Reflection: Harbinger of the Phoenix (Records of the Ohanzee Book 2)

by Rachel R. Smith

  Darci had instructed them to send anyone who was to attend the dinner party to this shop. Jarold and Leal had already packed formal clothing in case they needed it for business dealings. The twins were to remain at the inn under the pretense of keeping an eye on the wagon. And so, Nerissa, Raysel, Rian, and Desta were the only four from the group to visit The Sparkling Sky Flower this morning.

  The door swung open, and Darci beckoned to them from inside. “Don’t be shy, come in! Welcome to my shop!”

  “Your shop?” Nerissa asked as she stepped inside.

  Darci’s outfit today was even more elaborate than the one she had on the previous day. She wore a mint green blouse with voluminous sleeves and a V-shape neckline that plunged in both the front and the back. A delicate silver necklace was paired with matching earrings that glimmered from behind her pink and blonde hair.

  “Yes, my shop. I am the proprietress and head designer. You won’t find any clothing more stylish or higher in quality in all of Chiyo, if I do say so myself,” Darci said, in a not-at-all humble tone. Her matching green heels clicked on the floor with each step as she showed them around.

  In some ways, the front room of the shop reminded Nerissa of the dressmaker she had favored in Niamh. Darci’s shop, however, was easily three times larger. Mannequins filled the middle of the room, modeling women’s clothing on the left and men’s on the right. Racks lined each wall except the back, where curtained dressing rooms stood in a row. Shop assistants were already busy at work helping several customers as they browsed the racks. The rapid clacking and whirring of sewing machines could be heard whenever one of the assistants stepped out from the back room.

  “Raysel, Caeneus, and Rian, I met the three of you yesterday. But I didn’t have a chance to meet you.” Darci looked Desta up and down as if taking her measurements by sight.

  Desta blushed under Darci’s scrutinizing gaze. “M-my name is Desta,” she stuttered.

  “She is the daughter of Jarold, one of our patrons,” Rian added.

  “I see. We will have to find something extra special for her to wear then,” Darci said with a wink.

  Desta walked among the mannequins, admiring the outfits. “These are the prettiest clothes I have ever seen,” she breathed.

  Nerissa had to admit to herself that she agreed. The fact that Darci was the owner and designer for this shop brought her up several notches in Nerissa’s esteem. There was clearly more to her than the coquettish facade she maintained. But, had that wink been meant for Desta, or Rian?

  “Thank you, Desta. Your father must not take you to very many business dinners if you think this is fancy,” Darci said bluntly. “This is where the ready-made, everyday clothing is displayed. Follow me. The formal wear is upstairs.”

  She led them to a spiral staircase in the back of the men’s section, and they emerged a moment later into a world of silks, lace, and transparent chiffon. Every piece of clothing seemed endowed with glimmering rhinestones, pearls, or jewels. At the sight of the dresses, Nerissa felt a thrilling flutter in her chest, followed immediately by the crushing realization that Caeneus would have no interest in even browsing through women’s clothing. It was like standing in front of a buffet with a growling stomach and not being allowed even a nibble.

  “Gentlemen, please look through the men’s clothes on your own, and I will help Desta select a dress,” Darci said. She waved her hand toward the men’s attire in the far corner of the room. “The racks are arranged by style and size. I don’t expect everything to fit perfectly off the hanger, but any alterations needed will be finished in plenty of time for the party tomorrow evening.”

  Rian looked around the room. “This really is quite an excessive repayment for our favor.”

  Darci’s eyes narrowed darkly, but she quickly regained her composure. “You would not say such a thing if you understood how much that work means to me. Let’s not speak of it again.” The last part had the distinct intonation of a command.

  “The difficulty will be in choosing just one thing from such a remarkable collection,” Raysel said, smoothly changing the subject.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” Darci said approvingly. “When you find the one you’d like, keep it on, and I’ll call someone to take measurements for the alterations.”

