Page 63 of The Iron Dagger
“I wanted to come by and ask how your luncheon with your mother went. She seemed very taken with your guest,” his father said in a mellow voice.
Instantly, Gideon’s elation waned. It was unlike his father to make an inquiry about a social function, let alone aninformal meal with his own mother. Gideon chuckled and said, “Yes, they got on splendidly. I think Mother wants to help her choose a dress for the homecoming ball.”
“Your mother always does like to shop for an occasion,” said his father with a tilted smile. “And the witch did not mind handling the cutlery?”
The question made Gideon’s blood run cold. What an odd thing to ask, and even stranger for his mother to notice and mention it. Gideon tried desperately to come up with some plausible explanation, but his mind was blank.
“They say the only witches who are able to stand the touch of metal are alchemists,” said his father with an airy curiosity in his voice. “I don’t remember Turnswallow mentioning that ability when he gave his report.”
“I have not noticed whether she is sensitive or not,” said Gideon, affecting a tone of ignorance. “She has only made mention of her Seeing ability and healing.”
“Find out, will you?” said his father, rising from his seat and moving to the door. “I’m sure you could persuade her to give up her secrets. You’ve never had trouble getting what you want from women. Court her, flirt with her, bed her if you must, but earn her trust.”
Gideon gave a tight smile and a jerking nod of assent. Was his own father giving Gideon permission to flirt and sleep with Hara? More than giving permission, encouraging it? So much for discretion. It appeared his father’s prejudices stopped short when the possibility of a never-ending supply of gold was at hand.
If there was one thing Gideon was certain of, it was that he would send his own mother to the secret mountain hold before he would tell his father that the first alchemist in living memory was under their roof.
TWELVE
Angharad
Hara had never felt more beautiful in her life. She stood before three mirrors in the stylish fitting salon of Eleanora Falk’s favorite dressmaker. For most of the afternoon, she’d been measured and fitted into one gown after another. She fell in love with the first gown of pale lavender, until Lady Falk shook her head and Hara tried a wine-red gown next. After that, she lost track of the billowing sleeves, the voluminous skirts, the corsets and dangling fringes and jewel-encrusted bodices. Every gown she tried was an exquisite work of art, and Hara felt she could not begin to choose.
Unfortunately, Lady Falk had the opposite problem.
“Can’t you find something more elegant? This is all too gaudy,” said Lady Falk with a wave of her hand, dismissing the spring-green dress Hara wore. She had dismissed every gown as too revealing, too showy, or not showy enough.
“These are all from our latest collection, my lady,” said the seamstress, slightly harried. “If you could only tell me what you are looking for.”
“Hara, what do you think?” asked Eleanora.
“I couldn’t decide, I think they are all splendid,” said Hara honestly.
“Oh, you are sweet to a fault. Really, I have half a mind to go to Laringbone and see what they have on offer.”
Hara ran her hands down the green dress she wore. She tried to imagine the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen. Her childhood memories of the Ilmarinen court were hazy, but shestill remembered beauty. Her mother’s robes had been midnight blue, and Hara often thought to herself as a child that someday she would like to dress that way.
“Perhaps,” began Hara. “Do you have something in dark blue?”
The seamstress nodded, and when she came back she held a dark dress in her arms.
“A dark dress? Are you sure, my dear? You are the guest of honor—surely you’d like to stand out in a red or a fuschia, or perhaps—oh,” Eleanora’s chatter broke off as Hara stepped into the gown.
The heavy blue outer dress fell from her shoulders in the courtly style with voluminous sleeves that swallowed her arms. The inner dress was sparkling white, a spray of diamonds leaving her thighs bare. She felt like a siren stepping out of a midnight ocean of velvet.
“Oh, my dear, it is magnificent!” said Eleanora, and Hara felt something close to joy welling up. She felt as shimmering and untouchable as a star in the night sky.
“No need to show us any others,” said Eleanora, and she stood beside Hara so that their faces were reflected back three times. Eleanora wrapped an arm about Hara’s shoulders and whispered, “Just wait until he sees you.”
It appeared Hara’s lie about being barren had not put Eleanora completely off. She would have to find another way to discourage her, but for a moment it felt good to have Eleanora’s arm wrapped around her in such a motherly way.
While Eleanora bartered with the seamstress about shoes and trimmings, Hara changed back into the dress and fur wrap that she’d arrived in. As she looked up, she saw Sarai leaving the fitting salon next to theirs. She wore a lovely fawn-colored gown, and she cursed softly as her grip slipped on the bulky parcel tucked under her arm.
For a moment Hara hesitated; she knew there was something unpleasant between Eleanora and Sarai. But then she dismissed the thought. There was no reason for Hara to snub her.
“Sarai!” called Hara while Eleanora was occupied.
“Oh, hello,” said Sarai, trying to wave and almost dropping her parcel. Hara went to her side and helped her right it. She caught a glimpse of silver satin before the box’s lid was slid back into place.
