nice sash or scarf. I may not be able to draw the prince’s attention with my attire, but I have something more alluring than a dress. “I’m being presented, which is why none of these will do.”
Truthfully, I don’t know how Sutherland scored an invitation. Irragin is at West Arcane’s furthest border. From what I’ve seen over the last few years, King Travers has forgotten we exist, which is fine by me, and for all the court cares the Hargrove lineage died with my grandparents. Yet, somehow, even though my uncle barely has enough money to run his estate and he gambles away everything of monetary value, someone remembered us.
“I’ve been working on something different than these, but Jessup will kill me if I bring it onto the floor.” Sage twists her apron into a knot and glances behind her.
