Ferran's Map (36 page)

Dumbfounded by his presence, Sora took the
offered seat and accepted a cup of tea from the maid. Ferran met
her gaze curiously but she looked away. Calm down, she said to
herself firmly. She needed to regain her composure. She played with
the teacup, and wondered again if Lord Gracen recognized her.

The conversation continued. Sora listened to
Martin chat idly about a few recent business arrangements, and a
joint venture with the Daniellians. Ferran leaned forward with
interest when he heard the name. She noticed he asked quite a few
questions about the doings of Cedric Daniellian, now head of the
Daniellian estate and a patron of the Healing seminary.

As Ferran and Martin spoke, Lord Gracen
turned to her with a wan smile. “It’s a pleasure to make your
acquaintance, Lady Sora,” he said. “Sora,” he repeated. “That’s a
unique name.”

“Oh?” she replied. Her mouth went dry.

“Yes…,” he continued, unconcerned. “In fact,
it reminds me of an incident quite a few years ago. I was called
out to the high plains to a small estate. Lord Frederick Fallcrest,
a country noble, was murdered at his daughter’s Blooming. The whole
business was very strange. Sadly, his daughter ran off into Fennbog
swamp and was killed by wild beasts.”

Sora did her best to look shocked. She even
gave a small gasp. “Eaten by wild beasts?” she murmured, hoping she
sounded appropriately disgusted. “Did they ever find her body?”

“No,” Lord Gracen said flatly. “But she was
declared dead anyway. The swamp is nigh impassable. The hunt was
abandoned about a year ago.”

“Ah,” Sora muttered. “How very sad.”

“I don’t think you’ve told me that story
before,” Martin interrupted. He gazed at Lord Gracen curiously.

Seabourne crossed his legs. “Well, they were
Second Tier. Not truly worth mentioning,” he said. “Country
nobility. No one important.”

Sora felt ruffled at that. “If it was so
unimportant, why were you called out to the countryside?” she
asked, trying to remain casual. She took a sip of tea. “Seems
strange you would travel so far, just for the murder of a country
lord….”

Gracen frowned. “Lord Fallcrest invited me
to his daughter’s Blooming and asked for a private audience. Sadly,
we never had the chance to speak.”

Martin Ebonaire held up his hand suddenly.
“Wait. I think I remember this Fallcrest fellow,” he said. “A bit
round in the middle, with a wide drawl. Balding, I think. Didn’t he
stay in the city a few years ago?”

“Aye,” Seabourne acknowledged. “He tried to
strike up a business arrangement with a few investors, something
about importing goods from down the coast. I assume his plans fell
through.”

Martin snorted. “We met briefly,” he
muttered. “I suppose my good business sense served me well. Can’t
have a man dying in the middle of a new venture.” But he seemed
troubled. “Whatever happened to his estate?”

Sora focused hard on her teacup.

Gracen sat back thoughtfully. “It was
absorbed by the King,” he said. “Fallcrest’s brother tried to claim
it, but it was tied up in court. Letters were found in Frederick’s
desk implying he had committed treason…or was it tax evasion?”
Gracen frowned. “Some such nonsense. No one likes to admit it, but
the royal family can do what they like. They sold off the land in
parcels, I believe.”

Sora felt her heart plummet, but she hid her
reaction behind a handkerchief. She pretended to dab at her lips.
Sold off? A hundred questions filled her mind, and she struggled to
keep them in check.

At that moment, Olivia appeared at the
doorway. She bowed to Martin Ebonaire. “My Lord,” she said. “I’m
sorry to interrupt. The carriage is ready and we must be
leaving.”

“Excellent timing, as I do believe we have
an afternoon ride planned,” Lord Martin agreed. “And remind Donwick
that Ferran’s wife will be arriving this evening, will you? We must
prepare a room for her.” He stood up, as did the other men.

Sora set down her tea and got up. Lord
Martin took her hand in farewell; his touch was surprisingly warm
and gentle. “I’ve given a stipend to Olivia for your new wardrobe.
Don’t hurry, take your time and enjoy the city.”

Sora nodded. Don’t hurry? she wondered.
Perhaps Lord Martin wanted more time to feel out his rogue brother
and discover his true intentions.

