The question seems cruel, almost, in her current circumstances. Why is the book withholding the answers she desperately needs?

“Yes,” she whispers.

The ink dissolves and reforms.

Where did your purpose come from?

*

She didn’t see Priska take her leave. Didn’t say goodbye. Cilla, one of Ophelia’s ladies-in-waiting, stepped in to get her ready, and that was that.

Besides, she couldn’t spoil Ophelia’s happy mood.

Today was Ophelia’s day: the wedding dress fitting. The dress, she gathered, was the most important part of the wedding. It would be custom-made in white silk and only ever worn once, on the day of the ceremony.

As a dressmaker, Valerie approved of this tradition.

And despite the many far more pressing matters on her mind, she was looking forward to today’s outing. She’d barely gotten to explore Drakardia, and she was curious to find out how Drakonian tailors compared to her family’s store in Jairah.

When she stepped out of the white-and-silver imperial carriage with Ophelia and Lady Melody, Valerie was not disappointed.

The sun beamed down on a gleaming street of tightly packed and elegant buildings, each one built of fine brick and decorated with its own unique insignia. Lords and ladies in jackets and petticoats strolled along the wide boulevard, while horse-drawn carriages rolled through the central strip flanked by tall trees.

They entered the wedding boutique, a charming store with a whitewashed exterior and delicate gold signage that proclaimed itself a purveyor of the finest silks and wedding gowns for noble Drakonian ladies. Valerie couldn’t help smiling as she drank it all in: the standing racks of gowns, mannequins elegantly posed around the shop floor, and shelves of shoes, jewels and dried bouquets. All white, silver and gold, all gorgeous. She had walked into paradise.

The store owner, a grey-haired man in a pinstriped jacket, bowed deeply and greeted Ophelia by name. Very soon three assistants fussed over the Emperor’s daughter, while Melody gave sharp instructions to prepare them some tea.

Valerie browsed the gowns on display, taking note of the different styles and cuts. The craftswomanship was undoubtedly of high quality.

Ophelia had vanished into the dressing room to take her measurements when Melody walked over.

“So, what do you think?”

“The dresses? They’re beautiful. I haven’t seen some of these materials before.” She picked up a gossamer-light gown, letting it slide through her fingers. “Is this Dhonish silk?”

Melody tittered. “We have goods from every corner of the Empire. You stand in the very centre of the world. But I’m glad it meets your standards. Help me pick out the best for Ophelia, would you?”

They perused the gowns, Valerie automatically cataloguing each one, assessing its quality and potential fit. She glanced sideways at Melody. The other lady seemed as put-together as ever, sweeping about the store in her hooped gown and feathered hat. But she remembered how Lady Juliana had talked about her, the disgust in the Empress’s voice…

She let her hand brush Melody’s arm. “I heard about your husband. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Melody’s mouth tightened. Then she turned away. “Ophelia! Are you ready?”

Valerie let it go. She joined Melody and Ophelia in the fitting room, where they spent the next two hours trying what felt like every gown in the shop while Ophelia dithered over which style she preferred. Long sleeves or sleeveless? One piece or two pieces? Figure-hugging or puffy skirt? What size of train? Valerie and Melody had strong but conflicting opinions on each of these matters.

“Bigger is all the rage, darling. You simply must make a statement.”

“Dress to suit your figure,” Valerie argued. “You’re the Emperor’s daughter, you set the standard. Whatever you wear will become the fashion.”

They finally settled on the first gown that she had picked out, Valerie leaving the assistant with detailed instructions on exactly how to adjust it. But the day wasn’t done.

“Well,” said Melody, “since we’re here, shall we take a look at the evening gowns? That is, if you’re planning to make your debut this season?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Season?”

Melody explained on their way out: “Every summer, we introduce our noble sons and daughters to high society. It’s a chance for every young lady to secure her marriage prospects with our most eligible bachelors. Didn’t Lord Avon tell you? He’s going to be the star attraction.”

“He’s what?”

“Oh,” said Ophelia, “Father is very keen for James to remarry. He will be searching for a good match, I think.” Then she saw Valerie’s face and flushed. “I didn’t mean…”

“You needn’t worry,” said Melody. “He can perfectly well manage a wife and a mistress.”

Her stomach dropped. They walked into the next store, the racks filled with gowns and accessories of all shapes and colours and for all occasions: day wear, evening wear, dinner wear, night wear… It was a feast for the eyes, yet she barely saw it.

What did it matter to her if Avon remarried? She had no claim on him. They had never slept together, let alone entered into any real relationship. Her status as his consort was a pretence, a way for him to keep her by his side while he employed her services as a sorcerer.

But it did matter. She could tell by the way her stomach churned, her mouth turning dry. It mattered because she had to consider anyone entering into an intimate relationship with Avon a threat. She needed him infatuated with her and only her.

