Shopping for dresses is a different experience in Hearstcliff. For most of my life, I had only had very few new dresses that I did not make for myself. The family had generations of garments and garb to fall back on- why buy a new skirt when you can grab great-grandma's, roll the waist a few times and wear that? As far as everyone's concerned, it's new, because everyone outside the family that has seen it is dead. Or take a gown from twenty years ago, add a new sheer veil over the top of it and it looks unique and new. My family had money because they were thrifty, they had enough things that they did not need to spend money. That was part of why the old manor was so big: just to support the attics, cellars and storage space to keep a full noble family in fine form without having to buy new gowns a dozen times a year just to silence the yammering gossips who always have something to say if they see a dress that they've seen before.

  So far, the experience has always been about Mother or Madame Cushnere or one of my ladies-in-waiting to bring down a garment bag, and tuck or dart or hem it to my measurements. My whole body was known to within an inch, and I often went a full season between tapings.

  Now I was being rulered and noted by strangers, while the general- I mean, the vendeuse- rattles off instructions to a squad of helpers, tailors and clerks. Two women were madly sewing off to one side to bring at least one dress up to standards within the afternoon. The upscale clothiers of the city were well-organized and well-directed, and also well-compartmentalized. Yheta had not helped me pick this place, Sisa had. It was the Harigold clothier, and Lady Hanje Toor was the Harigold vendeuse. And, I was surprised to learn, that was a very proprietary title.

  The outside of the store had looked like nothing, just a sign hanging out with the street number stamped boldly. If you knew what you were looking at, that was all you needed. But for those who don't belong, there is nothing here to see. The door opened to a small vestibule, where a clerk working furiously on an accounts book glanced up, spotted me, and did a double-take. "She's going to be furious," the clerk announced, and led us inside.

  And Lady Hanje had indeed been furious. "A summer!" she howled. "Damn all- Everyone! Reorient for a summer!"

  And that was when a dozen assistants and experts had leaped out of hiding to transform the front of the store, taking away stacks of bolts and racks of dresses, and sweeping in with vastly different garments and supplies a minute later. Meanwhile, the towering-tall lady with her built-up shoes and swept-up hair was ranting to herself. I had never seen such a tall woman, and every aspect of her dress and accessory was only making her taller.

  "That- just because she's pale doesn't make her a winter! That's not what it means!" She sounded wounded by the inability of someone not present to understand her world. "I can't put burgundies on a summer! All day I've been picking out jewel tones- pfah! Fie on that man! Young lady, step to the pedestal. Ondre! The tape measure! Thyllis, I have a five-six mesomorph here who needs the focus brought to her neck! You there! Boy! Sit down on the red chair and think of compliments!"

  Yheta was intimidated into sitting in the corner and saying nice things about my outfits, while a sort of textile tornado started.

  Wait, let me rephrase. I meant "a lot of people had a lot of activity and it was rather confusing." I should not reference anything like a textile tornado since I have actually created exactly that thing only in the past week.

  Anyway, I learned a lot about myself in the next couple of hours. For one thing, I do not have the calves to wear heels and I should stop trying no matter how badly I want to be five-nine. My fingers have enough distinction in length to really set off lacey or billowy sleeves. I don't do enough to accent my neck, I should wear my hair to frame my face, and if anyone compares my coloration to winter I should beat them with a stick, according to Lady Hanje.

  Apparently my father had written ahead to the shop and told them I would be on the way. My father even included notes about my new coloration. Lady Hanje had originally been thrilled, a chance to bring out different ideas! My family is notoriously spring- and autumn-colored. She did not just dress my immediate family, but also the extended branches. All of Father's siblings and cousins, my cousins and farther cousins, extending out to the point that they become cadet houses or minor houses instead. Hanje is responsible for over a hundred Harigolds, and she thought she would finally get a winter out of us.

  While the man with the chalk and measuring tape was working angles I'd never expected (from one shoulder blade to the opposite hip, and vice verse, or from the top of my ear to the floating rib), Lady Hanje stood over me, her hands hovering over my head. "This hair is impossible! No lowlights, no distinction! If I try to put you into bold primaries it will cut you in half and wash you out! I'd use nauticals, but the eyes would unbalance it. I'll need days yet to get a wardrobe established! We'll get you a summer-neutral for now, and use that to build from, it's all I can do! How am I to work under these conditions!" howled the woman that was making everyone's life difficult.

  "I've mostly been using undyed fabrics, or hydrangea coloration," I said, and I was surprised at how meek I sounded. Like a tin can falling down after a thunderclap.

  She chuckled. "Oh, that's darling. Yes, the natural look has been in at Meadowtam for the past forty years, which as been a marvel to sew for. You main-strain Harigolds have always been so low-maintenance, and that is why it comes as such a shock that your father would stab me in the back like this. You are correct in that pastels are going to factor in here, but we'll be gravitating towards peach, mint, and powder blue. We need breezy easy colors that will pick out accents from your eyes, and will complement your complexion. I will use beige where I must, for now, and taupe and terracotta-"

  "No terracotta," I replied reflexively.

