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Anger stirs inside me again. I shouldn’t be surprised that Sage’s husband wants to squash her independence. A woman who can provide for herself is a threat to a man like him. Even if the dress is hideous, I’ve already decided I’m buying it, simply on the principle of wanting to piss Jessup off by supporting her. “Let me handle your husband. I want to see your design.”
Sage hurries to the back of the room and comes out with a long strip of black lace. I wonder if it’s even a dress. It doesn’t have a fraction of the fabric as the other gowns in the room, but I see the masterpiece she’s created as she unfurls it.
“There won’t be anyone at the Culling who has a dress like this,” Sage says with pride. “Want to try it on?”
I nod and follow her to the fitting room. She hangs the garment on a hook and closes a curtain, allowing me privacy until her assistance is needed. I’m sure she’s used to ladies asking for help with their buttons and corsets, but I’ve never had a lady’s maid, and no one has helped me dress since I was a child.
I strip quickly and step into the black dress. The inside is silk, while the outside is layered with sparkling lace. I slip my arms through the holes and marvel at the plunging V-neck that nearly kisses my belly button. There’s a slit going up the side of the skirt, almost to my right hip, that’s both devilishly delightful and useful. It would be easy to run in something like this, and hide a dagger on my other leg and access it. I tug the small zipper on the side and realize the back is held together with a half-dozen straps no thicker than my pinky.
“Can I help?” Sage asks, nervousness shaking her voice.
I hold the front of the material to my dress and step through the curtain. Her eyes go wide, then glossy with pride. She steps behind me so I can look at myself in the large mirror and fastens the back.
“The straps are a little long,” she says, tugging and shifting the bodice. “But otherwise, it’s a near-perfect fit.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I say, admiring how the material hugs my chest and waist yet pillows naturally near my thighs. The dark, paired with lighthints of sparkle, reminds me of the night sky. I stare at my reflection, loving the dress the longer I’m in it.
“Stars, dammit, woman,” Jessup growls from behind us. “What did I tell you about?—?”
“Shut your mouth!” I cut Jessup off before he can utter another verbal lashing. “I asked for something besides those hideous gowns you have on the floor, and your wife graciously offered to let me try on this work of art.”
“Art?” He chortles. “No one would be caught dead in that dress. It’s a worthless waste of fabric.”
Stars above, I hate this man. How does she put up with him? “If you’re too ignorant to see her talent, perhaps it’s best used elsewhere.”
Frustration colors his neck red, and I view the irritation as a win. He probably doesn’t feel the same. “I will use my wife however I please, and that dress is not for sale.”
I glance at Sage. She’s wilted like a flower left in the sun too long, and it strikes a nerve inside me. An idea blooms that I should ignore, but the more I watch Sage retreat into herself, the stronger it takes hold. “Everything has a price, name it.”
“Forty silvers,” he says, a cocky grin on his face.
“Jessup,” Sage pleads. “That’s ridiculous. No one would pay that kind of money for a dress. Not even one of yours.”
“Done,” I say before Sage tries to argue any further. I count forty coins from Sutherland’s satchel and eye how many are left. I have fifteen, give or take, to purchase shoes and jewelry for tonight. Not nearly enough for what I intend to do next. “Now, name your price for your wife.”
“Excuse me?” Jessup asks, and I take pride in the shock on his face. I doubt a man with such steep opinions often finds himself dumbfounded by a woman.
“I need assistance to get ready for the Culling tonight and potentially, if all things go well, beyond this evening. I don’t trust anyone else to help me get ready while I’m in the castle. Name your price.”
“Buying and selling women is illegal,” he mumbles, watching for signs that I’ll betray the sliver of trust he wants to give me.
“This isn’t trafficking. I am offering a dowry for the lady of your house and then providing employment should she accept.” I pointedly look atSage, hoping she can read through the lines. I’m not buying her. I’m buying her freedom.
“Two hundred silvers,” Jessup says without hesitation, expecting me to object.
“Done,” I quip before he changes his mind or tacks on additional costs. “I’ll be back in an hour. I expect Marisol’s things to be packed and ready to go. If there is another mark on her body or a single hair out of place, I’m taking her for half, and you will say nothing.”
“Oh, I will?”
You will because if you don’t, I will leave you with as many marks as she has. I don’t say that. I hold my composure, as any Lady of the Court would, and try to sound as convincing as possible. My singular advantage is that Jessup thinks I am someone of status. I have money and an invitation to the Culling. If I were as high in the social circle as he assumes, I could ruin him.
I want to ruin him.
“You will,” I insist. “She would then be damaged goods and on clearance. Surely, you are not so stupid as to give away money. Are you?”
Jessup’s fists clench. I know he wants to make a snide remark. I can see it dancing on his lips, but he bites his tongue.
Sage zips my dress into a garment bag and hands it to me. She forces a smile, but I can see the worry on her face. I can’t address it. Not yet. Not where her husband can hear me tell her she’s free to live whatever life she chooses. She can stay and work at the Red Keep or come to Divale Manor, where I can offer her shelter and a job for as long as she needs.