“I will take my leave then,” Lord Gracen
said in farewell. “I have business in the Gentleman’s District,
then off to the royal court for a hearing this afternoon.”

“An eventful day, as always,” Martin
grinned. “And tomorrow? Will you be busy with the parade?”

“Same as every year,” Lord Gracen said
dryly. The weight of responsibility dampened his voice. A maid
entered with his cane and coat. He donned them both, turned and
strode away, his cane tapping rhythmically on the polished wooden
floor.

Sora gazed after him, filled with both
relief and burning curiosity. Her stepfather, accused of treason?
Her estate dissolved? It didn’t sit right. She craved to know
more.

And then, that long-ago question—who hired
Crash to kill her father? Was the culprit here in this very city?
In The Regency, perhaps?

She sighed softly, wondering where Crash had
gone. He wasn't there that morning, and she had expected him to
accompany her around The Regency. His absence bothered her more
than she wanted to admit. What if they ran across the Shade? Olivia
wouldn’t be much help in a fight. Weren’t they supposed to be
looking for Burn, and for the Shade’s hideout?

She shared a look with Ferran; his eyes
cautioned her to be careful. Then she curtsied elegantly and left
the room, with Olivia in tow.

CHAPTER 21

By noon, The Regency streets were crowded
with foot traffic, and carriages traveled slowly down the
cobblestone roads. In some places, the snow had melted and formed
slick patches of black ice. Horses picked their dainty way to and
fro. The air felt crisp and moist through the open window of the
Ebonaire carriage; each breath tasted of fresh snow and pine.

The Flower District spanned four blocks on
the far west side of The Regency. Sora thought it resembled
something out of a storybook. Clean cobblestones and wide
flagstones paved the road. Signs painted with fancy gold-leaf
lettering hung above each boutique. Despite the layer of snow
dusting the streets, winter blossoms grew in long planters by the
side of the road. Flowers bloomed beneath windowsills, above
doorways, or in large pots next to the entrance of each store. She
recognized bright pink camellias, dainty white snowdrops, sprawling
winter jasmine and bushels of purple violets, all hardy plants with
small, bright petals that could resist the frost. She imagined in
Spring the District would be overflowing with color and rich
perfume. And bees, she thought.

Many ladies walked slowly along the street
with their maids or footmen. Older women traveled with their
servants or a single companion, while the younger girls moved in
large packs, giggling and laughing with each step. They wore skirts
supported by wide panniers, just like Sora’s, and fur-lined cloaks
buttoned tight around their shoulders. Some wore decorative hats
above lavish, curled hair.

Sora remembered Olivia trying to thrust such
a hat upon her this morning. She declined, and wore her hair
braided. Her lack of glamour seemed not to impress Olivia in the
least.

She didn’t know which families the women on
the street hailed from, but judging by their dress, she realized
Olivia’s extravagant gown wasn’t over-the-top. Lady Danica
obviously had expensive taste, but her gowns were elegant, almost
understated. Some of the girls wore dresses with large, puffy
sleeves and gaudy patterns, or feathers pinned every which way on
their bodice. They looked like bright, bejeweled peacocks. Sora
glanced down at her royal blue skirts again and thought, Expensive,
but tasteful.

As their carriage pulled up alongside a
group of stores, the driver opened the door and helped them step
out.

“Here, Milady,” Olivia said, directing her
to the nearest boutique. “First, we shall secure several day-gowns,
then a few dinner gowns, and a costume for the winter festival,
which we can get at a store up the street. How many weeks will you
be staying? Have you given thought to your mask for the festival?
Black is very much in-style this season.”

“Black?” Sora asked, surprised.

Olivia nodded. “Traditional, I know, but the
queen wore a black swan costume last year, and now all the young
ladies want one. Lady Danica had her costume specially made by the
Queen’s own designer. She likes to compete with the princess, you
see…just for sport, of course. This season, she aims to win.”

Sora stared at the maid, unable to think of
a response. Olivia politely ignored her shocked expression. Lady
Danica, competing with the royal princess
just for
sport
?

Olivia linked arms with Sora and escorted
her up the street. “You’ve come a bit late in the season to have
your costume made,” she continued, “but perhaps we can find a
seamstress who’s willing to make alterations to a previous
design….You
are
staying for winter solstice eve, are you
not?”