  "Thyllis! Remove rack six!" the giant shopkeeper bellowed. "Now, I know you have weeks for the first formal coming-out, so I don't need anything too formal to go out the door this week. But honestly it's going to be hard to put together a suitable debut dress, but only because I have so many sizzling bright-bolds I could use! You there! Boy!" she whirled away from the mirror to glare at Yheta. "How do you like pineapple?"

  "With custard?" he replied, unsure.

  She turned red. "How. Do you. Like the color. Of pineapple. As a dress. For this lady."

  "Oh. It... depends on the pineapple?"

  "It absolutely does not," she declared, and turned away, done with him.

  Okay, so I had an exhausting afternoon. Did we just pose for dresses and listen to her rant about my colors? No we did not. That was the early volleys, to give her stitch-team time to work. As she yelled out colors and cuts, and as Ondre scuttled about and handed off chalked-up slates full of numbers, the small team of seamstresses in the back turned to frantic activity, grabbing items off the rack and taking in, letting out, bringing up, or switching buttons and fasteners, cranking out what I know is at least a week's worth of sewing into a single afternoon.

  And, in the midst of all this fuss, there was occasional moments where everyone was paying attention to something besides myself. I reached into my pocket and drew out a small jewelry box. He had told me to open it later. I lifted the top off, and saw a small pendant necklace inside with a thin silver chain. The pendant was a small fire opal set in a shaped golden hemisphere with thin radiating bands connecting. It looked like a tiny, shimmering grapefruit.

  Our conversation about grapefruit, about the difference between understanding now versus before later, and the gentle advice he'd offered me, to not let my mission or my visions alienate me from the world I'm living in. I put it back in its box. This I would treasure.

  After that, it was time for her to bring me back to an interview room. It was soundproofed, there was a light to let her know if someone approached the door.

  I am not kidding.

  This was a control room, the hub of an information network. Corkboards on four walls and the back of the door, with maps, calendars and swatches. A full-on red-thread conspiracy board. Almanacs, stacks of letters pined to a spike, sketches, and small hand-written notebooks. She sat at the desk, and put her elbows on it, steepled her fingers under her nose. I sat down across from her, and folded my hands on my lap. If I need to I can conjure steel blades to defend myself. She's probably not impervious to bladed weapons, right?

  "Academy," she said, just that.

  "Yes?"

  "Second week of Winterwax. We will need a minimum of a six-day cool-off before that, and if we only use the minimum cool-off, people will notice that. It needs to feel casual and unforced. You're just coming off a major scandal and as always the question is do we push back against it, ignore it, or use it?"

  I felt like I needed some kind of control of this conversation now. "Um, hypothetically, what would all three of those look like?"

  "To push back against this, we invite absolutely everyone. And we leverage to make sure that the judge and the investigator are present. The judge will attend anything his wife attends, and his wife will attend anything that both Pomera Hattaly and Frana Winnton will attend. He's easy. The invitations will explicitly mention your re-introduction to the community. An off-shoulder dress with no visible jewelry. If we are leaning into it, the dominant color themes are red and the floral arrangement is calla lilies, we keep the guest list tight and the invitation will mention security and a coat-check. To ignore it, we jump to theming, in your case either musical or sorcerous."

  "I'll be honest, I'm not loving any of those."

  "That's because you're here behind the curtains being told explicitly how we are going to use details to control messaging," Lady Hanje said sternly. "We make the sausage, Lady Harigold. Now while you stew on that question, I'm going to need a full accounting of who you know in the city. Hold back nothing. Any friends, contacts, acquaintances, business associates. Co-conspirators, accomplices, henchmen. Fan clubs, lovers, deadly foes. Anyone that you know well enough to nod to from across a room. Nothing you give me will get back to your parents, your priest, or the police."

  "I'm not sure how-"

  "This list will help me determine which invitations to forward to you, who should be invited to what, whose staff I should coordinate with to make sure there are no matching outfits, what venues to rent out, what music to play- everything." She was firm. "If I send you to a spring semi-formal with the wrong handbag, you are not the only one who will be ruined."

  "It can't be that-"

  "It is that serious," Lady Hanje said. She had to be a sorceress channeling steel, right? That's the only way to sound like that. "Lady Harigold, you are new to the city and new to our ways. You are coming to us from the provinces where only real things matter, and where importance is measured by costs and consequences. That is not Hearstcliff society. The most fickle and frivolous matters will bring storms or smooth sailing. If we use the wrong fabric or patterning on your gloves when certain parties are present, that is you declaring either an equal-handed partnership with the Grennicks of Fidiange, or an intent to destroy them. And like that, you may find business permits revoked. Taxes audited. A mild-to-moderate curse placed on your dwelling or your person. Just enough poison to ruin your week. You need to take all of this very seriously because they already do. And to forestall the panic response I see building in your eyes, I will tell you that no, it is not an option to just avoid it all and sit at home like none of this can hurt you. That is not neutrality, that is snubbing, and that will provoke them to defend themselves against you while you cannot control any of your own narrative."

