“Kelari Amraeya has arrived,” the maid says, completely unnecessarily at this point.
“Cousin Rae!” Filadon cries cheerfully, jumping to his feet.
I grin and dip an awkward curtsy as the maid lets herself out. “Verin, veria.”
“Oh hush,” Melly says with obvious amusement. “Don’t you go around bobbing at us like that.”
“Well, I am at court now, aren’t I?”
Melly just shakes her head and crosses the room to embrace me. She looks hale and hearty, her eyes clear and her skin glowing with health. “It’s been a long time—I’m so glad you accepted our invitation.”
“Bean would have tied me up and delivered me herself if I’d refused.” And I couldn’t forgo the chance to learn more about the snatchers—though that’s a conversation for another time, after I’ve settled in.
Melly pulls back from her hug with a laugh. “Bean is quite a force to be reckoned with, isn’t she?”
“Always has been,” I agree. “So what will we be doing while Filadon is off being noble?”
“Unfair!” Filadon cries. “I demand company. Surely you don’t intend to ignore me for your whole stay?”
“I’m here for Melly, not you,” I inform him equably.
Melly, ignoring Filadon, says, “I am hoping to introduce you to my circles before the wedding, and of course you’ll meet the royal family at some point in the festivities. As such, our first order of business will be to expand your wardrobe.”
No doubt because courtiers don’t usually take care of their own horses, or wear the clothes to do so. I muster up a smile and nod. “I thought you might say that.”
Melly raises her brows. “Oh, well done, Rae! Not even a grumble!”
I raise my brows in return and say earnestly, “I believe going to court is rather like going to war: one must wear the appropriate armor, or expect to be stabbed through and trampled underfoot.”
Filadon huffs with laughter. “Well, Melly, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Rae is clearly prepared for politics.”
Melly just hmms softly and offers me a cup of mint tea.
The next two days pass in a whirl of cloth and confusion. I must get used to small things I’ve never thought about before—having a bed that I might fall off, rather than a mat I can roll away each morning; having a bathing room attached to our apartments with flowing water rather than a bucket and washcloth. “We can visit the palace bathhouse if you prefer,” Melly tells me, and though we have a communal bathhouse back home too, I don’t take her up on it.
But the majority of my time is spent shopping. Melly takes me out into the city to search for all the fabric and trimmings we’ll need. “We’ll use my palace seamstress,” she tells me. “But there’s no reason you shouldn’t see a bit more of Tarinon.”
The more I see, though, the more I wonder about the division between the palace and the people. In Sheltershorn, no one is truly poor. Not in the way I see here, half-clothed children, all sinew and bone, running past the door of a shop selling imported silks. It feels . . . wrong, somehow, to be buying such extravagant fabrics, ordering beadwork and embroidery done, when the moment we step outside, we cross paths with laborers in ragged clothing, their faces tight with exhaustion.
Still, I can’t go to noble gatherings in just the clothes I’ve brought with me—however nice the three new outfits Mama and Niya made for me may be, they won’t last me the whole of my stay.
On our second afternoon, as we step out from a shop where we have just purchased an abundance of lace, I spot a sidewalk vendor selling fried flatbreads from his cart.
“Come on.” I grab Melly’s hand and tug her along. “I need to eat.”
Her eyes light up. “I haven’t had street food in forever.” She casts a wary glance back to the main road, where we left the carriage.
“Why?”
“Nobles don’t eat off the street,” she says.
“What?” At her somber nod, I drag her forward with renewed determination. “Who’s going to tell? Come on, I think he even has spiced potato ones.”
Melly follows along more than willingly, happily buying two for herself. We meander down the alley, for the first time all day not actually shopping.
“Is it hard?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Melly sends me a curious glance.
“Being noble, I mean? Not having grown up that way?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if I would have chosen it, if I’d understood,” she says. “We all have ideas about how wonderful it must be to wed a lord, or live at court, or whatever. It isn’t all pretty dresses and gold.”
“I don’t believe you ever thought it would be.”
She finishes her flatbread, wiping the grease from her fingers onto a handkerchief. “No,” she says. “But I still didn’t truly know how my life would change. Lucky for Filadon, hmm?”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“In part.” She grins. “Why do you think we visit you all in the country every year?”
“Must be to curry favor with the high-ups,” I say wryly.
Melly’s laugh is a short, halfhearted one, quickly gone. “I miss little things,” she admits. She gestures vaguely to the alley. “Filadon and I discussed whether I should call in the merchants I order from, or whether you might enjoy going out into the city more. We both agreed on this. Once I’ve introduced you to the other ladies and we start accepting invitations, you likely won’t get much chance to go out.”
“What do you mean I won’t go out?” I demand, bewildered.
“Not like this. Seeing all the shops, wandering the city? It isn’t done.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Melly insists, gesturing to the muddy patches in the unevenly cobbled road. “Can you imagine a court lady walking through this muck?”
“How do they buy