Sora grimaced at that. “Yes,” she said
shortly.
But not for the dancing.

Olivia led her to a nearby boutique. A stone
lintel arched over the door; the building's facade resembled a
quaint country cottage. Inside, the floor was made of gleaming
mahogany wood and white plaster walls. Rolls of fabric and strips
of embroidery lined a long, narrow aisle that was the only pathway
through the small store.

Upon setting foot inside, Sora noted a large
desk to their left. A short, gray-haired clerk sat behind it,
poring over a bundle of dark green fabric. As he glanced up over
his thick spectacles, his gaze drifted over Sora and focused on
Olivia with immediate recognition.

“My darling!” the clerk exclaimed as he
jumped up. He immediately rounded the desk and approached at an
excited pace. He grasped Olivia’s hand with a flourish and kissed
the back of her palm. “My dear girl, how are you? And who is this
lovely lady you bring to my shop?”

Olivia grinned. “Oh, Edward, you are too
much!” she gushed, then stepped aside and indicated Sora with a
swift curtsy. “This is Lady Sora Ebonaire, a cousin of Lady
Danica’s who is visiting for the winter season.”

A spark appeared in the clerk’s eyes:
Ebonaire
meant wealth. He turned to Sora with a vibrant
smile. “Lady Sora!” the clerk greeted her. He said her name in a
way that sounded respectful and endearing all at once.

Sora became acutely aware of her deception.
She forced herself not to curtsy in return. An Ebonaire would only
bow to those of equal or greater rank—namely, the royal
bloodline—so she remained aloof.
Just say nothing,
she
thought.

The clerk recovered from her silence.
“Welcome to
Winsome Couture
, a boutique specializing in the
most current fashion trends!” he said, even more eager to please.
“Our seamstresses work extensively with the royal family and all
the upper tier. We just finished a new ball gown for Lady Marcella
LeCroy, a good friend of Danica’s. I don’t suppose you know
her?”

“No,” Sora replied.

“Ah, well, you are in good hands, I assure
you. Let’s take your measurements.”

Edward led them down the narrow aisle to the
back of the store. Sora felt suffocated by so many reams of cloth.
Every kind of fabric imaginable spilled from the walls: bundles of
silk, piles of brocade, streams of chiffon, rolls of cotton and
velvet. Finally, she found herself at the rear of the boutique, in
a quaint circular room surrounded by mirrors. Potted ivy and large
indoor ferns grew along the walls. Sora was mildly impressed.
Despite the fact that the boutique resembled a messy closet, it was
still decorated in style.

Olivia led her behind one of the mirrors to
a small changing stall. There, Sora removed her dress and panniers
until she wore only her undergarments. She hesitated when Olivia
tried to escort her back to the measuring room, and the maid smiled
sweetly.

“Don’t worry, Milady. This is routine,” she
assured.

Sora nodded. Strange, that she could traipse
around the Lost Isles in a ripped shirt and no shoes without a
second thought, but removing her skirts in The Regency gave her
pause.

Olivia escorted her back into the room and
helped her onto a small footstool. Then Edward returned with a
strip of measuring cloth. He bustled about with a professional air,
and Sora stood patiently as he measured her arms, bust, waist and
hips. He jotted down numbers, occasionally muttering to
himself.

“Thank you, Milady,” he said as he finished.
“This has given me much to work with.”

The short ritual finished, Olivia assisted
her back into her dress and they returned to the front of the
shop.

“Do you have a certain style in mind?” the
clerk asked. “Let me show you our design book.”

Sora opened her mouth to respond, but Olivia
took over at that point, explaining to him that several dresses
were to be made. She listed a series of possible fabrics and cuts.
Sora stayed behind as Edward led Olivia to the design book at his
desk as ideas rolled easily off his tongue. Her eyes glazed over.
She wanted to go explore the city, not spend all day standing on a
stool, wrapped in cloth and stuck full of needles.

She looked out the front window at the line
of shops across the narrow street.

An hour or more had passed since they had
arrived at the shop, and the clouds were thinning overhead as the
afternoon sun grew warmer. At times, a ray of sunlight broke
through the dense sky to melt the frozen cobblestones.

A carriage passed. Sora frowned. Was that
the Seabourne crest painted on the door?