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“I don’t have an address in the city,” the trader said. “I work out of the traders’ market, and sleep in my cart.”

She hadn’t considered this.

“Then you’ll need to find a shopkeeper willing to let you work out of his or her shop in exchange for a portion of the profits.”

“Well, all of it will be profit,” the trader chuckled, “but I don’t need to tell them that.”

“No, you can keep that part to yourself, make as much as you can.”

The trader nodded. “And then?”

“And then the orders will come. And you sell the shirts, but be sure to make it clear there are a very limited number.” She paused. “What were you told about the shirt with the feathers? The one you showed me.”

“That’s the one for the Queen’s Herald.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It’s only supposed to be sold to him. No one else. Of course, I never thought that would be possible.”

“It’s more than possible. You keep that one aside. Even if someone comes when there are none left but that one, and begs you to sell them a shirt, you don’t do it. You hold your nerve. The Herald will covet one of his very own. And when he sends someone to you to buy one, you’ll be able to tell them you have one left.”

“And this will work?”

“Of course.” She forced herself to smile. “And at the end of this, you’ll be so pleased you were true to your promise, and you’ll be reminded that integrity pays higher dividends than greed.”

“So true. So true.” He nodded sagely. “You are wise beyond your years.”

“One last thing.” Ava looked around the cart, saw there were plenty of garments stacked into specially built shelves. “Do you have a cloak you can sell me?”

“I have a few.” The trader stood and began rifling through the stacks. “This is my best one.” He flicked out an armful of gray fabric and it swirled into a cloak with a hood. “It’s lined with brushed cotton, not silk, but it’s warm.”

Ava took it from him. Her old cloak hadn’t had a lining. She liked this one. She could embroider it on the inside. Where the workings would be closer to her skin, and out of sight.

She glanced around for something to give him, thinking that handing over something, an item he could take in his hands, would be best. She saw a collection of buttons in a small bowl and scooped some up.

“You drive a hard bargain, but the wool is fine, and as you say, the lining is warm.” She dropped the buttons into his hand.

“Well,” he smiled as he closed his fingers over them, “a trader has to make a living. But you’re right, the wool is fine. It will see you through winter.”

“And you of course will be making a lot of money from those shirts.” Money from her work. Although, truth be told, he could make a small fortune, and she would count it as a fair trade if her plan worked and her cousin put that shirt on.

More than fair.

That he had decided to renege on the bargain he had struck with her grandmother’s housekeeper, Velda, made her feel no guilt at taking the cloak. He was lucky not to be bleeding.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Ava walked to the cart’s opening and dropped down.

The trader followed, a little wobbly on his feet. “Likewise. It’s been a revelation talking to you.”

“Two more things before I go.” Ava waited until he was beside her on the ground before she covered his hands, still clutching the scrap of fabric, with her own.

“Yes?” He blinked up at her guilelessly.

“Never, ever touch the shirts. Or allow anyone else to do it. You know they have to be pristine and the people you’ll be selling them to will not tolerate a single snag.”

“Of course.” He sounded almost insulted. “Not a finger. Not even my own!”

“Good. And lastly, everything we’ve talked about is our little secret.” She tapped her nose just as he had. “We wouldn’t want any of this getting back to the Grimwalt court’s messenger.”

“No.” He gave a low chuckle. “Not a word.” He mimed sewing up his lips.

She pulled the fabric from his fingers, and grasped his shoulder. “Thank you again. You emptied my coin bag, but I think the cloak is worth it.”