And the lines of their relationship had become blurred…

She grabbed a gown off the rack and made her way to the fitting rooms. There she hid herself in a small private booth, pulled the curtain across, and fished a piece of paper out of her purse. It was the list of names that Avon had given her earlier that morning. She’d gone over it with Ophelia and added her own notes:

Lord Terrence Canwell, Duke of Arden (Senate, A already met)

Lord Beathan Rutherford, Archbishop of Arden (Senate?)

Lord Theodore Warren, Duke of Glost (Senate?)

Baron Madoc Frask, Master of Administration (Council?)

Lord Rhys Avon, the Admiral (Emperor’s brother, A’s uncle, ex-Council)

Lord Rupert Gideon, the Patriarch (head of the Senate)

After they’d parted, Avon had gone off to visit the Duke of Glost. He wanted the senators to agree to meet her. She had no doubt that he would work his way through this list, except perhaps for one name…

“Lady Melody?” she called. “Can you help me with this?”

She pulled the gown over her head, letting it drape awkwardly around her shoulders.

Melody came in and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing? Arms up. That’s it.”

She turned Valerie around with a brisk, practised air and pulled down the fabric. Their eyes met through the standing mirror. That sharp gaze reminded her of a hawk, but there was something darker too. A deep sadness… or fury. She couldn’t tell which.

“Melody,” she began.

“If you’re going to offer your sympathies for my husband, don’t.” Melody began fastening her corset. “He was a useless heap of dung, and now he’s dead.”

“Okay,” she said, taken aback. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something else. What do you think of Lord Falconer?”

“As a marriage partner? I think he’s a terrible mistake.”

That startled her. “Really? Why?”

“The Emperor’s daughter is far too valuable to marry off to some blowhard from the provinces.”

“Oh. I was starting to like him.”

She hadn’t considered it that way. Valerie had been more concerned with how Ophelia would fare in this forthcoming marriage.

Melody's expression softened. “Is he kind? That’s something, I suppose. Most of us don’t expect such treatment.”

She thought of the bruises on her back, how Avon had insisted on punishing her again. He’d treated it as normal. Valerie rolled her shoulders, grimacing. What did it matter if everything in Drakon was greater, richer, more opulent? She’d choose the Crescent store in Jairah any day.

“Do you think you’ll remarry?” she asked.

“I doubt it.”

“What about your benefactor?”

Melody continued tightening the corset. Her fingers hadn’t once slipped. “What about him?”

“The Empress said you went to the Gideons for help.”

“And?” Melody’s tone was frosty.

“Are you okay? It’s not a trick question. I want to help.”

“How kind.” Melody looked away. “I’m surprised you have time to worry about anyone else. The capital hasn’t been kind to you, has it?”

“You heard about the Senate, then.”

“Everyone did, darling.”

So everyone was talking about her. And she hated feeling out of the loop. Valerie suppressed a sigh, shifting to dislodge Melody from tightening the gown any further. This dress didn’t fit. She’d picked it for the colour, a striking sky blue, but she didn’t like the low neckline. Melody took the hint and started unlacing the corset instead, undoing her previous work.

“What are they saying?”

Melody raised an eyebrow. “They’re saying you bewitched Lord Avon and got away with murder.”

That sounded about right. She couldn’t even feel angry about it. Did Avon really think that these people would accept her?

“I didn’t bewitch Lord Avon,” she said. “You have to believe me on that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t need to.”

“It’s the Patriarch who has it out for me. He’s using me as a scapegoat to get at Lord Avon. You’re connected to him, aren’t you? Is there any way you could arrange a meeting?”

Melody gave a soft laugh. “So that you can bewitch him too?”

“I would if I could. Look,” she went on, guessing at what to say, “if you’re beholden to him in some way, we can help. I’m not here to take pity on you. I want your help too.”

Silence.

The corset came loose. Valerie removed it, and Melody gave a soft gasp. Of course. The bruises on her back were still healing. She turned around, catching the other lady’s disturbed expression for just a moment before Melody gathered herself.

“Well,” said Melody, “why don’t we choose a gown with a higher neckline? You’ll look absolutely darling.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “Do you also favour a high neckline?”

“There’s nothing quite so flattering.” Melody gave a tight smile. “I’d better see how Ophelia is getting on.”

She pulled open the curtain. Valerie grabbed her arm. “Will you at least think about what I said? Please?”

Melody looked at her for a long moment. “I’ll take it under consideration.” She gave a small huff, and Valerie let go of her arm. “Do you have any clue about this upcoming season?”

“No, I… I mean, Ophelia is trying her best to help me, but… She’s not you.”

“Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere.” Had Melody’s cheeks turned slightly pink? “Fortunately for you, I’m organising the summer ball. It’s being hosted by the Gideons. I’ll send you an invitation.”

With that, she disappeared out of the fitting room. Valerie stared after her. Slowly, the anxiety she’d felt after the revelation about Avon possibly remarrying bubbled away into something like triumph. Meeting with the Gideons. Check.

She only hoped this summer ball was scheduled before the election.