Lucetta circles once, appraising the build of the dress. “Weight’s in the hem. That’s good. She’ll have balance in case we have to run.”
I snort. Leave it to Luce to see the practical side of my dress.
The seamstress, Imogen, helps me into the dress behind a folding screen we dragged out of a corner. When I step out, Sunniva’s eyes go bright and Lucetta gives a slow nod of approval.
I look at myself in the long, cracked mirror and my eyes turn a bit glossy. Instead of seeing the stranger that I expected, the reflection in this mirror is a version of me that stopped apologizing.
For who I am.
For where I came from.
For powers I had no control over.
I see a woman who has chosen to be unapologetically loud in a world that tries to take women’s voices.
My mobile peals and my big brother’s name flashes across the screen.
I swipe and put him on speaker.
“Little sister,” he greets, his voice exhausted but his fondness coming through. “Tell me you’ve selected something appropriate.”
“Black,” I tell him cheerily. “All black. Try not to faint in front of our enemies, dear brother.”
He lets out a pained groan. “Cressida.”
“You love me,” I sing-song.
“I do,” he replies softly before clearing his throat. “Stay safe.”
“Always.”
Kingston hesitates and I smirk. “And you’ll . . . let him protect you, yes?”
“I’ll let him try.”
“Bloody hell, you’re impossible.”
“You say that as if I don’t have the same genetics as you.”
“Brat,” he mutters before hanging up.
Sunniva laughs as she drops onto the ratty catch Lucetta probably pulled from a dumpster somewhere. “If Kingston ever finds out his little sister has been practicing running knife fights in a dress, he’d put himself in a coma.”
“He’ll survive.”
Imogen pins the hem and marks where the veil comb should sit so it won’t catch if I turn too fast. Lucetta tests the rip-away with a short, brutal jerk, and it holds then lets go exactly when it should.
“Perfect,” she whispers.
By the time the fabric is boxed and the women are gone, we have three new messages waiting for us on the encrypted lines Lucetta had set up. One is rubbish, the other is bait we can tell from a mile away, but the third feels different.
Sunniva reads it twice then hands it to me without commentary.
UNKNOWN
Clinic. Back lot. Wed. 1 AM. No Men.
I sigh. “Looks like I have to tell Konstantin now.”
