by Laura Kaye
Ravyn didn’t care what the old woman had up her sleeve. The men’s unreasonable demands to concentrate or try harder chafed at her. If this errand gave her a break from their company, then she was game.
“Don’t be long. We still have a lot of work to do,” Rhys yelled.
“We’ll be back when we’re back,” Nattie countered.
She took Ravyn by the arm and, with a firm grip, led her through the crowd and to the front gates of Alba Haven.
“Open the gate, Siban,” Nattie said, barely slowing her pace.
A hint of surprise flashed across his face. “Where are you going?”
“None of your business,” she snapped, stopping to glare at him. “Now open the gate.”
Ravyn watched the exchange, certain Nattie was the only person on Inness who would dare speak to Siban in such a manner. He didn’t move.
“It’s dangerous out there.” He drawled. “Where’s your escort?”
She smirked. “You offering?”
Siban looked between her and Nattie before turning to pull the bolt free. The towering gate creaked open and Nattie propelled her forward.
“If you’re not back before midafternoon, I’m sending Rhys.”
Nattie huffed and pushed Ravyn through the gate, not giving him a response.
“Where are we going?” Ravyn said.
“Shopping.” Nattie looked at her and smiled. The door groaned closed behind them. “It’s about time you have some proper clothes.”
“You gave me plenty of gowns from the wardrobe room last week. I don’t need anything new.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She picked up her pace, causing Ravyn to skip a few steps to keep up with her. “You’ll thank me when you see what I have in mind.”
Their trek to the market was all downhill, which meant going home would be uphill. Ravyn decided not to dwell on that part of the trip. Nattie marched her down dozens of narrow alleys. It was one thing to ride through Alba on Sampson and quite another to walk amongst the throng of people. She reinforced her mental shields, blocking out their uncomfortable presence.
They picked their way along muddy streets, where the smell of urine and decay emanated from doorways and puddles. People stared, following them as they maneuvered through the crush of the homeless, prostitutes, and drunks. Ravyn scooted and squeezed, trying not to touch the unwashed masses. There were slight tugs at her pockets, as if small hands deftly checked them for treasure. She had no money for them to steal.
Uncertainty plagued her the farther they traveled from Alba Haven. Rhys would be furious if he knew she was beyond the gates and unprotected. Though she’d gained confidence in her abilities over the last two weeks, she was still untried in the real world.
Her stare tracked along the buildings, searching for the tiniest hint of Powell’s presence. Twice, the soft prickle of needles irritated her arms. Her heart raced as she scanned the street for lurking Bane, but saw nothing. The warning could have been anything from a demon watching from a rooftop to a drunk Bane minion. It didn’t seem like her senses differentiated between caution and danger. Only grave peril managed to engage her fire. Though she tried, she couldn’t locate the exact cause of her alarm. As they moved down the street, the irritation faded but Ravyn didn’t relax her vigilance.
A cacophony of sounds echoed off the buildings as they exited the dark street and entered what looked like the town center. Notes from an oboe squeaked in time with the low thump of a drum. A woman in blue veils danced for the milling crowd, the tiny bells at her waist jangling as she spun and gyrated. Coins clanked against a metal cup placed beside the oboe player.
The quick flicks and slow rotations of the dancer’s hips mesmerized Ravyn. Her body swayed like a charmed viper, drawing her toward the woman. A firm hand grasped Ravyn’s wrist, breaking the hypnotic spell.
“Don’t watch,” Nattie said. “She’s a Splinter.”
Ravyn dragged her gaze from the dancer. “Splinter?”
“Gets under your skin and you become obsessed. Usually men, but everyone is susceptible to their allure. I’ve seen men spend every cent in hope of winning the Splinter’s affection.” She pushed her way through the crowd. “That’s what they want—to drain every last coin from a person and then move on to new, rich prey. It’s old, dark magic.”
Even now, the image of the swaying woman swirled through Ravyn’s head. She slammed her mental shields, surprised that the music’s haunting whine was able to penetrate her now formidable blocking. “I’ve never heard of Splinters.”
