“Relax. The shop is in a safe part of the city. Nothing will go wrong. You are the new selissa, foreign-born.” Sylese made her voice sound sappy and wistful. “You are marked by the regio. You’ll be safe.”
Klym swallowed down the awkwardness along with her rising nerves. Vesta was not Argentus. The women here wore pants. They could fly. They weren’t kept apart at Institutes like they were on Argentus. Women had more freedom here, more autonomy, more respect.
He’d marked her that morning; it would give her some protection, perhaps, but still...
“Such a worrier,” Staria said with a laugh, guiding the hover into an easy glide down the cliff face that made Klym’s belly hitch and flutter.
As they flew, the felanas pointed out landmarks, sculptures of famous Tamminians, parks with springs and bathhouses, flower gardens, the library, and finally, a market of stalls covered in orange awnings that stretched endlessly down the sides of city streets.
Staria set the hover down beside a fountain with a sculpture of a lady in the center. Her arms stretched high over her head as if she were reaching up to touch the stars.
“This way,” said Staria, sliding open the hover’s door and hopping down to the pavement, Sylese and Monna right after her.
Klym followed. “Are we going to a market stall? I didn’t even think about cred.”
Staria took her hand, her fingers cool and slender, small and bony. She’d grown so used to Tor’s big, warm, rough palms and long fingers, it felt strange. “Don’t worry. The cassia’s credit is long. He will pay for whatever you require.”
She tugged at Klym’s palm and drew her down a side street, away from the market. “Just a few blocks in from here.”
Klym tried not to panic, but every growing footstep felt like a yawning vacuum stretching between her and Tor. She should have told him. But Monna and Sylese kept on chattering away about how gold and white were the perfect colors for Klym’s hair and skin and how Staria’s cousin was a genius.
They walked up two streets, made a left, and then down a couple more, and made a right, or was it a left? Passing people on the streets who stopped and stared at her as if she’d grown a third eye. The blond hair must have been like a flashing beacon. By the time they stopped walking at the entrance of a windowed shop, she was so confused that she couldn’t have said from which way they’d come.
The interior was cool, all polished stone floors and glittering lights above. And fabric. Everywhere was fabric. Bolts of it on the walls, piles on tables, in baskets and tubes and shelves. She sucked in a breath. Beautiful fabrics, in bold, exotic colors, with intricate patterns, delicate embroidery, laces, and tulles, shimmering, silky, velvety, nubby.
A tall, broad woman greeted the felanas, giving Staria an especially close hug, before she turned on Klym, her shrewd gaze roaming over her blond hair. “Welcome, Selissa.”
Klym imitated the way the others had smiled and inclined her head.
“I am Itta.” She moved in closer than Klym would normally have found comfortable, but she’d grown used to the Vestige’s less strict observation of personal space. The woman ran a hand down Klym’s waist. “What did you have in mind?”
Monna babbled in fast Vestigi, demanding the outfit be finished in time for the feast. Klym caught most of the words.
“And colors,” said Sylese. “Gold and ivory. And something for her hair.”
Itta trailed her fingers along the pearls at Klym’s throat. “Argenti pearls,” she said in Vestigi. “Very valuable.”
Staria slapped her hand playfully. “She’s the selissa now. She won’t sell them.”
“They belonged to my mother,” Klym said. “I’d never sell them.”
Itta shrugged and moved her hands to Klym’s hair. “Feliarrios miane?”
Staria shrugged. “She usually braids it up into a coil.”
“I have something for my hair,” Klym interrupted. She’d use her own flowers, weave them through her bun. “Could we add some blue to the design? Something small? I have these flowers. They’re bright.”
Itta’s dark eyes narrowed. “Show me.”
They spent an hour picking out the fabrics, sticking pins in Klym and measuring her, talking in such fast Vestigi that her head swam and a headache formed behind her eyes. But it was worth it. The outfit Itta sketched was stunning.
The sun took on a decidedly orange hue. If Tor looked for her before dinner, he would find her gone. He’d be irate. He’d bellow for sure. And the spanking. She sucked in a long slow breath at the image of him bending her over his lap, peeling down her pants, baring her body for his view, trailing a hot palm over her skin.
As they left the shop, she tried to make a right, but Staria pulled her left. Monna and Sylese were already headed that way. “This way.”
They walked several streets in, and Klym didn’t recognize anything. The streets were even more packed now, the people staring openly, even pointing at her hair.
A crowd gathered around them. Mostly kids, but several young men, too. Following them.
“We’re almost there,” said Monna.
It felt wrong, like they’d gone the wrong way, but she joined Staria in a steady jog, pressing their way through increasingly dense streets.
Just when she’d started to seriously doubt their sense of direction, the awnings appeared, bright and orange at the edge of a street.
“See.” Sylese pointed. “Just there.”
A series of shouts and pops sounded from the direction of the market. And clapping. Someone’s voice was amplified, shouting in rapid-fire Vestigi. About tammin, and shame, and lying nobles.
Klym looked around at the faces of the felanas. They looked nervous, and that scared her almost more than anything else.
“Migane,” Staria muttered, and Klym had to agree. Migane, indeed. The group
