“And if they know it was you?”
“They will suspect it was me. I have no illusions about that.”
“Cosima.”
“They already suspect me of many things. The trouble for them is that they can seldom prove it.”
“That doesn’t make this safe.”
She looked at the dress again, and for one second I saw the child underneath: fourteen, frightened, obedient, wearing whatever they had told her to wear. Bonding herself to whomever they chose.
“Safe is what they call a room after they lock you in it from the outside,” she said. “I am tired of being locked in rooms.”
I swallowed.
“Did they do this to yours?”
Her hand hovered over the sleeve without touching it.
“No. They did not need to. I was already quiet enough.”
My throat closed around every response I might have given.
Cosima saved me from trying.
“You cannot remove the band yourself.”
“I wasn’t planning to sit on the floor with scissors.”
“Good. That would be stupid.”
“I do try to avoid the obvious stupidities, believe it or not. It leaves room for creative ones.”
“This is not a time or place to be creative.”
“Then what do we do?”
“At the fitting, you let them put the dress on you.”
Every part of me recoiled at the idea.
Cosima saw it.
“Listen before you decide my ideas have become useless.”
“I’m listening.”
“You let them put it on you,” she said, “but you do not let them fasten the left sleeve.”
“How?”
“You ask for the brooch first.”
My hand went to my pocket.
“Why?”
“Because Selene’s brooch belongs at the left shoulder. If they have studied the inventory, they know that. You ask for it before the sleeve is fastened. You make the dress incomplete without it and refuse to wear it.”