“Because you don’t associate with such scum. Respectable people usually aren’t privy to the unsavory side of society.” She released Ravyn’s wrist. “Trust me, Alba’s market is one of the seediest places I know.”
They passed merchants calling out and waving their wares, attempting to lure patrons into their shops. Open carts with vegetables lined the street. Butchers hung strips of meat from racks in front of their stores in hopes of enticing customers. Ravyn thought the only thing the dark, crusty meat would attract was flies. Her stomach clenched.
She slowed as they passed a covered stall. Birds chirped and sang from cages, and a toothless old man sat amongst the choir, weaving a tiny cage from twigs. Bright green birds the size of plums hopped from perch to perch, ruffling their feathers.
However, it was the silent beauty in the brass cage that drew Ravyn. Orange and gold feathers swathed the body, and long, brilliant red plumage draped below the bird’s perch like fiery lace.
“It don’t sing.”
Ravyn glanced at the old man. “What is it?”
“Firebrand.” He stopped weaving. “You want to buy it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have any money.”
He gave her a gummy grin. “I’ll give you a good price.”
She looked around for Nattie, but she was too far ahead. “I still don’t have any money.”
He harrumphed and went back to his weaving. “Nobody’s ever got money for that bird. Stupid thing don’t sing.”
Ravyn certainly understood the need for freedom. “Maybe she’s unhappy. Maybe she doesn’t like being caged.”
“Birds aren’t happy or sad. They’re just dinner.”
Ravyn scowled at him. “That’s awful.”
“If you think it’s so awful you should buy the bird and save its life.”
The Firebrand watched her, its golden eyes steady, not darting like the spastic green birds. Ravyn ran her hand along the horizontal bar that circled the cage. Flashes of light sparked at her fingertips and tingled into her hand. “Maybe I will.”
She jumped as the bird spread its wings and trilled. The old man dropped his basket and stood to stare into the cage as the bird continued to sing.
“What did you do?” he asked.
She stepped away from the cage and instantly the bird settled, growing silent again. “Nothing.”
The old man looked at her. “I think you should buy it, yes?”
“Yes.” She glanced around and saw Nattie waiting for her near the corner of a building. “I have to go now, but promise me you won’t sell her.” The man gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll pay you double the amount if you keep her until I get back.”
“Double?” the old man said. Ravyn nodded, praying Nattie would lend her the money. “You come back tonight?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I wait.”
“Thank you.” She gave the doleful bird one last glance.
“She only sings for you,” he called after her.
Ravyn gave a quick wave and jogged toward Nattie. Something about the bird spoke to her. She looked over her shoulder. Both man and bird had resumed their quiet poses.
They turned onto a cobbled street and began the arduous climb up a steep hill. Ravyn followed the older woman, her mind filtering through everything she’d seen within the last few minutes. The more she contemplated the bird, the more she wanted it.
After a short distance Ravy
n’s calves burned with effort and her breath tightened in her chest. She jogged to catch up, but dropped back after a few feet, her thighs now adding their complaint. Nattie seemed unaffected by the sharp incline. Slightly embarrassed, Ravyn hiked up the hem of her skirt and picked up her pace, refusing to be outdistanced by the older woman.
Tiny wooden signs hung above the doors lining the street. Inns and bakeries gave way to stores like fortune-telling shops, seedy pubs, and apothecaries.
“Here we are,” Nattie said.
Ravyn looked to the right. A worn and faded sign nailed to the door listed the goods and services provided inside. She squinted. “Removal of evil spirits: three locks of hair. Removal of toad warts: five teardrops.”
Her eyebrows raised in question.
Nattie pointed to the left side of the road. “Not there. Here.”
“Madam Turner’s Intimate Apparel,” Ravyn read aloud. “What does it mean, intimate apparel?”
A devilish smile tugged at the corners of the old woman’s mouth. “You’ll see.”
Bells jingled and the smell of powders and perfumes assaulted Ravyn’s nose when she stepped into Madam Turner’s. Prisms of color cast by dozens of crystal candleholders danced on the walls and ceiling, enveloping the shop in a warm glow. Nattie slipped out of her cloak and laid it over the back of a garish pink velvet settee.