  Raysel surreptitiously pressed his hand against the small of Nerissa’s back, guiding her attention away from the dresses and toward the men’s clothing. She reluctantly browsed the racks of suits without actually seeing them, trailing absently behind Raysel as he flipped through hanger after hanger.

  “This dress is particularly beautiful!” Desta’s exclamation snapped Nerissa out of her daze. She craned her neck to get a better look at the dress Desta was fawning over. It was crimson with cap sleeves. Embroidered golden feathers arched across the bodice, and the skirt was a tumble of vertical ruffles trimmed in gold banding.

  “Thank you, but that one isn’t available, I’m afraid,” Darci replied. “I made this dress with Heiress Nerissa in mind. It was supposed to be a demonstration of my skills, but I never got the chance to show it to her.”

  “You knew the Heiress?” Desta asked, awed.

  “I had hoped to, but I only met her once, and that was on the night that Casimer took over Chiyo,” Darci replied.

  Nerissa’s ears tingled upon hearing her own name, and she listened in on their conversation with rapt attention. She and Darci had met on the night of the masquerade? Her brows knit together in a futile attempt to remember something about their meeting.

  “My shop here is bursting at the seams.” Darci paused to chuckle at her own pun, which Desta didn’t seem to get. “I wanted to open a second shop in Niamh and knew that having the Heiress as a patron would increase my chances of success. I had hoped to make a good first impression on her, but I got the feeling she didn’t like my costume. In retrospect, it may have been a bit over the top. That’s the costume I wore.” She pointed to a mannequin displaying a short dress made entirely of peacock feathers.

  Color rose to Desta’s cheeks as she looked at the dress. “I don’t think I could wear anything that daring,” she said.

  “Certainly not until you’re older,” Darci said before sighing ruefully. “I suppose making a bad first impression didn’t really matter in the end, did it?”

  Desta ran her fingers through the air over a goldwork feather as if hesitant to actually touch it. “That’s a shame. Who will wear this dress now?”

  “I doubt it will ever be worn. I don’t plan on selling it,” Darci said. She crooked one eyebrow upward suggestively. “Can you tell that’s real gold thread?”

  “All of that is real gold?” Desta’s eyes grew large, and she took a small step backward. Nerissa’s own eyes widened too.

  Darci flashed a smug grin. “The thread is coated with real gold, yes. I told you that I wanted to impress the Heiress. When you are trying to be successful in business, you have to put everything you have into your work. I would rather regret trying too hard than not trying hard enough.”

  Nerissa found herself nodding in agreement with Darci’s sentiment. If Darci had showed her these designs, she would happily have agreed to be one of her patrons. She stared at the dress and fixed its image in her memory. One day, when all of this was finished and she could return to being herself, she would wear that dress. At that moment, Darci looked over and happened to make eye contact.

  “Are you having trouble finding something you like?” Darci asked.

  “No, I just couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” Nerissa answered. “If you are willing to put everything you have into your work, I was wondering why you don’t use your father’s ties to expand into Marise.”

  An unreadable expression passed across Darci’s face. “The style trends in Nyx are far too conservative for my tastes. I don’t think my designs would do well there,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Besides, my personal ethics are as important to me as success. I make business decisions based
on what is best for my employees and me in the long run. It is better to stay true to yourself and do what you believe is right than to chase after short-term profitability.”

  “Are you implying that you don’t approve of Governor Akkub’s ties to Marise?” Nerissa pressed.

  Darci’s lips tightened. “I have neither interest nor opinions about politics,” she said shrewdly. “My father’s dedication to his station means that I grew up being raised by nannies and tutors. I didn’t see him unless I was needed to make an appearance as a decoration at his side. But that left me plenty of time to pursue my own interests and start this business, so I am grateful.”

  “A neutral stance probably serves best for a businesswoman,” Nerissa said evenly. Despite her words, Nerissa had the distinct impression that Darci did care about politics. And, if she weren’t mistaken, Darci didn’t seem to be in agreement with her father’s alliance to Marise. That information could potentially be useful in the future.

  “Indeed it does,” Darci replied with a knowing look.

