“Of course not.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Ignacio rubbed the ring on his finger in circles, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“She sure is a shining star, that one,” the tailor said.
She was. But not for the reasons the tailor and that ringmaster might have thought. Esmeralda’s soul, her presence, her fragile but brilliant heart—that was where her magic lay. But getting to see her truly was like chipping away at granite.
The tailor snapped his fingers. “I have just the costume for you.” He beckoned Ignacio to follow, which was exactly what he hoped for.
Trailing the tailor into a small office at the back of his tent, Ignacio asked, “How long have you been part of the carnival?”
“Six months,” the tailor answered. He started perusing the racks of garments.
Ignacio had changed his life six months ago as well. “What made you join?” he asked.
“I had gotten myself into a pinch in my hometown. Since King Amadeo decreed all prisoners under eighty be sent to war, I figured I should make myself scarce.”
“That first night I came, how did you know about my officer’s badge?”
“It was easy to spot. All you law keepers have the same sort of air about you.” He tapped his face. “It’s in the nose. Your typealways has their noses stuck high in the sky.” He continued with his costume search.
“Do you see many officers enter the carnival?”
The tailor snorted. “Only the incompetent ones. No offense.”
“There was an officer here last night,” Ignacio said, keeping his tone light. “I believe she—”
“Ah!” The tailor snatched a garment bag from the rack. “This will do perfectly.” He spun around and shoved it into Ignacio’s chest. “This is exactly what you need.”
Whatever was inside was hidden behind the brownish tint of the bag.
“That will be twenty silvers,” the tailor said. He held out his palm.
“Costumes aren’t included for carnival staff?” Ignacio asked.
The tailor whooped an obnoxious laugh. “Nothing’s free here. Everything costs somebody something.”
“I…I don’t have any money.” Ignacio stepped deeper into the tailor’s back room. There wasn’t much to it. A large table, a mannequin, an elaborate-looking sewing contraption, a standing mirror off in the corner made from the same dark glass he’d seen in the Big Top. He thought of that face within the mirror. Of the accident. The blood staining his hands as he rushed Pilar to the healer’s tent.
He tore his gaze away and said, “About the officer that visited last night.”
“If you don’t pay, then I don’t have nothing to say,” the tailor declared in a singsong fashion. He snatched the garment bag out of Ignacio’s grasp. “I definitely don’t have anything to sayabout a certain tall and rather bossy creature who entered my fine tent last evening.”
“I told you that I don’t have any money.” Ignacio’s gaze flicked to the dark mirror. He swore he saw a shadow lurking within.
“Then how about that ring?” the tailor suggested. “I’ve been eyeing it since you arrived. Are those little gemstones inside it obsidian, by chance?”
Ignacio clutched his hand protectively. It was all he had left of his mother. The ring meant everything to him. So much so, that he only dared give it to one other person as an offering of his deepest love.
But what did that matter if he could barter it and learn something that might help the Defiant’s cause? And then there were the mirrors, the ink, the accidents happening with the carnival too. He needed to find his information and get away before something else terrible happened. His mother had been an esteemed commander. She loved her country. She would have done whatever it took to end this farce of a war.
It was decided, then. The tailor was his only lead. Ignacio started to tug the ring free.
“Whatever’s in that garment bag shouldn’t be more than five silvers and you know it, Jorge.”
Ignacio’s head snapped toward the entrance. Esmeralda stood before him in the costume she’d worn last night. It was a form-fitting one-piece with silver and purple tufts of feathers on her shoulders and hips. The entirety of her legs was showing. Her mass of thick black hair hung in gentle waves down her back.
