“What is that?” Marta wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw the gown.
“Gah! I have no idea,” I said.
Alle just groaned and put the pillow over her head.
I lifted the strange gown and surveyed it. It was made of heavy velvet and satin, both in the same shade of antique gold. That in itself wasn’t so bad. What was bad was that the seamstress who had made it appeared to have gone mad when decorating the gown.
It had a wide low neck, fitted bodice, and long tight sleeves. The skirt was full, and there were six layers to it: the uppermost of velvet, and the five underneath in satin.
But then there were the roses.
And the great swathes of satin that swooped between each fist-sized flower.
Alle took the pillow off her face, looked at the gown again, and groaned. “I thought I was having a nightmare,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow once more. “That’s the ugliest gown I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree,” Marta said, lifting a sleeve to inspect the small rosettes that marched in a line from shoulder to wrist. “Who would wear such a thing?”
In addition to the line of rosettes along the sleeve, they also trimmed the cuffs and neckline, and a wide satin sash was draped from the left shoulder to the right hip, beginning and ending with a rose that was very nearly the size of a cabbage.
Larkin appeared in the doorway.
I held out the gown to her. “Have you ever seen the like? Isn’t it hideous?”
Larkin frowned at me. “It’s a dress suitable for a princess,” she declared.
“The princess of what?” Marta’s curls shook as she tossed her head and laughed.
“The Princess of Roulain,” she retorted.
I dropped it back on to the chair as though it had burned my fingers. “I know that Derda is making one of her bridal tour costumes,” I said, my eyes still on the dress. “But what is a ball gown of hers doing in our bedroom?”
“The Princess Amalia has generously given it to you,” Larkin told me.
I was instantly on guard. Amalia was not the generous type. “Why?”
“Because she is great and noble,” she said, her mouth twisted at my unworthiness.
“You’ve never actually met the Princess of Roulain, that much is plain,” Alle jeered, climbing out of bed at last. “She would never give anyone a gown out of the goodness of her heart. She doesn’t have a heart.”
And that was when I realised that my slippers were gone. For a moment I could only stare at the empty space on the floor where they had been. I suddenly knew exactly why the princess had had the generosity to give me a gown. She could afford to give away a gown, especially one as hideous as this.
But I couldn’t afford to lose my slippers.
My stomach was somewhere down by my bare feet, and my heart was beating so slowly that I was sure my blood would congeal in my veins. It wasn’t until Marta jogged my arm that I realised I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.
“Creel? You’re white as a statue. What’s wrong?”
“She took my slippers. The princess took my slippers.” Then I dragged my eyes from the floor to meet Larkin’s innocent gaze. “No, not the princess. You. You took my slippers and gave them to her.”
Grabbing Larkin’s shoulders, I shook her hard. She writhed away, but I snatched at one of her braids and yanked it. She screamed and Derda came flying out of her own bedroom to see what the commotion was about.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“She stole my slippers!” I let go of the braid long enough to take hold of her shoulders and shake her again.
“Let go of her!” Derda herself hauled me away from Larkin, who was blubbering and slapping at me.
“When a member of a royal house asks for something, you give it to her,” Larkin screeched. “You never should have refused her your slippers. She was more than generous to let you have that old gown!”
Derda released my arm and stared at Larkin, her hands on her hips. “Is Creel’s accusation true? You gave Princess Amalia Creel’s slippers?”
“Of course I did. I do not deceive my betters!” Larkin attempted to straighten her gown. It was a grey gown, her best. Or at least it had been: I had torn it when I snatched her by the shoulders. The bodice would need clever stitching, if not replacing, I noticed with satisfaction. “You don’t deserve the duchess’s patronage,” she added. “You have no respect!”
“So, you made a liar of me?” Derda’s eyes were slits.
Larkin quailed. “No, mistress! I merely told the princess that there had been a mistake, that Creel hadn’t understood which slippers Her Highness was asking after.” Then she straightened and glared at me. “I would never complain about serving a princess, like you and Marta. I think it’s an honour.” She tried to smooth her braids, which were tied with new silver ribbons.
My eyes narrowed. There were no ribbons like that in the shop’s supplies. I wondered what else Amalia had given her. “Those were my slippers,” I said, wanting to reach out and grab her by the throat. “You had no right –”
“I have every right to seek the patronage of whomever I choose,” Larkin retorted. “I’m not a slave.”
