frock made of something so fine, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like it.
“All right, let’s get you up there. Everything off.” The woman wrapped her arms around the dress form, tipping backward to set it against the wall.
The curtain in front of the mirror closed with a whoosh, and then she was staring at me, both hands on her hips. “Well? Come on.”
I groaned before I pulled my shirt over my head and unclipped the wrap over my breasts. She hung it up, tsking as she smoothed out the trousers and rubbed at the creases in the wool.
“Now let’s look at you.” Her eyes moved over my naked body, and she frowned when she saw the scar on my arm and the stitches in my leg. They weren’t my only marks. “Well, I suppose we can cover those. Turn.”
I reluctantly obeyed, giving her my back, and when I met Clove’s eyes over the curtain, he was smirking again. I flinched when her cold hands took my waist, running up the length of my ribs.
“All right,” she said.
She pushed out of the curtain and returned holding a roll of stiff white fabric with laces. I cringed. “Is that…?”
“Corset, my dear.” She smiled sweetly. “Arms up.”
I bit down onto my bottom lip to keep from cursing and turned again so she could fit it around me. She jerked at the laces until my sore ribs were screaming and I pressed my hands against the wall to steady myself.
“You’ve never worn a corset?” The woman’s tone turned up.
“No,” I snapped. My mother had never put me in one and I’d had no need for one on Jeval.
She fit the panniers around my waist next, tying the strings so the shape of the hoops bulged at each of my hips. Then she started on the silk, cutting and draping and pinning until the form of a frock took shape. It wasn’t until she pulled the curtain open that she turned me around and I saw what she was doing.
My reflection appeared in the gold-framed mirror and I sucked in a breath, stepping back.
The garment was fitted at the bodice, wrapping closed in the front so the skin between my breasts came to a sharp point beneath the folds of the fabric. The sleeves were no more than shredded blue silk waiting to be pinned, but the skirt was full, rippling like waves around me.
“I’ll need pockets,” I said, swallowing.
“Pockets?” she huffed. “Why on earth would you need pockets?”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to tell her it was for my knife, or explain why I’d need one at a gala.
“Just do it,” Clove called from behind her.
“Wait here.” The woman sighed before she disappeared into the back of the shop.
Clove sat in the chair, taking in the sight of me. When he saw my face, he tried not to laugh.
“Enjoying yourself?” I muttered.
His mouth twisted up on one side again. “Your mother wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing that thing.”
I was struck by the ease with which we’d slid into the old rhythms between us when only hours ago I’d been ready to kill him. Growing up, there wasn’t a day I wasn’t stuck to his side on the ship or at port. Looking at him now, I felt like I was ten years old again. And that feeling made me miss my mother.
“What happened between Zola and Isolde?” I asked softly, not sure I really wanted the answer.
Clove sat up straighter, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “What do you mean?”
“Saint told me they had history. What kind of history?”
He gave away more than he knew when he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I think you should talk to Saint about that.”
“I’m asking you.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a long breath. When he leaned back into the chair, he looked at me for a long moment. “Zola had just established trade in Bastian when he met Isolde. She was trading at the merchant’s house, and I guess she saw a way out.”
“Out of what?”
“Whatever she was running from.” He clenched his jaw. “She struck a deal with Zola and took a place on his crew as one of his dredgers. But he wanted more from her than her skill with the gems. I don’t know what happened between them, but whatever it was, it was bad enough for her to pay him everything she’d saved to get off the Luna.”