Day.
Yesterday.
Whatever.
“Twenty-four.”
I scoff. “You’re not old. We’re the same age.”
She gives me a pointed look. “As of today. Andyou’regetting married.”
“It’s not a race,” I say.
“I know.” She shakes her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just tired of waiting.”
“Then stop waiting and tell him how you feel.” My whisper is loud enough to turn Flynn’s head. Jocasta shushes me, her cheeks flaming.
Kato and Kaia don’t notice. She’s draped herself in ribbons and is trying to get Kato to tell her which color looks best. Since Kaia is gorgeous, has the kind of striking, dark coloring that goes well with anything, and would look pretty even in a grain sack, it’s a tough choice.
He scratches his chin, looking earnest and interested. Finally, he gathers up the entire lot of ribbons, wraps them around her waist, and then ties a crooked bow. “I can’t decide. You should take them all.”
Kaia turns bright pink.Poor Kaia.She should really fixate on someone her own age. I’ll have to take a closer look at the pages.
“I think he knows how I feel,” Jocasta says stiffly, drawing me back to her dilemma with Flynn. “He just doesn’t want to deal with it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want things to change.”
She glances down, her voice softening. “Maybe he doesn’t feel the same.”
“Then he’s an idiot.” It feels disloyal saying that about Flynn. He’s almost always in my corner. “About you,” I add, qualifying my earlier statement.
Jocasta takes a deep breath. Her exhale is a little shaky.
A breeze carries moist air and a rumble of thunder through the wide-open window, stirring my unruly hair. It’s enough to make Jocasta shiver, and the merchant rushes over with a delicate, expensive-looking shawl. He wraps it around her shoulders, earning a glare from Flynn that has him swiftly backing away again.
I look Jocasta up and down, smothering a laugh. “That shawl is an excellent match for your tunic and pants.”
Jocasta smiles faintly, not missing the irony in my voice. “It’s better than Kaia—dressed like a boy but covered in bows.”
I glance at Kaia. With her narrow hips and only budding curves, her body is still relatively straight, the effort of growth having gone into height so far rather than softness. If she put her long hair up under a cap and kept her delicate-boned face down, she could probably pass for a boy.
Jocasta, on the other hand, has a figure a lot like mine used to be before all the running around, fighting, and nearly dying—lush, with a little extra just where men seem to like it. She fills out her fitted tunic and thigh-hugging pants in a way evenInotice, so it’s no wonder Flynn is pretending to find the display of gold buckles halfway across the shop so utterly fascinating.
“I like boots, at least for going outside. They’re better suited to the rainy season.” Jocasta pulls out a light-blue gown, holds it up to me, and then puts it back.
I look for something more snugly fitted. There’s no time to have a dress sewn to my new measurements, and now that there’s less of me, I need to better display what I’ve still got. “What color would Griffin like?”
“I believe he’s partial to red,” Jocasta answers.
“Hmm. Hardly appropriate for a wedding.”
“What about white?” she asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Too virginal. There’s always ivory.” I always end up with ivory.
“Too boring,” she says.
Sighing, I flop into a nearby chair, suddenly exhausted. “I should just get married like this.” Old boots, brown pants, a dark-green tunic, my worn belt, and the Terrible Tangle to top it all off.
