Milvara, watching, laughs, “I told you that man wasn’t interested in you.”
Attia huffs a bit and keeps sulking. The bell tinkles as Atres opens the door, ushering in Nia and a dwarf.
“The coat is only a muslin version,” Milvara explains, “We’ll use it for the pattern. I want to make sure of the placement of the fasteners and the collar before we commit the leather to it. I’ve made other leather pants and jackets for her, so the pants, blouse, vest, and scarf are ready. The boot shop two doors down has her boots, and they’re ready as well.”
“Let me go fetch them,” Atres offers, “Then if the hems need adjusting, you can do that.”
Milvara nods and sends Emlyn into a dressing room to change. Atres returns a few moments later, carrying a pair of boots that he passes to Milvara, who dutifully passes them to Emlyn, since Attia is still sulking in the storage room. After a few minutes, Emlyn emerges in the King’s Guard uniform topped by a muslin version of Atres’s coat. Milvara measures and then pins the buckles and straps that fasten the coat into place approximately where she thinks they should fall. The effect on Emlyn is almost corset-like, enhancing her figure significantly. Loket palms his face. To double-check the placement and overall fit, Milvara directs her to work through one of her practice patterns.
“You can stop now,” Milvara says. “We’ll replace this seam with a gusset so you have more ease without disrupting the silhouette. I believe she’s recognizable as one of your own, but I’ve made some significant changes to the pattern to fit her different build. What do you think?”
Milvara begins marking up the coat with the gussets and the places she wants to adjust the fit.
“I think it’s going to take more than war braids, Girlie,” Loket frowns. “Are you sure she has to wear this?”
“I’ll have the patterns for the rest of her uniforms delivered to you,” Atres nods in approval.
Glancing at Loket, Atres shrugs, “We have several uniforms. This was the most complicated and unforgiving of them. Usually, our tailors would make them, but since fy lleidr bach was uncomfortable with men fussing over the fit of her jacket or the inseam of her pants, I came here because Milvara already makes her clothes. Many of us prefer our leathers, especially this time of year, but it’s not a strict requirement to wear them most of the time. When it is, she needs to have at least one set.”
Giving Atres a sideways glare, Loket turns to Milvara. “I don’t suppose you’d know someone who can put her hair up in war braids, would you?”
“I might,” Milvara says. “Let me get her information for you.”
Flipping through her notebook, Milvara finds the entry she’s looking for and scratches out a name and address on a scrap of paper. She hands it to Loket, but Emlyn takes it from him.
“We’ll send a courier to see if there’s an appointment available once Horvath is done with the rings. He said to give him four days, and it’s only been two,” she says.
Emlyn changes back into her own clothes and leaves the King’s Guard uniform with Milvara. She steps outside to wait while Atres finishes ordering her remaining uniforms.
“Besides, I think I’ll be needing the weeping skull war paint to go with the braids,” Emlyn grimaces.
Loket’s eyebrows go up, but he sighs and nods, “Most likely. I doubt any of these lordlings around here will know what that means, though. I’m surprised you know how to do it.”
“Neit taught me,” Emlyn shrugs, “when we were hiding in the wilderness. We painted ourselves every night before we’d raid Tir Diffaith. I think it’s part of the reason some of them fled, thinking we were vengeful ghosts.”
“Where did Neit learn that?” Loket asks. “He never said exactly,” Emlyn shrugs, “but I think it had something to do with one of his sisters.”
While Loket and Emlyn chat outside, Attia peeks out of the stockroom and sees Atres alone with Milvara. Deciding to try again, she fluffs up her cleavage and drops a button. Carrying a bolt of cloth out, she sets up at the worktable closest to Atres and begins laying out a pattern backward and upside down.
Sighing, Milvara looks at Attia and says, “Attia, why don’t you go make me another cup of tea?”
Huffing, with her plan foiled, Attia goes to make tea. While Attia is gone, Atres asks about the cost of a wedding dress.
Milvara shrugs, “The sky is the limit,” but most prices range from one to three thousand ducats, with simpler ones possibly costing less. Our minimum is about five hundred ducats.”
Atres nods, “Yes, I think I can handle that.”
“Send the girl here so we can measure her,” Milvara says.
Atres’s grin widens. “She just left. I haven’t asked her yet, so I’m trusting your discretion.”
Milvara looks toward Nia standing in the street, then at Atres, and grins.
“Let me know when it’s time,” she says with a smile.
“One thousand and seventy-six days,” Atres replies.
“That’s oddly specific,” Milvara comments.