  Nerissa turned her attention back to the array of suits. Raysel and Rian were already inside fitting rooms with the curtains drawn. In Nerissa’s opinion, as long as she had to wear men’s clothing to maintain her disguise as Caeneus, one suit was just the same as the next. She grabbed several that were about the right size and carried them to the remaining booth.

  The jacket of the first suit had double rows of buttons running down the length of the torso from corners of the lapel. Nerissa fumbled with the buttons, suddenly unsure whether the right-hand side was meant to overlap the left or the reverse. She bit down on her bottom lip to suppress her mounting frustration.

  There was a shuffling as Raysel stepped out from the fitting room beside hers. “Raysel, could you give me a hand with this jacket?” Nerissa asked. Then she realized it may seem strange for Caeneus not to be able to do the buttons himself. “It’s a bit tight across the shoulders, so I can’t do all of the buttons,” she hastily added as an excuse.

  The curtain pulled back briefly and closed again as Raysel stepped inside wearing a white silk shirt beneath a jacket with a row of oversized buttons running down one side. The dark purple color of it made his eyes appear even more intensely green than usual. The confined space within the interior of the dressing room meant they were standing only inches apart.

  “Does it fold this way or this way?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “This way,” Raysel whispered as he folded the left-hand side over top of the right. Before drawing his hands away, he traced one finger along Nerissa’s collar bone. He lifted the cord of her necklace then dropped the pendant so that it was inside her jacket.

  “That color really suits you,” Nerissa whispered.

  One corner of Raysel’s mouth twitched. “And this outfit doesn’t suit you at all,” he said.

  Nerissa stiffened and lifted her chin indignantly. “That’s a rather rude thing to say.”

  “Any dress here would be far more flattering.”

  “That’s not saying much.” Nerissa’s reddening cheeks puffed out in a pout.

  “No, I suppose not. But I thought that it would cheer you up. I know those dresses are calling your name. The temptation must be killing you,” Raysel quietly teased. His expression turned serious as he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up toward him. “But that fire in your eyes makes you beautiful—no matter what you wear.”

  Nerissa turned her head, shaking away his hand. “I thought you were supposed to protect me, not give me a heart attack,” she said lightly.

  Raysel’s eyes softened and his lips curved into a gentle smile. “I think with some minor alterations this jacket will fit you just fine,” he said, loud enough for anyone to hear as he stepped backward out of the fitting room.

  Nerissa pressed on the crystal pendant through the fabric of her jacket and stared wordlessly as the curtain swung shut behind him.

  Chapter 15

  Small Favors

  The dining hall of the Governor’s Mansion was filled with the hum of polite conversation and the gentle tinkling of silverware on porcelain plates. Rian leaned away from the footman’s arm as it reached from behind him to whisk away the now empty dinner plate. The first arm was followed almost instantaneously by a second. This one took away his half-empty goblet of water and returned it topped off and with fresh ice cubes. That arm was followed shortly after by a third bearing a tiny espresso cup on a saucer. Each of the arms was outfitted in an identical, perfectly pressed jacket cuff with just a glimpse of a starched white sleeve peeking out. Rian knew that they all belonged to different servers, but without turning to see each individual, it felt as if he were being served by an impeccably dressed octopus instead.

  It was only a matter of time before yet another arm laid the dessert course—a plate with a variety of petits fours—in front of him. Darci had not been exaggerating when she promised them a decadent meal. It had been ten courses of precisely balanced portions and complementary flavors. More food had appeared—and disappeared—in front of him at this meal than he had seen in a week.

  He turned to his left to see Desta with her brows furrowed in contemplation. Her pastry fork hovered indecisively between a tartlet and a macaron. “You do know that you can eat all of them, right?” Rian teased.

  Desta puffed out her cheeks. “Yes, but I can’t decide which one I want to eat first.”

