Kallia’s lips parted as thread slithered out from the cane’s top, perfectly finding the eye of the needle Ira held out. The cane must’ve been riddled with all sorts of tailoring gear somehow, but that levitation had all been the beholder. That ease of movement, the mastery of someone who’s long practiced such work.
“Zarose.” Considerably paler now, Aaros swore as the thread floated toward the needle. “Ira, you’ve been holding out on me. You really could’ve pinned me like a cushion all those times if you wanted to.”
“Believe me, I came very close,” she said, sending the needle straight into the hem of the skirt with a speed that made Aaros gulp. “But I don’t waste my skill on such petty measures. Can’t be too showy or loud with what we can do—the first thing they taught us, back at Queen Casine’s. Were you a student there, too, miss?”
Kallia wished she could lie her way through this one, but the woman seemed like she could see through anything. “No. I was taught elsewhere.”
“Hmph. Must be a different world for magicians out there, now. Hard to keep up with the outside. We always had to be careful in a place like this,” Ira said. “Magicians, even old labor ones, are not really smiled upon in Glorian. Until now.”
Kallia thought back to what the mayor had said at dinner, about power coursing through the founding families in different ways, and yet magic was not truly embraced by the Glorian people. None of the pieces fit together, and no one questioned it. “What happened?”
Ira’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “Hell if I know. We don’t talk much about the past around here.”
“Don’t talk much about anything, it seems,” Kallia noted wryly, before remembering the dinner party discussion. Rumors and theories from those outside Glorian, far-fetched and curious for a city so quiet. “People say this place used to be some big show town, or there’s strange magic hidden somewhere.”
“Glorian?” Ira grimaced, as if she weren’t sure she’d heard correctly. “A show town?”
Aaros cackled. “Please don’t say you believed any of that, Kallia. If only we were that interesting.”
“There must be a grain of truth somewhere,” Kallia snapped at their twin looks of disbelief. “How else are stories born?”
Ira only tsked, staring thoughtfully at Kallia’s dress without comment. Perhaps the rumors were ridiculous, but a city could not simply start anew without having a reason behind it.
“Aren’t you going to turn around?”
Kallia hesitated, remembering the trifold mirrors. Ira’s eyes fixed on her even more intently.
“Ah, it’s a performance ritual,” Aaros supplied. “She stays away from mirrors. For luck.”
Kallia exhaled. Ever since she’d turned her back on her reflection, Aaros had taken her “superstition” in stride. Even covered up his own mirrors, out of respect. The gesture touched her so much, she was glad to avoid her reflection. She couldn’t bear to look at herself with every deceit she played.
Ira scoffed. “That’s a surprise. You seem like a vain one.”
“Excuse me?”
The old woman shrugged. “If you don’t care how the dress looks on you, I guess you won’t mind if I make a few adjustments…”
Kallia’s mouth parted at the feel of her skirt’s hem rising. And the pair of scissors that appeared over the gathering of fabric below her knees. “Oh wait, I don’t need—”
“It’ll look better this way. Trust me.” Ira allowed the blades to snip before Kallia could stop them, or the needle hemming its way across the newly sheared length. Kallia was only glad she wasn’t too attached to the particular dress, for all the fabric pooling at her feet. The fit of the skirt, growing noticeably looser. Only when the work was done did the spell break. Ira sat back, head cocked to one side as she observed Kallia’s form in silence. Satisfied.
The skirt trailed asymmetrically across her knee, slitted long enough to show only a small bare flash of her thigh. The style allowed for more mobility, and the more Kallia stared down at the finished design, the more she adored it.
“Let’s talk payment before you dash off.”
“What about a preview of tonight?” Aaros worked as much charm into the offer as possible. “You’d be our first audience.”
The idea seemed to thrill the woman as much as dumping out bathwater.
Kallia noticed that Ira’s tools did not waver as they worked, even when she burrowed her shaky hands deeper into the folds of her shawl. The chill had followed them from the front of the shop