“She says that’s when she’ll be old enough, so I wait patiently for the lady,” Atres explains.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Attia returns with Milvara’s tea just in time to see Atres stepping out the door and pout.
Milvara looks at her and laughs, “I told you that man wasn’t the slightest bit interested in you. He’s planning to ask Nia to marry him. He just inquired about how much a wedding dress for her would cost.”
Attia sets the tea down and stomps off, much to Milvara’s amusement.
Outside, Atres hails a carriage. “Argonath might have a point about his staff meetings,” Atres grins at her, “You were quite fetching and that wasn’t even the leather version of the coat.”
“I’m going to end up punching a lot of people,” Emlyn says darkly, “Some King’s Guard and some lordlings. You’d best warn Argonath. Or maybe not. Maybe I should show up in it and let the chaos ensue. If I were stronger, I would.”
“We’ll figure that out when Otrin’s back,” Loket nods, “You might end up having to spend a few nights in the clan vault, but I think we can fix that.”
“What do you think is wrong?” Atres asks, “Benger seems to think that she pushes herself too hard. I tend to agree with that.”
“Pushing herself probably isn’t helping much, but I don’t think that’s the only issue. They probably couldn’t get much food into you during that first month,” Loket grimaces. “That’s a long time to go without a meal. It’s even longer when you’re trying to recover from something that serious.”
“It was quite some time before they started giving me solid food,” Emlyn agrees, “I thought I was starving.”
“You were starving, Girlie,” Loket nods, “And they were healing you, so you should have been eating even more than usual, but you weren’t. Lounge around and eat until Otrin’s back.” Loket looks at Atres, “Line up some diversions for her. Three days’ worth, since that’s when Otrin said he’d be back.”
“Hmmm,” Atres muses, “A ride and a picnic by the river sound lovely. We still need to finish poking around the armory. I know a great place to take you for dinner. There’s a military museum here that might interest you. There are a few plays you might enjoy. If you’ve never seen the ballet or the opera, I could take you to see it. Harito has several things to do, but also a few to avoid. Some shows are probably a bit bawdy. The gaming houses probably aren’t appealing to you either. All that’s assuming the archivists don’t load us up with a trove of dusty records to dig through. I’d be just as happy curled up with you, a good bottle of wine, and a bunch of old, dusty tomes.
Loket gives him a look, but Atres shrugs, “I’ve promised. She’s safe.”
“It’s not that. Don’t take her to the gaming houses,” Loket grins. “She’ll skin them alive. She’s almost unbeatable at cards since she can memorize the deck. If she can get the dice in her hand to throw them, she’s almost unbeatable at that, too. If they make her use a cup to throw them, then it’s a bit harder for her to make them land like she wants, but she’s still been accused of cheating. They always accuse her of cheating. It never ends well.”
“Gaming houses are unpleasant places,” Atres shrugs. “I don’t care for them or many of the people who go there. I wouldn’t want to take her into any of them. Too many of the men might get the wrong ideas about why she was there.”
“Where did you learn to play cards and dice?” Atres asks.
“In the barracks,” Emlyn shrugs. “I liked to go out among my troops. I learned quickly that if I didn’t want to end up skint, I’d have to be able to outplay them, so I learned to do it. I never walked away with much or lost much after that. I got to sit and listen to my troops, see how they were feeling, and hear about their concerns. It would cost me a bottle of whiskey and some time, but they’d eventually loosen up and talk over the game.”
“I suppose I can see the sense in that,” Atres nods. “I’ve done something similar to get people to open up a bit.”
“It let them feel like they got to know me a bit,” Emlyn nods. “Because I took the time to try to get to know them a bit, many were incredibly loyal. I don’t think any of the other Awsts put in that kind of effort. I had one fellow, low ranking, but his wife was pregnant with twins. She kept going into early labor, and the healers kept stopping it just in time. I told my adjunct to send him home until the babies were born. I let him use up two years’ worth of leave to stay home and take care of his wife. Even though he wouldn’t see those children until they were two, he was incredibly grateful because his wife and both children survived. When one of my Marchogs was planning to throw the melee against the Third Awst, he found out about it and came to tell me.
“What happened?” Atres asks.
“The Third Awst had resorted to trying to bribe my troops to lose on purpose to force us to go to the king for him to break the tie. I made sure that Marchog got transferred out into the Fourth Awst’s command before I leveled the accusations. When the Marchog was called to testify, he did so, as his new commander, the Fourth Awst, hated the Third Awst for having displaced him originally. The Third Awst wasn’t allowed to challenge me for some time after that,” Emlyn grins, “The king was quite upset, and the Third Awst got all the worst assignments from then on. If there were ditches to be dug, latrines to manage, earthworks to build, or any of that, he got stuck with it. His troops quickly came to despise him for it. They started calling him Awst Twyllwr. That means ‘General Cheater’, in case you were wondering. Some of the bolder ones even called him that to his face.”
