Her smile was radiant. Like the sort of perfection young girls imagine they might possess if they were famous queens and princesses. She took my hands. “I am so happy to hear that. When Dearan told me Bylur had married, I nearly died. I would like nothing better than to be your friend and hear about everything!” One of her rings was loose enough that I slipped it off her little finger as we let go of each other’s hands.
What was I thinking? I didn’t need to steal jewelry to trade for food anymore. But I couldn’t just give it back now—what would she think? I dropped it into my pocket. Bylur worried about spies, and she wanted to know everything. Bylur’s best friend’s sister couldn’t be a spy, right? That was definitely a question I shouldn’t ask.
Another thought stiffened my back. What if she’d hoped to marry Bylur? “Wait.” I couldn’t ignore this. “Why did you nearly die when you found out?”
She let the giggle escape this time. “Because Bylur is so methodical about everything. I don’t think he’s ever done anything spontaneous or without detailed planning in his life. And he’s been like another brother to me for fifty years.”
My shoulders relaxed. I couldn’t really trust her, but I didn’t have to worry about her being jealous of Bylur. But— fifty years? They must age like the elves. “How old are you? If that’s not a rude thing to ask a fae?”
“It might be rude if I was over a thousand, but I’m just a hundred seventy-five. Nobody really cares at this point. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that a human thing? To grow up younger?”
I nodded. “I think so. We’re basically an adult at twenty.”
“Twenty!” She gasped. “I don’t know how I could be so ignorant. I mean, we don’t have a lot of humans here, but I do have a good education. Fae start to hit adulthood in their fifties. But you don’t act like that’s a surprise”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my arm as I shook off phantom memories of elf soldiers grabbing it. “I grew up around elves, and they’re basically the same as fae. I’m used to feeling the same age as people five times as old as me.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh good. Many fae don’t get married until after they’re a couple hundred years old, so lots of people will be surprised that Bylur married so young.”
I raised a brow. “How old is he?”
“One hundred eighty-one. But anyone who knows him will be even more surprised because it’s so unprecedented for him to do anything without obscene planning.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’d love to know how you two fell for each other.”
My stomach turned. There was nofallinginvolved. “I wouldn’t dare tell that story without him.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened again. “Has he been going to see you during the day? Everyone wondered why he’s been disappearing.”
Oh, this was not good. Bylur and I needed to sort out our story. Several stories. But I couldn’t ignore my new friend’s question. “He’s… had some things come up that he has to deal with during the day. I can’t really say anything more without his permission.”
Her face fell, but then her lips pursed. “Well. When you see him, get permission. Even if I have to keep it a secret. He should trust me enough for that after all the years I’ve covered for him and Dearan. And in the meantime—” A sly glint filled her expression. “Let’s get you some clothes that he will find irresistible.”
* * *
I twirled in a small circle on top of the little box Brittania—the seamstress—had me standing on, and the elegant dark blue gown swirled satisfyingly around me. “It’s perfect,” I gushed. “It just needs pockets.”
“Pockets?” The sweet fae lady raised both eyebrows at me as if I’d said something in another language. Which actually… I needed to ask Bylur about that too. How was it that we spoke the same language, despite being separated by a magic portal?
I tucked that thought away for later and gave the grey-haired seamstress a practiced smile. “I must have pockets in every dress.”
She chuckled and started singing under her breath about the joys and dangers of pockets.
Brielle turned her head toward us, away from the jewelry rack she’d been examining. “You won’t need to carry money. Bylur’s finance scribes will take care of any bills you accrue. And if you ever need something carried, there are always fae around that you can assign to do it.”
Well. Wasn’t that the epitome of wealth and privilege?
I couldn’t tell her that sometimes I needed to tuck things into my pockets that I didn’t want to assign someone else to carry because I didn’t want anyone to realize I had acquired it. Rat came to my rescue, squawking at the window as someone walked past the shop like a dog annoyed at people walking too close to his home.
I tapped my thigh where I imagined a pocket could disappear in the sleek folds of fabric. “I need to carry treats for Rat.”
“Treats for a bird, and secrets you’ve stirred,” Brittania sang, “all in pockets you’ve never heard.” She cut a piece of fabric a little bigger than her hand, pressed it to my thigh, and then hummed as loose threads magically wove the pocket to the fabric of the dress.
“That’s amazing,” I breathed. “Can all fae magically sew?”
She chuckled. “No. My family is particularly gifted in manipulating plants, and I’ve studied and practiced to be able to work threads this way.”
