by Janeal Falor
A bell rings and a woman's voice calls out, “Excuse me.”
I pivot toward the voice. A woman with the black swirls of a tarnished on her narrow face occupies the entrance to the shop. Her dress is a two piece in differing colors of dark gold and black, wild as I expect a tarnished not serving in a prominent house to be. I step back.
“Excuse me,” she says again, “I noticed you've been standing there staring at my shop for a while. I wondered if there is something I might help you with.”
Not only is she speaking to me, but she has a nice, soothing voice.
“I don't know. I need a dress, but I suppose I'm in the wrong place.”
“A dress? I can help. Come in.” When I hesitate, she opens the door wider. “Please, come in.”
The driver pays me no mind at all. It's a better reception than before. I enter the shop. There are no men anywhere in sight. Not a warlock, not another tarnished. No one else at all, except her. As strange as it is to be without a chaperon, it's even stranger for there to be no men at all.
It's a simple room with a few dresses displayed in the tarnished style on one side. No hard-seated waiting area for women. I am wondering if I'm supposed to stand when she directs me to the other side where a sofa with a low table in front of it and several chairs wait. Not just comfort for warlocks at this shop, I suppose. That makes me more at ease already. Once I'm settled, she sits across from me.
“I know it can be hard coming here for the first time, but I'll help you as best I can. When are you to be inked?”
“What? You think I'm—” My hand moves to my face. “No, no. I'm not to be tarnished.” I brush my hands along my skirt. Do I look like I'm about to be tarnished?
Her smile vanishes beneath a hardened face. “What are you doing here then?”
“I'm in need of a dress.”
Her eyes tighten. “There are plenty of seamstresses on Harrington.”
“I know. I've been to many of them already, but none of them would help.”
She shakes her head. “I don't—”
“Sorry, I know I shouldn't have come.” I stand. This was the stupidest idea I've ever had. Not only have I made a bad impression on so many people, I'm getting myself compared to a tarnished. Probably will be punished for it, as well. My frustration bubbles up. While moving toward the door, I say, “I was hoping I could find an engagement dress that wouldn't make me feel as if I'm in my underthings. It was silly. I'm beyond ridiculous today.”
I shove the door open.
“Wait!” The tarnished's voice startles me enough that I follow the command despite my intentions to leave. “Please come back. Forgive me for being rude. I've just never had a customer like you before. I'm Katherine.”
Tarnished have names? That's strange. Still, I hover at the entrance.
Her lips hint at a smile. “We can find you something.”
I raise my brows. “Something more than a slip of a dress?”
The inked skin bunches and becomes fuller on her checks as her smile widens. “A modest dress then. Any other thoughts of what you would like?”
“C-color?”
She claps her hands. “A modest, colored engagement dress. That's an unusual request. When's the ceremony?”
Is she really going to do this for me? Hope flickers within me. “Six days.”
Her face falls for a moment, and then returns to beaming. “Not long, but I'll figure something out. Please, sit back down. What's your name?”
“Serena.” I resume my position on the couch, back straight. “You'll really do this? I can pay you.” I give her the pouch of coins.
“Oh, posh. I can't turn you away now. This will be more than I need, but I'm not sure how much this type of material will cost. May I give you the change later?”
Is this acceptable? I've no idea. Until a few hours ago, I'd never even touched money. “That should be fine.”
She tucks the pouch under the counter and grabs a book and material swatches before sitting back down. “To be honest, I've always thought those engagement dresses and bridal gowns were rather absurd. I've never needed one myself though, obviously, and neither do my usual customers so I've never done much with the thought.”
This feels unreal. She opens the book. I wonder why we need the Woman's Canon until I see several basic dress designs. The tarnished use books in at least one more way than I'm supposed to.
“While you look at these, can you tell me a bit about yourself?”
So I do. It takes me a few minutes to warm to her, but soon I'm telling her everything. We spend the next hour conversing. Instead of being something less than a shadow like I was always told, it's like finding another sister, except she's not afraid of Father and doesn't criticize my unconventional choice. And she likes chocolate, though she has only tried it once.
After a while, she sketches while we talk, making changes here and there, her smile growing with each line. How did someone like one of my sisters, get mixed up with others that are just shadows of people?
“What do you think?” She shows me the sketch.
My breath catches in my throat. The back of my eyes burn, but I blink away the tears before they can manifest. “Perfect. Will you be able to make it in time?”
“I'll make it. Do you know what color you want it?”
Talking to her about what has happened made me realize, I don't want just any color. I don't want to just stand out. I want to feel it. “The color that started it all.”
Chapter Twelve
It's dark when I open the carriage door. Though the ride wasn't far enough to make me too ill, the clean air helps soothe my jumbled stomach. The excitement of the day stays with me as I imagine wearing my engagement dress. It will be the best I've ever worn.
Mother's carriage is gone. A knot of tension in my stomach eases. I hope she won't be displeased with my choice. Or the Envadi. Her words come back to me about him trapping me. He did let me go rather easily and gave me money. It's probably to catch me making worse choices than just asking. My excitement drains.
