story - part 18 - texture - 1319 words

I do not start teaching right away. The old man is given a few more days before he must return home, leave the job to me. He looks tired and worn, his lower lip quivers as he speaks. I would feel sorry for him, if he were not so prejudiced, so incompetent, if he did not deserve all that he gets.

I have requested, and been granted, this afternoon as free time. I travel the familiar twists and turns to Lady Calidris's chambers, and am met with one of her more winning smiles. She is dressed for traveling outside, for spending time tossed around by the harsh winds. Obviously she was very serious about taking me out for new clothing, something to wear to her party, and there is only one day left.

We slip wordlessly out of the palace and are hurried down into her carriage. She does not ask me any more questions about my past, about my family, about my present, and I am grateful for that. At the moment, everything has settled into a strange kind of calm. I can feel things clicking into place, it is the lull before a storm. Things are going to fall apart, and soon.

I am not sure how she plans on dressing me up. Any clothing I wear must be custom tailored, carved to curl around the twisted bases of my wings, to lay against my back, not-quite-flat. It must have that endless line of buttons, that complicated series of closures. I cannot imagine anyone being able to make it in one day - and, even if they could, I would not want to bare myself like that. My secrets are mine to keep.

"Black and red. You always wear black and red." Soft and distant, as she stares out the window at the streets that slip lazily by. She is still smiling, a faint echo of her previous expression. It is almost smug, she seems entirely too pleased with herself.

"They are physician's colors. People recognize me by them." We are slipping out of the clusters of large homes clustered near to the palace and into the very beginnings of shops and stores, smaller slanted buildings.

She leans forward, head poking out to stop the carriage, and beckons me out through her door. We step into a busy street, full of those people who have enough money to buy expensive clothing, to spend idle afternoons wandering up and down business streets. They are nobles, a variety, ranging from the new to the old families. All of them walk with their noses in the air, paces clipped and attention always focused forward. No one stops to stare, here.

Calidris easily adopts this posture herself, setting one foot in front of the other and sailing quickly down the street. She has an air of determination about her, she is only here to buy what she needs and then to get out. There is no dawdling, she does not even cast a glance back over her shoulder to make sure that I am following, she merely assumes.

I would like to linger, myself. I have not left the palace in months, I have not been in a crowded city in years. I lived too long in the forest to the north; the smell here is different, it is harsher, I am not sure if it is more alive or less so. It is the sharp and sour smell of too many people clustered in one place, of stone and old fires, of horses and old sewage. It is not my decision, however, and instead I am dragged after her.

A bell jingles as she pushes the door to a shop open, nudging it inward with a slight shift of her hip. The store is simple, rolls of cloth standing upright in one corner, an array of every color and every texture I could ever imagine. The other side of the room is a careful arrangement of cloaks, pants, dresses, shirts. Every cut and every style I have ever seen at court.

Her hands slide easily over lush velvet shirts and over shirts, absentminded brushes of fingers over silk pants. She toys with the hem of a dress that crackles between her fingers, easily distracted by the different sensations. I do not see a single garment I can wear, but she seems to have a plan.

It is with some effort, a sigh, that she drags herself away from the corner filled with clothing and toward the woman in charge. This is a matronly woman with a pinched nose and tight lips, who manages a distant cousin of a smile in Lady Calidris's direction. I believe she can smell the money in the air, she recognizes the posture of a noble.

"I have a reserve. Custom made." Astoundingly haughty and in control. Calidris has never spoken like this to me, she does not look down her nose like this. But then, I never nod my head ingratiatingly, I never scurry off quite like this woman does.

I do not ask her what she has on reserve, or when she decided to come down here to have something made for me. I do not dare to ask her why she did it. I already know that she put in the order before she asked me to come to the party; either she was certain I would agree, or she was planning on a gift anyway. Both ideas make me vaguely uncomfortable. I feel strangely like a prized pet.

The woman returns with something black draped over her arms. To my great relief, it is simple, cut almost identically to the worn over shirt I wear every day, except that the black here is not faded away to a dark grey. Only when it is this close can one see the careful red embroidery on the sleeves, down the front. Slim feathers, curled ones, wild in every direction.

Most importantly, she holds it up to display the back, the buttons on the back that she must assume are merely decorative. I pray she assumes they are decorative. It seems like she is about to ask me to try it on, so that she can see how it looks, but a glance from Calidris stops her in her tracks. Instead she smiles and names a price that makes my heart jump and my stomach lurch.

It is paid quickly and without pause. Such a sum of money is more than I would ever be willing to spend on an over shirt, a pair of pants, but I do not argue. She would say something about looking respectable, about representing her, about the fact that I will be in the public eye.

A box is produced, it is all packed up and settled into her grasp. I do not think one word was offered to me, or one glance cast in my direction - but that is how I like it. We slip out of the store without a single awkward question or uncomfortable moment, and disappear down the street, back toward where the carriage is waiting.

"You will have to come to my chambers to try it on, to make sure everything fits right. I gave her one of your shirts for measurements, so it should sit properly, but it is always best to double check." Now an edge of excitement in her voice, a glitter in her eyes. Amazing how quickly that noble edge fades away.

"Tonight. When we get back, I will try it on for you. You can tell me if it is acceptable or not." Strange how cold that sounds to my ears. There is something bright and cheerful about her face, that fades away at my icy tone. I want the smile back on her face, I want to laugh along with her. I just do not know how.