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I was in search of a tailor to make a dress. The event was only a day away. I knew every seamstress and tailor would be booked. It would take a fortune to get mine rushed ahead of all the other orders.

“I need to stop at the merchant house first,” I told Riven as we passed our horses to one of the stable keeps. I tossed the boy a silver coin for his trouble. “I’ll meet you in the traders’ corridor in an hour.”

I fought the impulse to roll my eyes at his cold stare. I didn’t need to rile Riven up just as he was beginning to leave me alone. Riven nodded before he walked down the alley, disappearing into the crowd of people.

I crossed the circle, repositioning the Blade crest on my cloak. There was a line outside of the merchant house, Mortals trying their luck at a loan to buy a week’s rations. The hungry who were too sick to afford one lined the outskirts of the city.

I walked straight through the large door. I didn’t need to flash my crest. A young merchant met me at the entrance.

“How can I be of service?” he asked briskly.

“I need gold,” I said, and passed him a small piece of parchment with the sum.

“This is more than I usually draw without confirming accounts in Silstra,” the merchant explained in a quiet whisper. He didn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The king cannot wait for Silstra,” I said, tossing back my cloak to reveal the collection of blades underneath it. “I’m sure there is someone here who can testify that my account is in good standing.” The account was full, even the large sum I was drawing would do little to drain it.

“Very well. I’m sure I can make an exception.” He ran down the marble hall without saying another word. A few minutes later, he reappeared with a small wooden chest.

“In the bag is fine.” I opened a large leather pouch with a drawstring closure. The merchant slipped several smaller pouches inside, each full of gold. I tightened the bag around my shoulders before covering it again with my cloak.

My next stop was a tailor. The sign that hung over the door was cast in bronze, a spool of thread and a needle cut into the metal. Inside were dresses of every fabric imaginable. Rich hues and intricate lace shipped from every realm. None of the dresses had a price tag.

I walked into the shop. Three women ogled one of the display dresses along the window. They glanced at me, their faces immediately blanching before they turned away in silence. I kept my hood on. I’d rather the women didn’t glimpse my face, especially if they were going to attend the celebration we were crashing.

Keeping a low profile was more important than ever.

I meandered around the shop. Wilden had nodded to me when I entered, but he was busy fitting a client. She was a Mortal woman, middle-aged and finely dressed. The dress she wore was laced so tightly she took shallow breaths that made her voice come out weak and airy.

A lord’s wife, most likely. They were the only women who wanted to wear the newest fashion years after their bloom.

One dress in the back caught my eye. It was crafted from thin silks of different shades. Deep reds, bright oranges, some as black as night. They were layered on top of each other, forming a tight bodice and long sleeves. The skirt wasn’t full like other gowns worn by the aristocracy but followed the curved lines of a female body. The only hint of skin came from the high slit along one leg, ending at the hip.

The result was living flame.

I wanted to wear it, but when I walked around to see the other side, my stomach plummeted. The high neck did not continue along the back of the dress and instead, split completely to reveal an open back that only closed again just above the tailbone.

My scars itched through my tunic. There was no way I could wear the dress without exposing them. Exposing myself.

“Keera.” Wilden called my name, coaxing me from my thoughts. My gaze instantly searched for the other women, but they were gone. The entire shop was empty apart from us. The sign on the door had been flipped over.

“Wilden.” I nodded, taking off my hood. Apart from the dress I wore in Aralinth, Wilden made every gown I’d ever needed for a mission. “I need a dress.”

“I figured as much,” he said. His brown curls spooled over his face, and he brushed them back.

“I like this one.” I pointed to the firestorm gown. “But...” I trailed off. Wilden knew that I liked to keep my back and arms covered. I’d never allowed him to see the scars, and he knew enough not to ask.

He traced a finger along the bodice. “Is it for the Harvest?”

“Yes, so I need something quick,” I said with a twinge of guilt.

“You always need something quick,” he joked, even though it was true. “I can make this work for you. Do you need a mask as well?” The Harvest Ball was always a masquerade.

“Yes. Something that actually disguises the face.” Some women only wore thin strips of transparent fabric. I would need to try to disguise myself as much as possible.

“Ears too?” Wilden asked, without a hint of judgment. He didn’t care who wore his gowns. He cared only about the beauty of the final look.

I nodded.