“He’s handsome enough,” Samara said, rubbing her chin. “I guess that counts for something. Is he kind to you? He’s not too harsh?”
“I find he’s only harsh with very petulant children,” Valenna replied.
Samara shook her head. “No. No, I can’t do it.”
A lump sprang into Valenna’s throat.
“Not like this, anyway,” Samara continued. “Look at the pair of you—filthy clothes, blood all over you. You’re disgusting.” She sighed. “Trevelyan, you go to the chapel and talk to the rector. He’ll get you some warm water and a rag, at the very least. I’ll take Valenna with me and get her cleaned up, and I’ll send someone along with clothes for you.”
“We aren’t allowed to buy anything,” Valenna objected, but Samara just waved her hand.
“My mother is the modiste, and lucky for you, I’m one of those spoiled children you’re always going on about. She’ll do it for me.”
She pointed Evander in the right direction, then took Valenna’s hand and led her down the street to the modiste.
The bell over the door chimed as Samara pulled Valenna inside the shop.
Dress forms dotted the room, displaying gowns and frocks in muslin, silk, linen, and calico. Mounted on the wall behind the counter were rolls of fabric organized into a cascade of color.The place blessed every feminine nerve in Valenna’s body.
An old woman sat behind the counter, her hands passing over a bolt of shimmering lilac silk. She murmured to herself, and a pale light gloved her knobby fingers. Valenna’s curiosity sparked; the woman was enchanting the material.
“Hello, Samara, my love,” the old woman said. Her voice reminded Valenna of crinkling paper in an ancient book.
A lovely plump woman with long dark hair stepped out of the back room. “Samara, we’re closing soon.”
“I know, Mama. This is Valenna,” Samara said. “She’s getting married in a few minutes, and I can’t let her do it dressed like this.”
Samara’s mother rounded the counter and hurried over to them. “My love, we aren’t permitted to trade with her.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to give me a dress that I will lend to Valenna for an hour.”
“It’s fine,” Valenna stammered. “Evander doesn’t mind … I doubt I’ll be wearing it long anyway …”
“Mama, she’s getting married to the love of her life in trousers covered in dirt and old blood. Will you be able to sleep tonight knowing you could have dressed this stunning woman, and you refused? Look at her lines! Imagine one of your dresses on her. She’ll look like a queen. Turning her away is as bad as a baker turning away a beggar.”
“I’m sorry, my darling, but I can’t defy Ariadne. She’ll shutter us.”
Valenna had heard enough. She turned, but before she reached the door, the old woman exclaimed, “Valeria?”
Valenna spun around in alarm. How could she have recognized her? It had been five years, and she rarely left her father’s manor house in Sennalaith. None of these women had flown to battle with her, surely.
“Hush, Sybil,” Samara’s mother snapped. “Don’t mind my mother. She’s a bit senile.”
“I’m not one whit senile. That’s Valeria!” Leaning on a cane made from a sprawling antler, the old woman hobbled across the shop. “The Botania of Talwaith!”
This was a new layer of shock. Princess of Sennalaith, yes. Botania of Talwaith? Absolutely not.
“No,” Valenna stammered. “I’m not. My name is Valenna …”
“Don’t tell lies, child. I recall you when you were young. And you look just like your mother! None of Cadmus and his slimy face in you.”
The old woman took one of Valenna’s hands in her withered fingers. “Why have you abandoned us? Why don’t you bring back the spring?”
“Stop that now, Nonna,” Samara scolded. “Talwaith is a wasteland, remember? They call it Scathmore Barrens now.”
“Only because she won’t bring spring,” Sybil retorted, her tone accusatory.
“I can’t bring spring.” Valenna felt like she had blundered halfway into a conversation on a topic she didn’t understand. “I don’t have the right magic.”
