She considered her next words with care. “Jarven ATerafin sent them.”
One gray brow rose. “Indeed. I am to assume that he meant them for your clothing?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. We had a bit of an accident in the office yesterday, and as I don’t generally sleep in the Merchant Authority, I was forced to wear a tea-stained dress for the duration of the day.”
Haval nodded, as if tea stains were a daily—and trivial—event. “Jarven, one assumes, chose the cloth.”
She eyed the cloth with a great deal more suspicion. “Yes. My apologies, Haval. I am not a clothier of any great note, and while textiles are of course part of Terafin’s trade, they are not under my direct supervision. What is significant about these bolts of cloth? They do not seem exceptional in color; the dyes seem bright, but otherwise ordinary, at least in this light.”
“Jarven did not inform you.”
“No.”
“Then I should not. But I will say this: there is no other cloth that would have a fraction of the worth of the cloth he did choose. I quibble only at his source—a source of which you remain in ignorance.”
She approached the bolts, her brow furrowed. They were not, at first glance, a rough cloth, or even a practical one; they were not, for instance, the fine linen out of which so much of her clothing had been made. “They are silk,” she said.
“They are silk. They are of a composition found only within the Royal Courts, and even then, only on strict social occasions.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, ATerafin. What did Jarven tell you?”
“He said simply that he was sending bolts of cloth to me. I was to inform my tailor of a need for new dresses, at least one of which would remain within the Merchant Authority offices against future accidents.”
Haval’s expression shifted, closing like a snapped fan. What was left was a certain brightness of the eye. “Please, ATerafin, take a seat. That one; you can remove the cloth across the chair without causing any significant damage.”
“I am not certain I would not prefer to remain standing.”
“Very well. Unless your measurements have changed significantly in the last two months, I do not require your cooperation in the mechanics of making such dresses. I require, perhaps, some input into the design.”
“You’ve never required such input before.”
“Have I not?”
“No. You’ve always chosen the designs, with Hannerle’s guidance. You are aware that we are not fully cognizant of the hidden barbs presented by fashion.”
“Cloth such as this is not subject to the simple dictates of fashion,” he replied. “And indeed, there are very, very few tailors who are capable of working with it at all.”
Finch stared at the cloth as Haval’s words sunk in. “And if I ask how Jarven knew you would be one of those few?”
“I have not yet admitted that I am.”
She met, and held, his gaze. “If you do not admit that you are, there is very little point in continuing this conversation. I am expected in the Authority offices this morning, and I cannot afford to be too late.”
“I believe Jarven will expect some delay.”
“It is not Jarven who concerns me. I do not understand your previous relationship, Haval, nor is it required.”
“I wish you to tell me what occurred in the Authority offices yesterday afternoon.”
“You could ask Jarven.”
“I could, but I wish a reasonable answer in a reasonable length of time.”
“I believe he would give you both, given your suspicions about his choice of fabric. He could hardly do otherwise.”
“And you claim to have known Jarven for half your life? He has clearly mellowed.”
She smiled; the expression was a merchant expression that did not reach her eyes. “Tell me about this fabric. You said it was silk?” As she spoke, she reached out to touch a fold of creased cloth. It was not, to touch, remarkable.
“Yes.”
It was a heavier silk, washed and smoothed into a reflective, burgundy sheen. The color was appropriate for her Authority work. She looked up to meet his gaze. Jay trusted this man. Finch had always liked him, but she had been aware that his past was not entirely what one would expect of a tailor. She liked Hannerle without reservation—but Hannerle was not Haval.
And yet, Haval was here, and Jay listened to him. She turned once again to the bolts of cloth. Inspecting them, she said, “As you surmise, the cloth was meant for my use. Jarven must have known the conclusions you would draw upon its receipt; he did not, however, think