Page 61 of Shade of Ruin

I’m standing on a small platform and the dressmaker is looking at me like I’m a broken thing that needs fixing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as judged as I do right now. Cole, the dressmaker, and his wife are staring at me, and all I’m wearing is my undertunic.

“She doesn’t smell like flames…” Lorcan, the male dressmaker, says, a brow raised. “She doesn’t smell like anything, to be frighteningly honest, Lord Cole.”

He’s holding a needle in his teeth while his wife, Fiona, runs a tape measure over my body. She’s not exactly nice about it, either. Now I understand why Cole said that seamstresses terrify him. Her hands move with deftness, but whenever I try to shift, she gives me this look that reminds me of Vesta when I’d done something incredibly stupid.

So I stand silently as the three of them decide what to do with me. I don’t get any choices, and I don’t offer any opinions, but that’s probably for the best. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a dress that would be appropriate for the table of the King of the Fae.

“Flames,” Cole repeats. “She’s my betrothed, and I would like her dressed in flames.”

Lorcan’s brow arches even higher. “I am yours to command, Lord Cole, but may I offer a suggestion?”

Cole gives a nearly imperceptible nod without looking away from me. “Why not blend the other Great Houses into the dress? Why not show a little bit of earth, steel, and shadow? She is obviously not completely from the House of Flames, so if you dress her in your colors, she will be a possession, not an individual.”

Cole’s eyes roam over my body before he says, “That’s true. I don’t want my father to think that I’m claiming her like a toy. She’s… important to me, so letting her have something beyond myself in her dress is probably the right decision.”

Lorcan nods his head emphatically. His hand moves to the thin white beard that looks like an icicle hanging from his chin, which matches the coldness I see in his eyes. “That’s what I assumed, Lord Cole. As soon as Fiona is done measuring, we’ll get to work spinning it. I assume you have the spellstones?”

Cole pulls a small velvet purse from his belt and hands it to Lorcan. “That should be more than enough.”

“Yes, Lord. Without a doubt.” The older High Fae doesn’t even look, but I can see him judging what’s inside the pouch by its weight.

Fiona stands up and says, “Come back in an hour, and we’ll make sure that it fits.”

Just like that, we’re done. I wonder what spellstones are. Even more, I wonder how anyone could create clothing in an hour that would be wearable to the King of the Fae’s dinner table. One more instance of me being completely unprepared for the world I’m in. But when I step off the platform, and Cole takes my arm in his, I feel calm again.

He looks down at me, a softness in those eyes that rivals the seriousness he’s had so many times before. “Let’s get you dressed, and then I’ll give you a tour of my favorite parts of the city while we wait.”

A tour of the city? How romantic. And how very unlike Cole. What’s going on with him? What am I not understanding? He seems so different. The way he looks at me… the way his body moves to be close to me…

I don’t know, but never in my life have I been happier to have someone next to me. Maybe this betrothal ritual did something more than I thought.

The cobblestones that pave the city’s roads would have been dug up and sold in Blackgrove. Smooth like river stones, bits of gold and crystal glitter from between the dark onyx. Bright green grass springs up alongside the cobblestones, uniformly cut everywhere, as if by magic. Which, in all reality, it might be.

There are shops everywhere, but unlike the market, no one is outside shouting to get our attention. The buildings aren’t made of red marble, but they all host shades of red somewhere. “Is this the House of Flame’s area or something? Why does everyone have red on their buildings?”

Cole nods as we walk. “This section of Draenyth depends on the House of Flame’s patronage. Most of the shops this close to the Keep are wholly dependent on our house, and especially my father’s court, to stay in business. Lorcan and Fiona have depended on my spellstones for five hundred years, and they’ve grown very wealthy because of them.”

I frown as he picks two fruits from a tree and hands one to me. I’ve never seen this kind of fruit before. It’s soft like a pear but shaped like an apple. The skin seems thinner than even a pear and as soon as I rub my finger across it, the skin pulls away, revealing delicate white flesh. “Dalen fruit,” he says. “It’s grown solely within the House of Flame’s quadrant of Draenyth. Nowhere else in the world.”

I take a bite, and Cole does too. It’s subtle. Initially, it feels like an under-ripe fruit—as if there’s not enough sugar in it. As I chew, the flavor rolls over my tongue, bathing it in an odd taste.It’s like a pear, but tangier. All of it is so subtle, as if a very juicy potato had a faint fruity flavor.

“This is strange…” I say.

“Yes, but do you enjoy it?”

I don’t know. “Maybe?” I take another bite, and that strangely subtle, tangy pear flavor fills my mouth. It’s starchy, and the sweetness grows, but the tang washes all of that away. I take another bite, and I almost make a face. “This is the strangest fruit ever.”

Cole grins and shrugs. “It’s Fae fruit. Of course it’s strange.”

As if that made any sense at all. “Come on,” he says. “Let me show you the city how it should be seen. From the sky.” I don’t say anything as he pulls me back toward the Keep of Flames, and I struggle to keep up. For the first time, Cole’s pace isn’t slow and steady. It’s excited and antsy and almost erratic.

As soon as we’re inside the walls, he drags me up the stairs to the top of the ramparts where guards in vibrant red uniforms patrol, their eyes ever looking toward the skies rather than the ground. They’re watching for warriors from the House of Steel on magical wings. I expect them to all wear armor like Cole’s, with all the little curled pieces of steel riveted to it, but theirs are just simple red gambesons. Not a touch of steel on any of it.

I don’t even have a chance to look around as Cole rushes past the guards, all of whom seem unperturbed by the prince wandering along the ramparts. Then we get to a guardhouse at one of the corners, and Cole gives me a grin. “Ready to fly?” he asks.

There’s a sparkle in his eyes that just feels so out of place, and I have to remind myself that he’s acting here. He’s pretending to be betrothed to someone he utterly respects and wants to show off for. Someone hetrusts. This isn’t real.

But when I nod, he puts his hands at my waist, and I can’t help the pure excitement that flows through me. His hands areradiating heat, but it’s controlled. Then he jumps, that vise-like grip holding me in places in front of him as pixie wings carry us to the top of the guard tower. Seconds pass while we’re in the air, completely alone, with the wind as the only sound around us.

---