“Shall we, Talon?” She asked.
The canter of her voice was different—confident and smooth. Lower in tone. With a flick of her finger, she beckoned Talon to follow before sweeping away and pulling open the door.
Janus’s walk could be described as a bumble. A hobble. Perhaps a skitter. Certainly not the dramatic, seductive hip swing aggressively distracting Talon as she walked ahead of him. This was new.
Hoping to fit in a city tour before festivities began, Janus had asked two guards to escort the princess and her guide. The chosen pair awaited at the suites’ entrance and bowed for their princess. Though much of their faces were concealed by their turbans and the steel helms worn overtop, Talon caught one’s eyes flare in shock and disbelief when he observed Janus.
The inn doors swung open to reveal sunny skies and crowded streets. Janus turned to Talon, eyes heavy under her thick makeup. “You’re the guide.” She said skeptically. “Where should we go?”
“Depends.” Talon watched her closely. “Are you still hoping I’ll attend the ball with you?”
She hummed, amused. “We’ll stop at a tailor, then. I saw your bags. You didn’t have anything fitting.” She tapped a button on his vest.
“With all due respect, princess, I thought I was to be a guide, not your accessory.”
“With that face? Surely you’ve escorted many fine ladies.”
Many and more. She didn’t need to know that. “Are you paying?”
“I figure you’re owed what you saved. I’ll spend as much as the pickpocket tried to take.”
“It might be a close thing. I have expensive tastes.”
Janus eyed him up and down. “I’m sure we can manage.” Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she beckoned for him to lead.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Talon quickly analyzed her manners, her words. Gods, but she was different from the girl he had gotten to know.
Lark had mentioned people whose behavior and disposition could change, though they might not realize it. Talon had never met one before. He supposed he, too, harbored more than one shadow.
Dozens of tailors could be found in Weisskopf, peddling fashions from across the Thruinc alliance. Janus perused several before settling on an enormous stone building catering to Dragosi and Athelstani fashions. Talon winced as she pulled the door open and beckoned him inside. Current fashion in Athelstan consisted of tight vests laced over poofy sleeves of floral patterns.
Anyone who wore it looked hideous. The one time he’d infiltrated an Athelstani tourney, he’d wanted to tear the wretched flower print off.
Janus’ lips curled into a grimace as she glanced over the floral. Touching his arm, she guided him toward the section of Dragosi coats.
What a relief.
“I’m surprised,” Talon said. “I figured you’d want me to match you. Think I could pull off Thuatian styles?”
“No,” Janus answered shortly, pointing him to step onto the measuring platform, and Talon obliged.
Mirrors again.A low voice muttered behind him.
He’s so fond of mirrors.A voice called to his right.
He better hide that scar. Another instructed.
This tailor was busy. The three other measuring platforms were occupied: two by young, pale Athelstani women, and the other by an olive-skinned Dragosi man. Bolts of cloth hung on the wall, and stands displayed sample fashions. Janus’s guards paused by the door, keeping watch on the crowd.
Making small talk as Janus picked up a measuring tape, Talon bounced on his heels. “I take it you have a personal tailor?”
“Of course.”
“Must be nice. I swear, tailors never get my measurements right.” He offered her a hand when she asked for it.
As she measured the length, Janus’s eyes flicked up to him. Shaded by thick makeup, they carried a hint of wickedness. “You never talked much about your business. What do you specialize in?”
“Weaponry, mostly. My father’s a renowned smith, takes orders from lords and knights.”