“Bella?” she called.
No answer.
Ravyn squinted and walked toward the wall. She ran a hand across the flimsy material hanging from a large brass hook. “It’s a gown.” She held out the edge of the garment. Well, the dress was shaped like a gown, but in no way would cover any vital bits. “What is all this?”
Nattie crossed her arms over her chest. “What does it look like?”
Gossamer creations in every color glimmered with seed pearls and jewels, satins and ribbons. She turned to Nattie, confused. “I thought we were purchasing everyday clothing, not my…not for…well, not this.”
Nattie laughed. “Be patient. Madam Turner has exactly what we need.” She waved a hand toward the gauzy gowns. “And it’s not these.” Moving farther into the shop, she called, “Bella, are you here?”
A singsong voice echoed from somewhere in the back. “Be there in a second.”
Ravyn assessed the diaphanous creations, her hand drifting along a deep violet, one-shouldered gown. The hem angled from the floor to the hip, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Rhys would react if he saw her in this.
“It’s very beautiful,” Nattie said from behind her.
Ravyn blushed and lowered her hand. “But impractical.”
“Depends on who you wear it for.”
Before Ravyn could reply, a large concoction of pink velvet and feathers swirled into the room. “Nattie, it’s been too long.”
Ravyn blinked several times, trying to take in the full scale of Bella Turner. The woman looked like a plump, pink swan.
“Far too long,” Nattie said, wrapping Bella in a hug. “It’s my fault. This time of the year is always busy for us at the Haven.”
Ravyn could see Madam Turner had been beautiful once but had perhaps overindulged in sweet cakes through the years. Her head full of auburn ringlets clashed with her pink ensemble. Gold and jewels glistened from her chubby neck, both wrists, and every finger.
Bella turned to Ravyn and gave her a wide, dimpled smile. “And who is this?”
“Lady Ravyn Mayfield,” Nattie said.
“Please, I prefer Ravyn.”
“Oh, so modest and so polite.” Bella clapped her hands. “I haven’t had a true lady in here for years. No offense, Nattie.”
“None taken.”
Ravyn could only imagine the kind of women who frequented Madam Turner’s Intimate Apparel. She smiled at the plump woman, not wanting to risk a comment.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bella, but Ravyn isn’t here for one of these creations.” She gave the shop owner a pointed stare. “She’s here for some of your other creations.”
Bella’s elation plummeted. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She sighed and stroked Ravyn’s hair. “Such a beautiful girl should be making love, not war.”
“Yes, well, maybe one day soon, I hope,” Nattie said bluntly.
Ravyn gasped. “Nattie!”
The fragment of information reignited Bella’s excitement. She clapped her hands and bounced, sending her curls gesticulating around her head. “And who is the lucky man?”
Nattie butted in before Ravyn could speak. “Lord Blackwell.”
Her mouth fell open. “There is nothing like that between Rhys and me.”
Nattie gave an unladylike snort. “And the fact that you believe what you just said is the reason you’re still a virgin.”
“Nattie!” Ravyn’s face burned with embarrassment.
Bella fell back a few steps and crushed her hand dramatically against her large bosom. “Lord Blackwell? Oh my. Oh my, my, my.” She fanned herself with her gold-laden hand. “That is a very fine piece of man-flesh. Oh my.”
Bella walked with wobbly but very determined steps and pulled out the dark purple dress Ravyn had been admiring. She shuffled back to them and shoved the gown at her.
“Take this,” she said. When Ravyn protested, she held up her hand. “You will take this and wear it. You will wear this gown when you make love to that beautiful man, and you will do it for all womankind.”
“Thank you, Madam Turner, but I’m not…having relations with Rhys or any other man.”
“You must take it and when the time comes, wear it—for me—for women.”
Nattie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “She’s always had a thing for Rhys. You’d better take the gown or we’ll never get out of here.”