I should send Katherine a note telling her not to make the dress. But she's doing me a favor, already working hard to get it ready in time. And it's what I want. What should I do? I don't know. I trudge inside and down the passage. An electric light is on in the book room, glowing through the slit in the doorway. I stop and peer inside.
My hand covers my mouth to keep from making a sound. The Envadi is conversing with another giant. It must be someone else from his country. There are never many Envadi in Chardonia. What's he doing here? Even after leaning closer, I can't hear what they are saying. A spell perhaps? Except there's no telling salmon-colored light like he used before. Just the faint glow lightening the area directly around them.
“I can't,” Chancellor Zade says, his voice finally growing loud enough for me to hear. Not a spell than, just caution.
“You must at least keep up appearances. What would your Father say?”
“You know he doesn't want me here, let alone encouraging me.”
“As a parent, that may be so, but as a—”
“Wait.” The Chancellor stalks to the door. “Who's there?”
My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry. I've pushed enough boundaries today without making it worse. I nudge the door open. Both men watch me. I lower my head wondering what hex he'll use. Or is he going to come close enough to strike me? I move deeper into the hall.
“Glad you're back,” the Chancellor says. “I wanted to make sure you returned safely before going to bed.”
Not what I was expecting to hear. I peek at him through my lashes. Returned safely or that I'm truly making stupid choices? More likely the latter. It has to be the latter.
His companion clears his throat.
The Chancellor says, “Oh, yes, I'm an idiot.” Did he really just call himself that? “This is my manservant, Chadwick.”
Does the introduction mean Chadwick will be administering punishment for eavesdropping? Father nev
er foisted the job onto someone else, but I've heard of others doing so.
“A pleasure to meet you, madam.”
The unusual greeting puzzles me. It doesn't seem like he's going to punish me, though he could if he tried. He's not as tall as Chancellor Zade, but taller than Father. There's a boyishness to his face at odds with the gun at his waist. I'm not sure if it makes him less of a threat or more of one. Chardonian warlocks never carry one.
“Come in, come in,” Chancellor Zade says. “No need to hover in the hall.”
At the reminder of my spying, I flinch, but edge in as he wishes.
“Did you find something to suit your taste?” His face gives away nothing.
I swallow. Mother was right. It's going to be a trap. “I did, Master.”
“Good.” He moves closer to my side, towering over me. I try not to shrink away from him. “No need to call me Master. Zade is fine.”
“Yes, Chancellor Zade.”
Chadwick chuckles and the Chancellor joins in. What's so funny?
“Just Zade.”
“But the Woman's Canon says we must address you properly.” Not that I want to follow it, but it's expected.
His lips press into a tight line. His eyes narrow. I avert my gaze to the floor.
“This is not your Father's house. Here I'm Zade, nothing more.”
Chadwick coughs.
Zade grunts. “Do you need anything else for the ceremony?”
“No, Chancellor.” Realizing I slipped the wrong name out, I cringe. It's not like I can call him by just his name, even if he says I can.
“Let me know if that changes. See you tomorrow.”
I stay in my spot for a moment before I realize I can take that as permission to leave. Not wanting to make my sins greater, I dart out and head for my room. Why hasn't he punished me yet?
***
“Did you find a dress yesterday?” Cynthia asks.
“A woman is making one for me.”
“Is it what you want?”
“Yes.”
She pats the seat next to her on the sofa. “Tell me about it before mother gets here.”
Do I tell her that a tarnished is the one making it? She's here as a spy after all. Spy or not, she's my sister. “I'm not sure it will be done in time. I should've thought of it sooner. There's more material to it at least.”
“That's good. I hope I can find the same when it's my turn. That thing mother had you try on was terrible.”
She doesn't need to know how much worse most of the options are. At least, I hope she never does. I sit next to her. “I'll help you.”
“Help her with what?” Mother waddles in the room.
Cynthia gives me a grin before turning toward my mother. “Picking a frock for tomorrow.”
Mother hmpfs. “If there's nothing better for you girls to do, then I suggest you come home and help out.”
Cynthia's face pales.
“It's my fault, mother,” I say. “I was looking for a distraction. We're to polish the silver as soon as you leave.”
Cynthia gives me a nudge of her elbow at the lie.
Mother glides into a chair, as well as any woman with a babe can glide. “You know better than to teach your sister to focus on such fanciful things. I suppose polishing is fine though. Maybe I best not stay for dinner.”
I keep a smile from my face. “Only if you think the Chancellor wouldn't mind. We were supposed to be working on it right now, but with you coming we haven't the time.”
Cynthia presses a gloved hand to her face.
“I guess we should hurry then,” mother says. “Come here, Serena.”
Mother sags, kneads her belly, and closes her eyes. Perhaps I shouldn't have made up the polishing chore. Making the journey so often in her condition must be miserable. It's hard to stop myself when the words come to mind.
I lean over to Cynthia and whisper, “Don't give us away.”
“Father would've beaten you if he found out such a tale,” she whispers back.
