The dressmaker comes early the next afternoon, a long-fingered faerie
called Brambleweft. Her feet are turned backward, giving her an odd gait. Her
eyes are like those of a goat, brown with a horizontal line of black just at the
center. She is wearing an example of her work, a woven dress with embroidered
lines of thorns making a striped pattern down the length of it.
She has brought with her bolts of fabric, some of it stiff gold, one that
changes color like iridescent beetle wings. Beside that, she tells us, is a spider
silk so fine that it could have fit through the eye of a needle three times over and
yet strong enough to have to be cut with silver scissors magicked to never lose
their edge. The purple fabric shot through with gold and silver is so bright that it
seems like moonlight itself puddling over the cushions.
All the fabrics are draped onto the couch in Oriana’s parlor for us to
inspect. Even Vivi is drawn to run her fingers over the cloth, an absent smile on
her face. There is nothing like this in the mortal world, and she knows it.
Oriana’s current maid, a hairy, wizened creature named Toadfloss, brings
tea and cakes, meat and jam, all piled on a massive silver tray. I pour myself tea
and drink it without cream, hoping it will settle my stomach. The terror of the
last few days is at my heels, making me shudder without warning. The memory
of the faerie fruit keeps rising unbidden to my tongue, along with the cracked
lips of the servants in Balekin’s palace and the sound of the leather as it struck
Prince Cardan’s bare back.
And my own name, written over and over and over. I thought I knew how
much Cardan hated me, but looking at that paper, I realized I had no idea. And
he’d hate me even more still if he knew I had seen him on his knees, beaten by a
human servant. A mortal, for an extra bit of humiliation, an extra dose of rage.
“Jude?” Oriana says, and I realize that I’ve been staring off toward the
window and the fading light“Yes?” I put on a bright, false smile.
Taryn and Vivienne begin to laugh.
“And just who are you thinking about with a dreamy expression like that on
your face?” Oriana asks, which makes Vivi laugh again. Taryn doesn’t, probably
because she thinks I am an idiot.
I shake my head, hoping I have not gone red-faced. “No, it wasn’t anything
like that. I was just—I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What were we talking
about?”
“The seamstress wishes to measure you first,” Oriana says. “Since you’re
the youngest.”
I look over at Brambleweft, who holds a string between her hands. I hop up
onto the box she has set before her, holding out my arms. I am a good daughter
today. I am going to get a pretty gown. I will dance at Prince Dain’s coronation
until my feet bleed.
“Don’t scowl,” the seamstress says. Before I can stammer apologies, she
continues, voice pitched low. “I was told to sew this dress with pockets that can
conceal weapons and poisons and other little necessities. We’ll make sure that’s
done while still showing you to great advantage.”
I almost stumble off the box, I am so surprised. “That’s wonderful,” I
whisper back, knowing better than to thank her. Faeries don’t believe in
dismissing gratitude with a few words. They believe in debts and bargains, and
the person I am meant to be most indebted to is not here. Prince Dain is the one
who expects to be repaid.
She smiles, pins in her mouth, and I grin back at her. I will repay him,
although it seems I will have much to repay him for. I will make him proud of
me. Everyone else, I will make very, very sorry.
When I look up, Vivi is...