  Rian chuckled and turned his attention across the table to where Caeneus and Raysel sat. They chatted amiably with the wife of one of the businessmen. The beaded ends of the leather cord that held Raysel’s folded ponytail in place swung as he nodded his head in agreement with something the woman said. Raysel did not usually wear beads on the end of the cord, but there was a reason that he did tonight. The beads were a signal to Brigs, the Ohanzee informant in the Mansion, requesting a meeting immediately. Each informant had a unique marker that could be used as non-verbal communication by the Ohanzee to identify themselves before establishing contact. In Brigs’ case, the sign was to wear a set of blue, red, indigo, green, and silver beads—in that order—somewhere on the body.

  Caeneus picked up her espresso cup and inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. “Now this is how coffee is meant to be enjoyed,” she commented to the woman beside her.

  Rian looked away so that Caeneus wouldn’t catch him watching her and took a sip of his own espresso. The dark liquid held not even a trace of bitterness and only served to accentuate the sweetness of the dessert. During the occasional lulls in conversation this evening, Rian had entertained himself by discreetly watching Caeneus. Now that he knew she was the girl from the masquerade, he had begun to notice small behaviors that hinted at her true gender. Just now, she surreptitiously licked the rim of her glass before taking a drink, as Rian’s mother often did to avoid leaving a lipstick mark. The clues were subtle, and the challenge of discovering each new one made the hunt all the more enjoyable.

  Yet, finding those clues was not Rian’s sole motivation for observing Caeneus’ behavior. Something else had piqued his curiosity as well. Didn’t she wonder who had given her the vial of perfume? Rian hadn’t even planned on buying it for her. It had been a matter of happenstance that he passed the perfumery on the way to meet Caeneus and Raysel in the gardens. A shop girl outside had been wafting aromas from scented fans to beckon passersby into the store. The distinct fragrance of roses and strawberries had stopped him in his tracks and sent his mind reeling back to the night of the masquerade. It was her scent. “A small favor to gain your lady’s favor?” the shop girl had suggested. Rian had gone inside and purchased a bottle of perfume oil before his brain fully registered what he was doing. It had been an impulse buy in the first place, and it had been a similar whim that made him drop it into the pocket of Caeneus’ cloak.

  But Caeneus hadn’t said or done anything to indicate that she had received a mysterious gift. The perfume was a distinctly feminine scent. Did she think it was from another member of the group
? Someone that already knew she was a girl, perhaps? That didn’t seem very likely, since all she had to do was ask her co-conspirator, and she would have known that the gift didn’t come from him. Either way, she should be curious about who gave it to her.

  Rian glanced across the table again, at the same time that Caeneus happened to be looking his way. He hurriedly tried to think of something witty to say, but his mind was suddenly blank. The ghost of a smile appeared on Caeneus’ lips. She had just opened her mouth, as if to speak, when Darci laid her hand on Rian’s arm. Surprised, he reflexively turned to Darci, who gazed up at him cordially.

  “You will save me a dance later, won’t you?” Darci purred.

  “Yes, definitely,” he agreed, without really hearing what Darci had asked. He was too busy wondering what Caeneus had been about to say. He promptly looked back across the table, but Caeneus was seemingly deep in conversation once more. She didn’t look his way again.

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  Nerissa focused on making genial conversation by asking enough questions to keep the woman beside her engaged. This was not a difficult task. She had learned long ago that people are often so pleased to talk about themselves, that they don’t even notice when you’ve not really said anything at all. It was a technique she had honed during countless formal gatherings hosted by her parents. At that time, her intention was not to dodge questions, but rather to serve as a good hostess. No matter the intention, she found making small talk to be mind-numbing. In this case, however, Nerissa didn’t really object to going through the motions, since it gave her a convenient excuse to ignore the real focus of her attention.

  It took all of her self-control not to stare at the wait staff as they moved around the table clearing away the dessert plates and coffee cups. One of these men was the Ohanzee informant Raysel was trying to contact. But which one was it? There was no way to tell by looking. Would he notice the beads Raysel was wearing? Nerissa had almost laughed when Raysel explained the significance of the ordering of the beads. The first letter of each color spelled out Brigs’ name. The simplicity made the code both cleverly hidden and impossible to misunderstand at the same time.