Page 13

“I think you’ll like it.”

Without further ado, Rosaer set her burden down next to the Highdame, and returned to take Maelin’s arm. “Come this way. The Storm Deep has a place of its own.”

The curtain behind them swung shut, and Maelin couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief as the Highdame and her tea disappeared.

“She’s quite a lady, isn’t she?” Rosaer led her across the shop floor.

“Indeed she is,” murmured Maelin, disliking the fact that she was still feeling a few goosepimples on her arm.

“There you are,” Alla came up to her. “I’m sorry, I’ve been lost in picking out accessories for my gown, when I should be helping you find yours.”

“Not to worry,” said Rosaer. “I think we may have the right one for Lady Maelin...”

Another curtain was pulled aside, revealing yet another gown occupying its own space.

But this one? It absolutely screamed Maelin’s name. Silently, of course, but the moment she saw it, she knew.

“That’s my gown.” She blinked at it.

“Is it ever,” whispered Alla, her eyes wide.

“The Highdame was right,” muttered Rosaer. “She always is.”

A unique gown which needed no light at all...it apparently created its own. Maelin couldn’t decide if it was grey, white, or blue, because every time she moved a little, the colours changed, not unlike Alla’s, but more subtly. The fabric seemed to float rather than drape, and when Maelin shot a quick glance with raised eyebrows at Rosaer, the woman nodded.

“Let’s try it on, shall we?”

“Yes please.”

“Oh, Maelin,” breathed Alla. “With your colouring? This is going to knock every single gentleman there right out of his boots.”

“You don’t think it’s too daring?” Maelin touched the beautifully styled neckline, sewn with thread that echoed the shades of the gown.

“I think on anyone else, yes. It would be too daring. On you? It will be brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“Well then.” Maelin drew a breath. “Let’s try it on and see.”

*~~*~~*

The Silver Moth was brightly lit, but at this time of day no music emanated from behind the opaque bow windows.

Cyrus glanced up at the softly glowing sculpture above the door; a brass-winged butterfly moth, its body delicate, its veins delineated by shining lights that gently changed colour, an alluring reference to the name of the Velvet house.

Although there was little difference between night and day here in the Gloamtide, somehow it wasn’t hard to tell when morning had arrived. This was a place that lived for the night. And slept the rest of the time.

He glanced to one side as he heard the always-recognisable grunt of a gutterhound, brushes spinning beneath its belly, arms spraying, cloths wiping, leaving behind it a clean street and shining windows.

Fortunately it was on the other side of the street at the moment, but it would be back, so Cyrus took a breath and opened the door of the Silver Moth, dreading the task that lay ahead of him.

“Well, well,” came a low, sensual voice. “My dream has come true.”

Cyrus managed a grin. “Hello Jonessa. You remembered me.”

“How could I forget? The only customer with a real title I’ve got on the books, and the only one to turn down my services.”

He crossed the foyer to the tall desk and the fae sitting on a high chair behind it. Moving to her side, he dropped a light kiss on her cheek, amazed once again at how soft her skin was. She had to be over a dozen decades old, but you couldn’t tell by looking at her.

“Lovely as ever, my dear,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’re here at the desk, but I need to talk to you. Is there anywhere we can be private—not overheard—for a few minutes?”