“You understand what they will see.”
“My mother’s dress. My mother’s brooch. My flawed Mark.”
“Your unhidden Mark,” Cosima said.
She said it carefully, as if the word flawed had no business on my lips.
So I said, “That too.”
Rev stood.
“Put it on.”
“Bossy.”
“Put on the dress, Astra.”
Cosima turned her back without being asked. Rev looked at me once, eyebrow raised, waiting to see whether I wanted to do this.
I did.
I wanted to get the dress on before I lost my nerve.
“Fine,” I said.
I took off my coat first, then the shirt and trousers I had put on in Caspian’s room that morning.
Rev nodded and helped me lift the dress over my head.
The silk slid down my body.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
The dress fit perfectly.
Of course it did. Cosima had measured me with her eyes, written nothing down, and still made my mother’s dress fit her daughter closely enough that my body couldn’t refuse it.
Rev fastened the back.
Cosima turned when Rev said, “Done.”
She spared me the word beautiful, thankfully, though I saw it in her eyes.
She adjusted the left shoulder with two fingers, then the right. Without sleeves, the dress left both arms bare. My Mark sat in the open air, dark lines against my skin, bright enough that no one at the formal would be able to pretend they hadn’t seen it.
The brooch rested above my heart.
I hoped I looked half as brave as my mother had believed the wren was.
“Well?” I asked.
Rev crossed her arms.
“You look like trouble.”
“Exactly what I was going for.”
Cosima’s mouth tightened.
