He goes to the seller’s cart and hands over a silver coin in exchange for a paper bag of popcorn. He eats as he walks. “She said he loves me.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “He loves you but wants you dead.”
“Love always wins.”
“Does it?”
He tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and catches it in his mouth. “Yes.”
Now I do roll my eyes. “That’s a fool’s sentiment.”
We pass two Enders, a man and a woman. The man whispers something to his companion and she looks up at Rook, her eyes widening. They latch on to one another and dissolve into more whispers as we turn down the next street.
“I’m beginning to think everyone is in love with you,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He smiles at me over his shoulder and keeps on walking.
When we return to Remy’s inn, we find Ana and another council member waiting for us. Rook and I are to be fitted for new outfits for tonight’s celebration.
They make us separate, since the shops are on two different ends of the Hollow. The other council member takes Rook. Ana hooks her arm through mine and takes me.
She chats as we walk. She tells me about the Hollow’s history, how it was once just an inconsequential town until the Yellow Brick Road was constructed by the wizard and the Cardinal Witches. Now it’s the heart of the East End, and almost no one gets through the East without travelingthrough the Hollow because the Yellow Brick Road travels straight through it.
At the dress shop, three young women are waiting for me with tape measures around their necks, pincushions strapped to their wrists, and racks and racks of dresses pulled out behind them.
I’m offered a flute of champagne, then guided to a raised pedestal as the women get to work.
Measurements are taken. Conversations are had about which color would flatter me the most (red), what cut of dress would fit my body the best (ball gown), what length would best suit my height (floor length). An hour later, I’m standing on the pedestal in a deep red ball gown with a giant skirt and a jewel-encrusted bodice.
“This must cost a fortune.” I turn to the left, then the right, dissecting every inch of the dress in the reflection in the full-length mirror. Taking the skirt gently in hand, I lift it to twirl, and the silver slippers shine brightly against the red.
By some miracle, the dress fits me perfectly, hugging my waist then flaring out from my hips in a puffy skirt. The jewels, silver like the slippers, remind me of stars, and are sewn into the bodice and speckled throughout the skirt.
“There is no cost for our great and powerful liberator,” one of the seamstresses says.
“I wish everyone would stop calling me that.”
“But it’s true,” Ana says.
“I was just in the right place at the right time.” Or the wrong place, depending on how you look at it.
The taller of the three women checks the fit on my back. “We are free because of you. It is a great deed you’ve done for us.”
“Even so, I can’t accept this gift.” Even though I really wantto. I’ve never owned something so elegant. All my clothes up until now have either been thrifted or handmade.
Where would I have gone in such a dress anyway? There are no balls in our rural part of Kansas. The closest we have is the harvest festival.
I lift the skirt and do another turn, admiring the craftsmanship, the beauty of the garment. I don’t feel like myself in it. The reflection in the mirror is someone else.
And for some reason, that makes me want to cry.
It’s a reminder of the life I’m returning to, and the one I want but don’t have.
The life I want is… something else. It’s not harvesting crop. It’s not sewing my own dresses out of scraps.
