Astrid is struck speechless, because that is exactly what she wants. Yes, silver for Arturea, of course, but she wants something that will feel more representative of her mood around this duel—the shadows inside her, the conflict of emotion, the fury—like a storm. And, yes, pathetically she may have thought of Zryan’s eyes, and she has an awful feeling Skylar knows that.
The Weaver looks unsure what to do, so Astrid inclines her head. “She’s right. Thank you, Agata.”
“As you wish it, Princesses. Do talk amongst yourselves while I prepare, then. Shan’t be long!” With a swish of her periwinkle skirts, she flounces out of the tent.
Astrid sips her tea, the mint easing her roiling stomach. She pauses when she realizes both queens are staring at her and Skylar. Staring, she guesses, because of what the two heirs have just revealed in their interactions. They are meant to be enemies, and if not that, at leaststrangers to each other—but they’re neither of those things. Not even close. Astrid reaches for her shoulder and a cat that isn’t there, and she curses the fact that she said he didn’t have to come. He’s on a flying lesson with Kaida and Mjolnir, of all things. Bjorn stayed behind to spectate like a mother hen.
“How long is this going to take?” Skylar asks, examining her nails in a good show of nonchalance.
“I can always ask Agata to hurry it along,” Astrid’s mother answers. “Get this over with.”
Skylar’s amber eyes narrow on Gwen. “This hasn’t exactly gone to plan for you, has it?” She’s not talking about the Measuring. “Turns out I wasn’t such an easy option in the end, was I?”
“Skylar,” Astrid says sharply. Skylar drags her eyes away from Gwen, her face softening when she looks at Astrid, half an apology in her expression, half aWell what do you expect? It’s her fault I’m here. Then she goes back to examining her nails. Astrid waits for her mother’s response, but instead Gwen turns to the Vatran queen.
“Ottilie, I’ve been meaning to ask. Astrid mentioned a tapestry that she’d seen around the castle, featuring Nyx with a wand and a mate mark. I’d be intrigued to see it, but Astrid couldn’t remember where it was. Do you know the one?”
Astrid’s stomach drops to the floor. She thought this day couldn’t get any worse, but now her mother has inadvertently let slip to Ottilie that Astrid has broken into the Royal Library.
Lowering her teacup to the floor, Astrid wills her features to remain neutral, innocent, then dares to look at Ottilie. The queen’s eyes—so like her son’s—are locked on Astrid, her face now a sickly yellow. She’s visibly disturbed by the fact Astrid has seen the tapestry. Astrid remembers again her summoning charm, the truth, supposedly, in that tapestry. What does Ottilie know that has her so worried about Astrid seeing it?
“Ah, Gwen, we must have thousands of tapestries throughout the castle,” Ottilie says jovially, but her knuckles are white where she’s holding her glass of water. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, though I’d be fascinated to see it myself if what your daughter says is true. I’ve never heard of Nyx having a mate.”
She doesn’t, Astrid notes, claim the same about the wand.
“When did you… happen across it, Astrid?” Ottilie asks, and Astrid knows what she’s really asking:When did you trespass in my library?Oh Goddess, she’ll think someone showed it to her, because otherwise how would Astrid have gotten in? Astrid feels the color rising in her cheeks, her telltale pale skin always giving her away.
“It was just after we first arrived,” Gwen answers for her, and Astrid internally groans.
Ottilie’s eyebrows scrunch together. “And have you seen it since?”
“No,” Astrid says, but she’s too quick to deny it. “No, sadly not.” She smiles vapidly, but she’s not sure she pulls it off. It certainly doesn’t convince Ottilie. It’s a wonder she hasn’t broken the glass she’s holding.
The copper curtains whoosh open, and she’s supremely grateful for Agata’s timing as the Weaver strides in with a small army at her back, all of them laden with fabrics and sketches, and they descend upon Astrid and Skylar like a swarm of locusts. The swarm divides into two teams, one for each heir, and start poring over drawings, Astrid nodding along intently and thinking—with a sharp pang now and then—how much Jessa would have simultaneously loved and loathed this.
“Whatever I’m wearing, I’ll have this on,” she says to her group, gesturing to the Brewer’s Belt—a lot of admiring nods greet this proclamation. The pendant will also stay on; Jessa will be with her when she enters that arena.
They lift Astrid to standing, reveal an assortment of measuring tapes and pins, and ask her to strip to her underwear, before proceeding to work their way around her body more thoroughly than an overzealous lover. While Astrid is being prodded and pulled in every which way, Skylar is still fully clothed and no one has laid a finger on her. She can see Skylar getting stiffer and stiffer as the team avoids going too near her, and Astrid can’t stand it any longer.
“You know she doesn’t have to touch you to kill you? In fact, she doesn’t even have to look at you.” The room comes to an abrupt halt, the team working with Skylar all wearing similar horrified expressions. “Do your job properly. Touching her won’t be the death of you.”
Skylar barks an incredulous laugh. It cheers Astrid up to hear it.
“The Arturean princess is right,” Agata says sternly. “Let’s stop pussyfooting, shall we?”
After this, the whole process goes a lot quicker, and with the magic of the Weavers—and some clever intricate work by a couple of Metallurgists on buckles and zippers—the pair find themselves in their new outfits in less than two hours.
They have indeed chosen the Vatran colors of red and gold for Skylar’s outfit—a close-fitting, thick-strapped tank top and a matching pair of shorts that cling to her lean legs. Around each thigh is a strap and a scabbard for her blades. She looks deadly. Beautiful. Her team coos over her—their fear of the Exhauster long forgotten—and Skylar allows it. But her eyes, Goddess, her eyes. Astrid can see the flame that usually lives there shrinking as anguish smothers it.
Skylar senses Astrid’s attention and turns to her. “Just one last thing to do,” she says, barging toward Astrid. She holds her arms out. “If you’ll do the honors, Little Witch.”
Astrid doesn’t even have to ask what she means. She wishes Jessa were here, like she was the last time, wishes that night of moonflower and masks wasn’t the last night they’d ever had together, because, Sqaõi, Astrid would have made so much more of it if she’d known.
Lifting her hand, Astrid waves it over Skylar’s clothes, murmuring “Nroi” as she does. The material transforms into a glittering black—all but one small part.
“I’ve left this,” Astrid whispers, pointing at the ring of red and gold that sits above Skylar’s heart, “for Cam.”
The gasps of appreciation for Astrid’s magic would be comical if it weren’t for the tears Skylar is determinedly blinking back. With everyone focused on them still, Astrid spins away from Skylar—drawing those gazes with her—and casts various spells on her own costume. It’s mainly a distraction while Skylar composes herself, but also a way to test the material—which is, as promised, extra durable. The all-in-one suit covers every part of her, from her ankles and wrists right up to her neck, and it’s so supple, so comfortable, Astrid could almost believe she was naked. They’ve given her boots that stop just below her knees and that perfectly support her ankles and allow her complete freedom of movement. It’s incredible, actually, and Astrid is decidedly impressed.