“Even her patronage?” Marta was indignant. “You know how horrible Amalia is!”
I felt as though a piece of me were missing. Waves of panic and rage and sorrow kept washing over me. It was almost as bad as when Mother and Father had died. “Larkin,” I said with as much patience as I could muster. “I don’t care if you serve Amalia or the Lord of Death himself. They weren’t your slippers to trade. You have to get them back. Now.”
“I can’t do that.” She shook her head adamantly. “She gave her word that you would receive a gown as payment and I gave my word that I would bring them to her. The deal has been made.”
I turned to Derda. “You have to get my slippers back, please. Princess Amalia will listen to you. You’re making one of the gowns for her bridal tour. Please?”
But Derda shook her head. “Are you mad? We’ve already lied to her once, and she knows it full well. If I try to get those slippers back, Princess Amalia could claim that I’m working with the anti-Roulaini faction that opposes the wedding. I don’t fancy spending ten years in the dungeons because of a pair of shoes.”
All I could do was stand there, clutching my hair and staring from Larkin to Derda in despair. I had bargained with a dragon for those shoes, and now they were gone. I had always known, deep inside, that there was more to the blue slippers than met the eye. They meant something, to the dragons at least.
To the dragons, and to one very spoiled princess.
“What am I going to do?” I whispered the question to myself, but Derda answered.
“You’re going to buy yourself another pair of shoes, and then you’re going to get back to work,” she said in her most brisk voice. “I’m sorry that this happened, but it’s over now, and there will be no more fighting or crying or screaming about it. Is that clear?”
I nodded, dumbfounded. I couldn’t think of what else to do.
“Good. Now, don’t you have a pair of brogues or something to wear?”
“Some old sandals,” I mumbled.
“Hmmm. Marta, take her to a shoemaker and find her some shoes suitable for the shop. Larkin, you will pay half the cost.”
“Only half?” Marta looked outraged. “But, Derda –”
“I said half! Larkin did trade with the princess for the gown, so Creel has been paid for the shoes.”
“Then I shouldn’t have to pay half,” Larkin protested.
“You’ll pay half because I’ve lost face and Creel’s lost her only decent shoes,” Derda shrilled. “Larkin, clean yourself up. Alle, get to work. Marta, Creel, get some shoes and be back as soon as you can.”
Marta and I dressed in silence and made our way out of the shop and down the street. We headed for the same market square where we had spent such a pleasant afternoon the day before. Everything looked different now, in the morning light. Paler and sharper. The paving stones were hard and treacherous beneath the worn soles of my sandals.
Neither of us speaking, I followed Marta into a cobbler’s small shop. The walls were lined with shelves bearing shoes, and that reminded me with sudden poignancy of Theoradus’s hoard. None of these were as grand as the flowered, feathered, bejewelled and embroidered creations that were his favourites, of course. They were mostly serviceable brown or black leather, the men’s boots grouped on one side of the shop, and the women’s slippers on the other.
In a hushed voice, as though I were ill or someone had just died, Marta told the cobbler that I needed new shoes, ready-made. He nodded his grizzled head, also speaking in a whisper. I realised that there must be something alarming about my appearance to make them act this way.
I stood in the middle of the shop, thinking of Theoradus’s cavern full of shoes. Then that made me think of Shardas’s beautiful caves, with their exquisite windows glowing in a double dozen colours, like all the jewels in the world put on display.
“I’m going to the ball,” I announced abruptly.
The cobbler, who was just coming to offer me a pair of brown calfskin slippers, gave me a wide smile. “Of course you are, maidy,” he said. His voice was slow, as though he thought I were simple.
Without looking at him, I raised my skirts above my ankles so that he could try the fit of the slippers. I looked at Marta instead. I could see that she knew what I meant.
“I’m going to take that cursed ugly gown and rework it, and I’m going to the Merchants’ Ball,” I said.
“I’ll help you,” Marta said. “On one condition.”
“When you get your shop, I want to work for you.”
“Done.” I looked down at the slippers I was now wearing. They were light brown, almost golden, with a slightly pointed toe and a low heel. They would match the golden gown well enough. I nodded at the shoemaker.
“Done,” I repeated.