“Why?”
“I think I’ve found a clue about the barrier. There are Xurian characters on the outer wall of every room in the house.”
He sighed, stepping aside and letting me in. “Be quick about it. I was in the middle of something.”
“Yeah? In the middle of what?” I asked out of curiosity.
Waylon glared at me. Not something he wanted to talk about, apparently. I didn’t ask again, walking over to the far wall and doing the spells. A hint of embarrassment made my cheeks flush when I had to do the spell three times to reveal the characters on the wall. I tried to tell myself he wouldn’t notice and wasn’t judging me, but when I glanced over my shoulder he was watching me like a hawk. He’d noticed. To be fair, he always looked like he was judging someone, so the expression might not be specific to me and my situation.
“How are these going to help you get us out of here?”
Whether I planned on getting them out of here, or just me, was up in the air. “All information helps. I’d rather have too much than too little.”
The Grand Library of Enchantments was the definition of too much information. Having every recorded book on spells at your fingertips made it a tad difficult to choose one spell from the lot.
“So this could be pointless?”
I wanted to argue.
I didn’t have an argument, though. The characters may be completely pointless in my search. But there were so many other things that could be pointless that we did. If I was particularly defensive, I could argue that it was pointless to live because we all know we’re going to die one day.
Instead of answering, I copied the characters down onto my paper until I’d recorded them all. When I got up and turned to leave, I spotted sheer pink fabric hanging from the edge of a desk in the corner, shoved beneath a pile of papers like it had been hastily hidden. Stepping over to it, I pushed the papers to the side. “What’s this?” I asked Waylon, who’d taken to impatiently examining his sharp nails by the door.
The fabric looked like the beginnings of a dress, light pink with a long skirt. Fake pink flowers made a pile in the corner of the desk, a needle and thread discarded beside them. The materials and craftsmanship were high quality in a way I’d only ever seen on Solstice and those of a similar station. “Don’t snoop around, for the love of Xenir,” Waylon said snappily, darting over to gather the fabric up in his arms.
He’d moved faster than was humanly possible, his black wings extended and fluttering furiously behind him. Holding the swath of pink, he moved back until he was on top of the bed, glaring at me.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was a secret project.”
OK, I might have had an inkling. But having no consequences for my actions, all the men forgetting we’d ever met, had made me far too curious. There was no harm in asking. Or snooping.
“People don’t hide projects unless they’re secret,” he said dryly.
I shrugged. “You’re really not going to tell me what it is? I’ve already seen. The pattern looks like the start of a dress?”
Waylon groaned, dropping the fabric into a heap atop the duvet. “Since you’re going to be pushy, I’ll inform you that the project is a dress. I sew. As a hobby. Don’t know what the fuck else I’m expected to do in here.”
“My mother was a seamstress. Sewing is a perfectly good hobby, even if you weren’t locked in a mansion all the time.”
She’d been the manager of a special events attire shop, focusing on crafting unique ball gowns for the upper classes and fancier clothes for common folk’s marriage ceremonies. In the beginning when she’d taken over the shop, she’d done most of the alterations herself, even creating custom dresses when clients couldn’t find a pattern they wanted. Mom hadn’t been given nearly enough credit for her skill.
“No wonder you know it’s a dress,” he said.
“No wonder, indeed. Do you wear the dresses when you’re done with them?”
“You think pink is my colour?”
“I picture you more in dark colours, personally. Navy and burgundy, maybe a pine green. Black. I suppose someone else wears dresses, then. Pink would look spectacular on Kirin.”
I’d been joking, but also not. The green shade of Kirin’s skin would be a fun complement to this pale pink. So far, the dress was clearly not in his size, though. Waylon didn’t laugh. He only sulked. “It’s not for Kirin,” he said. I was about to tell him I knew that, but he kept speaking. “When it’s done, hopefully it’ll fit you.”
Freezing, my heart pounded fast and hard in my chest. Me? With the stage of design the dress was in, he would have started crafting it as soon as we’d finished our conversation downstairs. He’d been working all day on it. “Why make me a dress?” I asked quietly.
“I got inspired. You’re pretty, you know.”
People had told me, once or twice. Mainly my parents. “Not pretty enough to inspire a floral dress.”
“Time to go. Get out of my room.”