“Hmm,” Atres nods, “I can see that happening. I know how some of Dorak’s men refer to him. A couple of them call him Dullard, a couple of more call him Dotard, a few more call him something else that begins with D.”
“I’m not surprised,” Emlyn shrugs, “If you want to be respected, you have to be respectable, and he’s not. He let Rirdec pull that stunt and didn’t even try to stop him. If one of mine had tried that, I’d have punched him myself. I expect I’ll see some more trouble out of Rirdec. I still need to report all that business to Argonath. We should probably do that tomorrow. That way, when he tries something more serious and I have to defend myself, it’s all already on record.”
“We can certainly do that,” Atres nods, “and then go poke around the armory some more.”
Still whistling, Gramin approaches the jewelry shop and opens the door. Astridir is there, cleaning some jewelry. Pulling up a stool, Gramin perches on it and grins at her.
“You finish your work,” Gramin says, “As long as you don’t have any paying customers, we can chat a bit.”
“Thanks,” Astridir nods, “I hate leaving all this for Da to do.”
“When you’re done, maybe we go somewhere quiet to get a bit of dinner and chat a bit more? Go have a bit of fun somewhere.” Gramin asks.
“I’d like that,” Astridir nods.
“Did you find the girl you were looking for?” Astridir asks.
“We did indeed,” Gramin nods.
“Who is she really? Da says the name she gave was wrong,” Astridir asks, “I know that he sent some messages to the Sidhe Forge-Hold to see if anyone might know of her kin.”
“That’s quite a story,” Gramin says, “but not mine to tell. Those messages are a bit of a problem. Her House was… abusive. That’s why her mother asked us to take her instead of leaving her with her House. If you can cancel those messages, I’d greatly appreciate it. We’d defend her and our right to keep her with steel, if necessary, but she’s been through enough without having to see that. She’s our forge-daughter, so her family’s been found. I want to stop that before it gets started.”
“Da,” Astridir calls, “Can you come here?”
Horvath emerges from the back of the shop, and Gramin repeats the request to cancel the messages to Sidhe Forge-Hold.
“I was hoping we might help her find some of her kin,” Horvath says, “It can’t be easy to be alone in a strange place where the rules are so different. I’m still not sure which Great House she’s from. There was only one red-headed girl I knew of who would have had tattooed hands. It can’t be her, though. She’d be dead of old age by now, even if she survived the Culling.”
“She’s our forge-daughter,” Gramin shrugs, “You can tell anyone who asks in good conscience that you’ve spoken to her father. As for the Culling, you get a god or three involved in something and logic runs away screaming
Want to binge the future? > I have months of backlog for Order of the Storm Crow waiting for you. Get 50+ chapters ahead of Royal Road today!
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Current Count: 42 "Long-Term Investments" and 1 "Discreet Inquiry."
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Observation: "Atres is playing the ultimate long game. He’s already talking to the tailor about wedding dresses while there are still one thousand and seventy-six days on the clock! He even told Milvara he’s 'waiting patiently for the lady.' It’s revoltingly noble. He also managed to scare off that shop girl, Attia, who was fluffing her cleavage at him. He didn't even notice her! The man is either the most loyal suitor in history or his dragon-blood has rendered him blind to anything that doesn't have red hair and a temper."
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Official Entry: Pattern Receipt: One King’s Guard Muslin Test Garment; Adjusted for Cymry build with added gussets.
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Boltir’s Correction: "RE-CLASSIFIED: 'The Armor of Distraction.' I’ve added a warning to the file that if Nia wears this to a staff meeting, Argonath will have 100% attendance but 0% productivity. Also, I’ve scribbled out the section on 'Wedding Dress Estimations.' This is a military archive, not a bridal catalog! If Atres wants to spend three thousand ducats, he should spend it on a better quality of ale for the local bards."
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Current Jar Total: 250 coppers, a discarded muslin scrap, and a jar of 'Weeping Skull' war paint.
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Boltir’s Plea: "She’s talking about wearing 'weeping skull' war paint and war braids! My muse is going to look like a beautiful nightmare. Toss a coin in the jar, kin! I’m saving up for a 'Scroll of Fashionable Resilience' so I don't faint when I finally see her in those leathers. Also, leave a review if you think Nia should start the 'Tiger training' by making Atres carry her shopping bags through the market for the next three days!"
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