Her words won't affect me. I won't allow it. I stand and go to mother. At the swish of my dress, she opens her eyes.
“I brought the gown with the alternations.”
“I've found a replacement.”
The lines in her forehead multiply, cracking her face paint. “Indeed. Well then, Cynthia, you won't be needed today. I suppose you can get started on the silver. And there's a servant in the hall, tell her to enter in ten minutes. Make sure you don't say anything else. She could gossip.”
“Yes, mother.” Cynthia gives me a look of longing before leaving the room.
“Sit down, Serena.”
I pull a chair closer and slide into it.
“I know you find me silly sometimes.” I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me. “Don't deny it. I suppose I am rather silly at times.” She sucks in air and holds her belly.
“Are you all right?”
Her voice is strained. “It's nothing.” After several seconds her face relaxes. “When my Father told me it was time to enter the marriage pool, I was nineteen and enjoying life. So I refused.”
This is not my mother. My mother has never refused any order from a warlock. It's not possible she's ever acted like this, except she has no reason to lie. My hand covers my mouth.
“I went in my room and shoved the bed against the door so no one could come in. It didn't last long. My Father spelled through it easily enough. He dragged me to the testing center. After I was tested, he chained me to a wall in the basement until the engagement ceremony, rarely fed. He spelled me to have nightmares about my worst fears. The only time I saw anyone was when mother brought food and begged me to repent. She wasn't even allowed to take the chamber pot.”
Of all the punishment I've lived through, none have been that horrid. “I didn't know.”
“Of course you didn't. I went to the engagement ceremony, returned to my Father's house repentant, got married several months later, and have spent a life time trying to make up for that stupid choice.” She moves closer. “I don't want to see you go through something like that.”
I don't want to either.
She slouches in her chair. “Father asked me to give you some gifts.
“Gifts?” My mind is still on mother's reveal. It takes a moment for her words to make sense. “But those are only for warlocks.”
“A woman occasionally receives them.” A woman with black eyes and a shabby olive-green dress enters the room carrying a small parcel. “Phyllis, I was just telling Serena about you.”
She stops next to mother.
“Does she have the gift?”
“She's your gift, silly child. Father sent her. He thought being in such a grand house, you'd need a personal one. Though she will be Father's until you wed, then she will be your husband's, she's to wait on you. Chancellor Zade already approved her.”
I stare at Phyllis, who stares back. No tarnished marks or marriage tattoos. Must be a lower class. Her hair is as dark as her eyes. The dress hangs on her frame.
Mother winces, her face crumpled with pain.
“Are you well?”
She lets out a slow breath. “Fine. Just a little false labor.”
I crouch directly next to her. “Are you sure it's false?”
“I've had more than enough babes to know. Stop crowding me.”
And I've delivered enough to know. After taking a step back, I say, “I can send for the doctor to make sure.”
“You're the child, not me. Do you want your gift or not?”
The memory of the last babe coming before she thought it was time is hard to forget. The hex Father delivered for my not calling for the doctor sooner clings to me. I grip my hands together and inch back, watching for any other sign I'll be delivering another babe and punished for it.
“It's only—” I shake my head. Saying something won't do any good. “What's the other gift, mother?”
She motions to Phyllis who hands her the parcel. As she speaks, she unwraps th
e bundle. “This is for the engagement ceremony and after when he brands you. It will make it easier to bear.”
I stare at the bottle of herbs unable to move. “Branding?”
“You know all engaged and married woman are marked, Serena. Don't go senseless on me now.” She folds the cloth over the bottle and hands it to the servant. “Phyllis will prepare it for you, so you needn't worry about that. She can get more if you should need it. I strongly recommend getting more for your wedding ceremony. That's all Phyllis.”
As Phyllis leaves, I move toward my chair wondering what is in that bottle.
“Not yet,” mother says. “Come here.”
I step closer to her. When she motions to the floor, I kneel next to her.
“The Chancellor doesn't know I'm giving this to you.” In light of her earlier revelation, I'm surprised she would do anything without permission. “Father thinks you need it. But you must not say anything to anyone else.” That explains it.
She continues, “Not all men care for a woman to have it. They sometimes prefer us to be more feeling than the herb allows.”
“Is it like the soothing tea?”
“No, this is much, much stronger. It has some negative side effects as well, but if you don't have it, you'll ruin the ceremony.”
My stomach knots and I grip her armrest. “What happens at the ceremony?”
“The spell from my own engagement prevents me from telling you or I would. They prefer to keep it a surprise.” She grabs my hands with both of hers. “No matter. I'll be there for you Serena. As much as the events of the day allow, I'll be there for you.”
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away before they can spill out.
“I'll be next to you at the feast afterward. You look to me if you encounter any problems.”
She changes the topic to the state of the house without Cynthia and me around, but the ceremony clogs my mind. A spell is what blocks woman from speaking of it? That explains why I haven't heard anything about it before, from her or in class. And branding? I rub my neck just above my collar bone where I know the mark will go. What will the Envadi choose to leave permanently on my skin?
“Serena?” mother says.
“Yes?”