“There’s a second-hand clothes shop in the Northern Quarter that carries formal wear,” I tell him, explaining where it is. We never could afford anything from there, but I liked to look through the window when I’d take Mother to her medic.
It’s silly to have to worry about dressing appropriately when we just witnessed so much bloodshed, but Henrey and I both know that tonight’s ball is just another Trial in a beautiful costume.
It’s another opportunity for the two of us to blend in… or draw a target.
We chat for a few more minutes about shops I like, supplies Henrey hopes to pick up in the day off, and then I grab a couple of buttered rolls from the breakfast table and retreat back to my room. I don’t have much appetite.
A few minutes later, Izabel bursts in without knocking, dressed in a deep purple riding suit that screams of Bonded wealth. Her long hair has been artfully arranged like usual, the silver streak prominently displayed.
“Meryn!” she exclaims, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. “I’m ready to go, what about you? Before we left for the Trials, my parents said they’d throw me and Venna a big luncheon if we made it through to today, with our whole extended family—well, everyone who’s not at the front, that is. They’re alldyingto hear about training, I’m sure. Are you going to see anyone other than your mother?”
“Probably not,” I mutter, lifting my collar to make sure it covers my fresh tattoo. I don’t want to draw attention to it at home. “I’ll just check on her. Maybe visit with my neighbor, Igor.”
She brightens. “Oh, you mean the one who trained you to fight?”
I nod, thinking of Igor’s familiar scowl. Funny how the idea of his sour old face can make me so warm. So that’s one good thing about going home, I guess.
The rest of it is going to be just plain weird.
Izabel seems to sense my sober mood. She perches on the end of my bed and tilts her head. “Do you want to talk about it?”
We’ve spent so much time together over the past two months that she’s collected all of my history, in pieces here and there. She knows that my mother is mentally ill, that I had to raise Saela practically on my own.
Izabel must be able to see that I’m dreading this little family visit, even after all the darkness we’ve been through.
Killian has continued to check in with Mother regularly and says she’s doing fine, but I’m terrified of finding her lost to her delusions again, talking to people that aren’t there. I don’t even have a good update for her about Saela.
I shake my head and Izabel takes that in stride.
“Well, don’t forget about tonight,” she says. “You need to be back by sundown to get ready for the Forging Ball. It’s important! All the nobles will be there. Maybe you’ll even meet someone, like I hope I will.”
Despite the gross implications—I still can’t get over the fact that the nobles treat the Rawbonds like a meat market—my face heats.
I bend down, futzing with the laces of my boots so Izabel can’t see that I’m flustered. I still haven’t told her about Killian, though I know she suspects I’m seeing my “castle heartbreaker” again, since I haven’t been around as much. She’s been a good friend in not pressuring me about it.
He’ll be there tonight, of course. Will everyone be able to tell by the way that we look at each other?
Would I want that, even?
I think back to his words two nights ago.“Give me permission to claim you in front of the whole world, and I will.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, finally straightening. “I’ll be there. I don’t have anything to wear, though.”
“Just pick something up from home,” Izabel says.
I snort. “Izabel, we don’t typically have ball gowns hanging around in the commoner neighborhoods. The closest I had was a nameday dress that got so worn down over the years that we eventually turned it into a pillowcase.”
“Oh. Right.” She pauses. “Well, that’s no problem! Venna and I will bring back something for you, so don’t worry about it.”
I give her a lopsided smile, hoping it doesn’t look pained. I’m grateful to have her help, even if it makes me feel like a charity case. But I’m not looking forward to being the twins’ dress-up doll again, particularly since the Bonded try to wear as little clothes as possible for these functions.
“Nothing too skimpy, please?” I ask.
Izabel laughs like I made a joke and bounces up off my bed. “No promises!” she calls as she sails out the door with a wave.
Well, that’s ominous.
Anassa meetsme at the castle gates for the trip home. We don’t talk. There’s no room in my brain for conversation while I grapple with the experience of riding her through the quarters.
