“Done.” Zara motions to the opening, and I step out from behind the dressing screen.
Mira chose the black velvet gown with the square neckline and sheer, gauzy sleeves, but I know it was the deep pockets that sold her. I can’t help but grin as I see her tuck two of her daggers into the folds.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you out of uniform in years.”
“Well, it’s black, so close enough.” She grins as I move to peek in the mirror. “You look gorgeous.”
“The dress is spectacular.” I’ve never worn anything like it, and it suits my mood perfectly. The bodice, which plummets in a deep V to the base of my ribs, is made of woven, black leaves, never bigger than the size of my palm, narrowing above the swells of my breasts to single vines that drape tiny leaves over my shoulders and down the sides of my back, leaving the majority of my spine and all of my relic exposed. “What kind of material is this?” I ask Zara, fingering the sheer black fabric that falls from my waist to the floor in a multitude of layers. Were it just the one, the gown would be see-through.
“It’s Deverelli silk,” Zara says. “So fine it’s nearly transparent.”
“From the isle?” It’s softer than any fabric I’ve ever touched. “You still trade with them?” Navarre hasn’t in centuries.
She nods. “We did until the last few years, but the merchants think it’s too dangerous to come here now. Anyway, the viscount likes to keep the most exquisite of objects for himself.”
“So, it’s true the viscount collects rare objects?” Mira asks, coming to stand behind me.
“He does.”
“What about people?” I ask softly.
Her eyes flare. “Only if they agree to be collected.”
“Kidnapping isn’t his thing?” I take the sheath and alloy-hilted dagger Mira hands me, then reach into the long slit at my thigh to fasten it against my leg. Hopefully one weapon is enough to make it through dinner. If the viscount doesn’t abduct people, then why was Xaden so scared to bring me here?
Someone knocks.
“No.” Zara shakes her head and walks toward the door. “He won’t lock you away, but he will make you a proposal that will tempt you to be collected. Singers, weavers, storytellers—they all eventually remain,” she says as she opens the door.
There’s nothing Tecarus could offer me, but Xaden must think there is.
“You went with black?” Cat stares from the doorway.
“I’m a rider.”
“Of course.” She tilts her head to the side. “I just would have chosen something more colorful. Xaden always laments how…monotone everything is at Basgiath. There’s still time to change if you would like.” Her smile is anything but kind.
And that’s it. I officially loathe her.
“Xaden doesn’t lament anything.” An ugly, insidious flame ignites in my stomach, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to keep from flicking a dagger at her snide head. Or at least close to it. “And are you capable of having a discussion that doesn’t revolve around him?”
“Sure. If it makes you more comfortable, we can discuss how your mother has perpetuated a lie that’s cost thousands of Poromish lives, some of which your own sister is responsible for taking.”
My brows rise. Did she really just—
Mira catches my eye, confirming that she did. “I was going to remind you that it’s probably bad manners to stab our hostess, but you know what?” She shrugs. “Fuck it. We don’t need a luminary.”
Cat blinks at Mira.
“Stop being a wretch, Cat.” Syrena steps into the doorway, dressed in a navy-blue formal tunic that’s hemmed asymmetrically to a higher line in the front and embroidered with gold feathers. “Nice to see you off your dragon, Sorrengail. Is Riorson hiding somewhere in there, or did he actually let you out of his sight?”
“Good to see you, Syrena.” A smile curves my mouth at her teasing tone, and the fire in my stomach dissipates a little. “And he does get a bit protective, doesn’t he?”
“He wouldn’t be if he thought you were strong enough to stand at his side,” Cat counters.
Never mind. It flares brighter than ever, hot, nauseating, and annoyingly strong.
Syrena levels a look at Cat that almost makes me pity her.
Almost.
“Syrena, this is my sister, Mira.” I change the subject.
Syrena’s mouth tightens as she studies Mira. “Your reputation precedes you. I had friends at Strythmore.”
Well, shit. From tense to…tenser.
“I have no remorse for winning battles.” Mira sheathes the next dagger at her waist in plain sight. “And if you’re Syrena Cordella, then your reputation reaches across the border as well.”
“Dining amid hundreds of fliers that root for your death, and you choose to wear a gown?” Syrena arches a brow. “Where is the shrewd judgment I’ve heard so much about?”
“I can kill just as easily in a gown as leathers. Want to see?” Only a fool would call Mira’s expression a smile.
Syrena laughs, her shoulders shaking. “Ah, I see why little Sorrengail is so tough if she had to grow up with you. Let’s get going. The men are already there.”
I shoot Mira a look once the fliers’ backs are turned, and she shrugs unapologetically.
We move into the hallway, and regret stabs deep at my choice of gowns when I see Cat’s in the light. Her hair is pinned in an intricate style and she’s wearing a bold, red silk that leaves her shoulders bare and matches the color she’s painted on her lips.
