“Always has been,” I agree. “So what will we be doing while Filadon is off being noble?”
“Unfair!” Filadon cries. “I demand company. Surely you don’t intend to ignore me for your whole stay?”
“I’m here for Melly, not you,” I inform him equably.
Melly, ignoring Filadon, says, “I am hoping to introduce you to my circles before the wedding, and of course you’ll meet the royal family at some point in the festivities. As such, our first order of business will be to expand your wardrobe.”
No doubt because courtiers don’t usually take care of their own horses, or wear the clothes to do so. I muster up a smile and nod. “I thought you might say that.”
Melly raises her brows. “Oh, well done, Rae! Not even a grumble!”
I raise my brows in return and say earnestly, “I believe going to court is rather like going to war: one must wear the appropriate armor, or expect to be stabbed through and trampled underfoot.”
Filadon huffs with laughter. “Well, Melly, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Rae is clearly prepared for politics.”
Melly just hmms softly and offers me a cup of mint tea.
The next two days pass in a whirl of cloth and confusion. I must get used to small things I’ve never thought about before—having a bed that I might fall off, rather than a mat I can roll away each morning; having a bathing room attached to our apartments with flowing water rather than a bucket and washcloth. “We can visit the palace bathhouse if you prefer,” Melly tells me, and though we have a communal bathhouse back home too, I don’t take her up on it.
But the majority of my time is spent shopping. Melly takes me out into the city to search for all the fabric and trimmings we’ll need. “We’ll use my palace seamstress,” she tells me. “But there’s no reason you shouldn’t see a bit more of Tarinon.”
The more I see, though, the more I wonder about the division between the palace and the people. In Sheltershorn, no one is truly poor. Not in the way I see here, half-clothed children, all sinew and bone, running past the door of a shop selling imported silks. It feels . . . wrong, somehow, to be buying such extravagant fabrics, ordering beadwork and embroidery done, when the moment we step outside, we cross paths with laborers in ragged clothing, their faces tight with exhaustion.
Still, I can’t go to noble gatherings in just the clothes I’ve brought with me—however nice the three new outfits Mama and Niya made for me may be, they won’t last me the whole of my stay.
On our second afternoon, as we step out from a shop where we have just purchased an abundance of lace, I spot a sidewalk vendor selling fried flatbreads from his cart.
“Come on.” I grab Melly’s hand and tug her along. “I need to eat.”
Her eyes light up. “I haven’t had street food in forever.” She casts a wary glance back to the main road, where we left the carriage.
“Why?”
“Nobles don’t eat off the street,” she says.
“What?” At her somber nod, I drag her forward with renewed determination. “Who’s going to tell? Come on, I think he even has spiced potato ones.”
Melly follows along more than willingly, happily buying two for herself. We meander down the alley, for the first time all day not actually shopping.
“Is it hard?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Melly sends me a curious glance.
“Being noble, I mean? Not having grown up that way?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if I would have chosen it, if I’d understood,” she says. “We all have ideas about how wonderful it must be to wed a lord, or live at court, or whatever. It isn’t all pretty dresses and gold.”
“I don’t believe you ever thought it would be.”
She finishes her flatbread, wiping the grease from her fingers onto a handkerchief. “No,” she says. “But I still didn’t truly know how my life would change. Lucky for Filadon, hmm?”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“In part.” She grins. “Why do you think we visit you all in the country every year?”
“Must be to curry favor with the high-ups,” I say wryly.
Melly’s laugh is a short, halfhearted one, quickly gone. “I miss little things,” she admits. She gestures vaguely to the alley. “Filadon and I discussed whether I should call in the merchants I order from, or whether you might enjoy going out into the city more. We both agreed on this. Once I’ve introduced you to the other ladies and we start accepting invitations, you likely won’t get much chance to go out.”
“What do you mean I won’t go out?” I demand, bewildered.
“Not like this. Seeing all the shops, wandering the city? It isn’t done.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Melly insists, gesturing to the muddy patches in the unevenly cobbled road. “Can you imagine a court lady walking through this muck?”
“How do they buy what they want, then?”
“We all have our preferred tailors or jewelers or what-have-you who come up to the palace and take our orders from the comfort of our own sitting rooms.”
It takes me a moment to process her words. “You mean, they never leave the palace?”
“Not to shop. And not to just browse and wander. There are a few parks, a river walk, that noble parties will frequent. They drive there and back, though.”
“But how do they know they’re really getting what they want if they haven’t seen what’s available?” And how do they know what’s really happening with the common people if they live their lives shut up in their gilded rooms? No wonder neither the king nor the nobles have done anything to stop the snatchers. They’ve nothing to do with the world around them.
“All the best things come to the palace,” Melly says.
I raise my brows in disbelief.
Melly smirks. “Fine, then. We’ll never know if some merchant who isn’t among the favored few has something amazing, because we’ll never see it.”
“That’s absurd.” To think they believe themselves the best, when they’re shuttered away like ailing nanny goats.
Melly shrugs. We turn back toward the main road, nodding to the shopkeepers whose merchandise we’ve already looked at. My eyes alight on a young man sitting on a stool at the front corner of a shop. He has a small bowl on his lap with a heap of early peas to shell, but his fingers have gone still, a single pea pod hanging from his fingertips. His eyes are dim, unfocused. As I watch, the shopkeeper crosses to him and gently lays her hand on his shoulder, calling his name. He doesn’t respond.
“Rae?”
I glance to Melly, find her watching me. “That boy,” I whisper. “Is he all right?”
She follows my gaze to the boy and we watch as the shopkeeper takes the bowl and sets it aside, then helps the boy up and guides him to the back of the shop.
“Come,” Melly says, threading her fingers through mine and leading me toward the carriage.
“Melly?” I ask as we cross the pavers.
“He’s as well as he’ll ever be, Rae. He has the look of someone who’s been touched by the Darkness. There’s nothing anyone can do for him but treat him gently and help him through his days.”