  I knew part of this. After all, Nathan's route as a spy has him navigating the incredibly treacherous waters of house politics. But it was a little shocking to hear how boldly and nakedly Hanje could lay it all out. A hundred details and elements that normally just got bundled as "it is not done," were now explicitly explained. A vast tradition of understandings and subtle nods was now staked out in the sunlight for me to see. I looked around the control room. This woman was running a war out of this room.

  Time to ask a question I already know the answer to! "My twin will be arriving for the start of Academy. Will he be receiving a briefing like this?"

  "Of course not. Men go to a haberdasher and pick out hats. They've got their own problems to deal with, I shall gladly leave them to it. They do not have the attention to devote to the intricacies of this conflict. This is why women respond to invitations and pick out clothing for their husbands. The menfolk do not have resources like this at their disposal. No, Nathan will be permitted to bumble around like an unmarried young man always does, stirring trouble with the patience and forbearance of all those around him. And whenever he meets a nice society lady with her own vendeuse, she also will guide him to the correct paths and steer him with a gentle hand. Unless your ladyship is volunteering to take his affairs under your tutelage?"

  "Um, not without consulting him?" I hazarded.

  "Good choice. You've got enough on your plate already, and you'll be doing entirely too much of it on your own as it is. You should not be assuming responsibility for anyone, let alone a young man, at this juncture of your life." She paused, calculating. "If you do consult him, speak with him... I will remind you to be circumspect. Not only for my own sake, as I will ask you keep all my matters confidential. But also for his own. I have been brought to understand that you and your brother have largely been very close. Loving, trusting, sharing things. You may be tempted to overstep and overshare. There is usually the temptation within young ladies after a conference like this, to run out and giddily spill the beans to some male relation who has not been prepared for this. Let me ask you this: Of all the women who loved, trusted, respected and supported their men enough to talk to them frankly, how many times do you think it went well?"

  I could tell I was being handed an easy answer. "Um, never?"

  "Exactly. They find it quite emasculating. Men may be allowed to think that women have little gossip sessions and petty grudges over clothing or invitations. It is fine to allow them to believe that. Merciful, even. Now, I'm going to leave you my card. I will hope that you will keep me apprised at least weekly on your developing friendships, relationships, enemies, frienemies, and your now-and-thenemies. At your age, things are volatile and I need to keep up with matters. More settled ladies may go six months at a time between updates, stopping in for the spring and autumn fashion seasons. But somehow I feel that should you live to be a hundred you will still be creating headaches for your vendeuse- you don't strike me as a troublemaker, but you often seem to be standing nearby when things happen."

  ".. Thanks?"

  "Indeed. Additionally, I will be forwarding you a list of Harigold relations within the city that you can lean on to help steer you early on. And, let's be fleshing out this list of everyone in the city that you know."

  She started digging through her desk for a fresh notebook to devote to my case while I considered. I paused in thought. I had only known her for a couple hours, and most of that was shouting. I had been recommended here by my family and Sisa... but normally when someone insists this hard that you have to trust them with everything, that's a huge red flag. Oh well. Time to risk it for the biscuit.

  "Does it count if they don't know me in return?"

  "That depends on the circumstance."

  "Psychic visions?"

  Lady Hanje stopped rooting through her desk and turned back to me, eyes spearing me like needles. "I had heard that rumor. I assumed that this was a coy little code for an existing network of informants and collaborators."

  "No ma'am."

  "Actual knowledge of the future?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  She shrugged. "I do not have a coding marker for that, so in the meantime I'll use the same marker that I do for fortune-tellers, tea leaves and dream visions. I apologize for that, but I've not the time to adjust my headings for this case. But, Lady Haringold, I believe it may be necessary for you to tell me everything."

  I did not, of course. Even someone as plugged in as Hanje and dedicated to knowing the truth behind the facade was not going to be ready to find out that she is pixels. I told her that I'd been faced with a goddess and given a broad, detailed, but not comprehensive knowledge of the future, most particularly the events that followed my brother Nathan and his life. And also, that I've by now forgotten large parts of it.

  "Ah," she said, noting in her book. "So, these are not interpersonal relationships, they are not people who will be reacting to you, or you to them, until these events of the future when you do interact? And you cannot tell me at this time when, where, how or in what way you will interact?"

  "That is correct, Lady Hanje."

  She smirked. "Well, I certainly hope your visions are useful to you in other aspects of your life because they mean precious little to me. Now, could you rank for me which houses you have the best relationships with, down to the worst, and why?"

  When I walked out of there, my head was spinning. Yheta looked extremely annoyed. A dozen handbags, shoeboxes, hatboxes, parasols, jewelry cases and tote bags full of accessories were stacked up alongside the completed dresses that were being fitted into garment bags with instructions for care, storage, maintenance and upkeep.

  "Fucking finally," he all but shouted. "How can women even spend so much time just shopping?!"

  I did not explode him but it was tempting.