I glance in her direction, noticing the cloud of worry lingering around her sharp edges. I wish I could free her of all her anxieties. All I want is to protect her from all of this…stress.
“Damien?”
“You’re right. Truly, with your level head, you would have made the finest princess, Eloise. I am sorry that’s not to be.”
She tilts her head and looks at me through her lashes. “I don’t need to be a princess, Damien. I only need to be with you.”
The gods must have truly favored me to have sent me Eloise. I don’t deserve her. But I offer a warm smile at her kind words.
We fall into silence after some time, her taking in the beauty of the Stygarde countryside. It’s concerning how alone we are on this road. The passageway was once bustling with travelers. Today, however, no one is on the road but us, which is odd. Or was odd at the time of my leaving. Perhaps the wasting disease has left less of a population to inhabit these parts.
How times have changed.
“So, where are you taking me today?” she asks excitedly.
“To obtain for you a wardrobe worthy of your wear.”
She gives a deep, gratuitous guffaw. “Truly? I thought I was simply getting a tour of the kingdom. A dress I can actually breathe in would be a godsend. Nevina is a twig. I’ve had to lie down to get into these things, and I live in constant fear of busting a seam.”
“The dresses Nevina gave you were not made by shade hands. The textiles are elven, and I fear that if we don’t provide you with an alternate wardrobe soon, she will force an elven tailor on you.”
“So, we’re going somewhere we can find shade-made textiles?”
I nod. “All of my mother’s dresses were made by Ariadne in Bolvet Village—that’s within Eudora’s district, Zephrine. Generations of royalty have been clothed by her and her family. I want you to experience shade craftsmanship as I remember it.”
Eloise beams. “Sounds good to me. I can’t say I’m a fan of elven craftsmanship. This fabric has no give.” She rolls her shoulders and straightens her arms.
“To be fair, you cut a far more voluptuous figure than Nevina on her best day. It would be more comfortable if it were made for you.”
“I’m glad you’re taking me to your mother’s dressmaker. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to lose that business after she died and Nevina rose to power.”
“My thoughts exactly. I know the money from my mother and sister helped support the village in the past. It concerns me if the royals are now being outfitted by Willowgulch. Although when I saw Tempest, Odette, and Eudora at the castle for the Harvest Festival meeting, I noticed they were still wearing shade-made textiles.”
Eloise grows quiet, introspective. “Did you also notice that their dresses were worn at the sleeves and hem?”
I clear my throat. “I did not.”
“Eudora looks like she’s starving. Her clothes hang on her like they’re old and two sizes too big. This is her region, yes?”
“The wasting disease hit her hard, I’m sure.”
“Fifty years ago,” Eloise mumbles. “Maybe the loss of business from their ruling kingdom has hit Zephrine harder than we know. Odette and Tempest seem to fear Nevina. I don’t know exactly what is going on, but Odette told me to watch my back when it comes to the queen.”
“There’s Bolvet,” I say, pointing out the skyline of buildings on the horizon. It’s a shameful effort to distract her. The truth is, I have more questions than answers about New Stygarde, but I don’t want Eloise worrying about that now. Although I frown when I register how different the village looks. At one time, this place would burn enough candles during the day to rival the moon’s light. Visitors instantly felt the warmth and welcoming atmosphere of a vibrant economic hub with the scent of roaring fires and grilled stag carrying for miles. No candles burn now. No smell of grilling meat. No chatter of daily life. We reach the main street of the town and find it abandoned. An old woman crosses the road carrying a bundle of sticks on her back. She doesn’t even look up as we approach. What has happened here?
“We’ve arrived,” I say, disguising the worry in my voice. I direct Eloise to halt her rabble beast in front of Ariadne’s shop and dismount. Her sign is in disrepair, hanging crooked from its hooks and badly in need of a paint job. The bar in the scrollwork A used to be a sewing needle, the delicate thread looping around her initial. The A is still visible, but the detail is lost. Her once-decorative front windows are dark with dinge as well. I tie the reins of our steeds to the post outside and usher Eloise to the door, where I deliver three heavy knocks.
“Who’s there?” comes a harsh, unwelcoming voice. It sounds like Ariadne, but I’ve never heard her take that tone with a guest before.
“Damien, former prince of Stygarde,” I say softly. “I’ve brought my new mate in need of wardrobing.”
The door flies open, but I don’t recognize the person in front of me at first. A crumpled old woman peers up at me through a pair of thick, dark-rimmed glasses. But then the vivid blue of her irises twinkles with recognition, revealing her as the dressmaker herself. My heart sinks. She, too, must suffer from the wasting disease. For a shade to look this old and thin—rail-thin—they must be sick or starving. The unclean scent of a shade near death wafts from the shop.
“Damien,” she says in an awe-filled tone I don’t deserve. “You’ve returned. Praise Thanesia.”
I frown down at her. “Are you well, Ariadne?”
She snorts. “No one in this village is well, Damien.”