Ravyn removed the gift from Bella’s trembling fingers and draped the thin material over the pink settee. “Uh, thank you.”
“No, thank you, my dear. Thank you for not letting such a fine man go to waste.” Madam Turner released another heavy sigh and straightened. Her dreamy doe-eyed expression vanished. “Now, back to business. So, what’s the problem?”
Ravyn looked at Nattie for help. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Her weapons get caught on her dress when she’s fighting from horseback.”
“Ah.” Bella pointed a finger at Ravyn. “I have just the answer to your problem.” She spun and flounced through the store. “Follow me.”
Ravyn rubbed her palms on her skirt, nervous about what Madam Turner would show her next, and followed her to the back of the store.
A tattered gray curtain hung across an opening, and Bella yanked on the makeshift door to reveal more racks of clothing. Ravyn stepped inside the small enclosure. The smell of leather and wool filled the space. No gossamer gowns hung here.
“What is this?” Ravyn lifted a black garment from the pile and shook it open. “A tunic?”
Bella squeezed in beside her and rummaged through a large shelf in the corner. “Yes. I have everything a warrior needs.” She turned with an armload of clothes. “This is something new I created.”
Ravyn took the top item from the pile and unfolded it. “They’re pants.”
Bella nodded, her ringlets bouncing with excitement. “Pants for women.”
“What?” Ravyn’s mouth fell open as she examined the garment.
The shopkeeper ran her hand up the length of the pants. “Notice how the legs are narrow at the calf, but the rear and hips are wider? I designed them for a woman.”
Reaching for the next piece, Ravyn shook out another long-sleeved tunic. Leather patches protected the elbows, wrists, and shoulders—a perfect reinforcement for those abused areas. The last item of clothing was a mystery. Ravyn held up what appeared to be a very short, sleeveless shirt with long strings attached to the front. “What is this?”
“This is the best part,” Madam Turner said. “It’s the chest harness. You wear it under the tunic. It holds you in.”
Ravyn crinkled her face as she exami
ned the shirt from every direction. “Holds me in?”
Bella cupped her breasts firmly. “Holds you in.”
“Oh.” Ravyn eyed the piece. “How do you wear it?”
“Try it on,” Nattie said. “Bella can show you.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve been dying to see it on someone,” Bella said. “I have my own set, but it’s not the same as seeing a real warrior in one of my creations.”
Ravyn’s eyes rounded. “Are you a Bringer?”
“Oh no.” Bella took the harness from Ravyn. “But I’m ready to fight the Bane when the Bringers need me. Everybody has to do their part.”
“Bella’s the leader of the Human Rebel Force,” Nattie added.
“Human rebels?” Ravyn looked at the pink puff of a woman. Madam Turner was the last person Ravyn would suspect to be a rebel. Willa’s words about how she and others were familiar with the Bane floated back to Ravyn. “Are there many?”
Bella scrunched up her face. “Ten so far, but we’re growing. Can’t allow just anybody into the group. Most humans will turn tail and run at the first sign of demon trouble. I’m selective. Nobody joins until they’re tested.”
Nattie glared over Bella’s head at her with what looked like a silent plea to not to ask any more questions.
“That’s very noble of you, Madam Turner. The Bringers thank you,” Ravyn said.
Bella blinked several times and sniffed. “It’s my honor.” Determination clouded her face. “Now, let’s get you outfitted.”
Ravyn handed herself over to the ministrations of the women, who efficiently stripped and redressed her in minutes. The harness turned out to be surprisingly effective. Two long strings pulled the material around her chest and tied beneath her breasts. The tunic and pants fit as if they were made for her. When Madam Turner handed her a tall pair of black leather boots, Ravyn nearly melted. The soft leather flexed and hugged her calves. She stared at a reflection that looked nothing like the old Ravyn.
“Rhys will never let me wear this.” She ran her hand over her backside. The pants hugged her curves and tapered into the knee-high boots. Though dressed as a warrior, in this outfit, she flaunted every womanly aspect of her body. “It’s fabulous.”
“Why does he have any say?” Nattie asked. “He’s not your husband.”
