Page 57 of A Tower of Half-Truths

She returned to the main room with an eruption of sound, followed by an equally jarring return to silence when she closed the door behind her.

She returned a moment later, carrying several dresses.

Unlike the pastels and bold patterns Mavery had seen on the shop floor, these dresses had been dyed shades of emerald, burgundy, amethyst.

“Jewel tones,” Priscilla said. “They are a bit dark for spring, but what matters more is how they suit your complexion.”

To prove her point, she held up an emerald-colored skirt to Mavery’s face.

Indeed, the fabric made her green eyes appear more vibrant than usual.

Priscilla then wrangled Mavery into a petticoat, followed by the skirt.

She passed Mavery’s arms through the sleeves of a cream-colored silk blouse, and came around to tie a large loose bow at its collar.

Finally, she helped Mavery put on a bodice that matched the skirt.

It had a sharp lapel, structured shoulders, and a dramatically cinched waist.

“There,” Priscilla said, stepping away to let Mavery see her reflection. “A look suitable for meeting the Archmage.”

Compared to the ball gowns flitting about the other room, this dress was simple—practical, even.

But it was still the nicest garment she’d ever worn.

The skirt swished in a wide arc as she turned to view herself from the side.

The sunlight revealed gleams of gold and azure woven into the fabric; it shimmered like it was actually made of emeralds.

“It’s perfect,” Mavery breathed.

Priscilla shook her head as her fingers pinched and pulled the bodice in various places. “No, I must let out the shoulders and shorten the hem. Then it will be perfect.”

Never had Mavery imagined herself owning something so elegant, much less made specifically for her. In the mirror, her eyes glistened with tears. Priscilla pulled Mavery into a hug that was stiff, one-armed, and too brief to reciprocate.

“Thank you,” Mavery said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Let us say…five-and-twenty potins for the clothes—including the petticoat—and another five for the alterations.”

Mavery gaped at her. She didn’t know the first thing about fashion, but that figure sounded absurdly low.

“Consider it a special discount in exchange for everything you have done for my son. And I mean more than your help with his books and spells. I know you are very special to him.”

Mavery’s stomach lurched as she recalled what Nezima had said to her at the Lettered Gentleman.

“What did he tell you, exactly?” she asked. “And, better yet, what did you tell Nezima?”

“Aventus never mentioned your name, but I am no fool. Who else could it be but you?” Priscilla chuckled, then frowned.

“Yes, I know I should have said nothing to Nezima, but can you blame a mother for being delighted to see her son happy for the first time in months, perhaps years? Not to worry, I will not speak of it again.”

She gripped Mavery’s arm, and the two women locked eyes for a moment.

Mavery found in Priscilla’s dark eyes the same warmth she had found in Alain’s so many times.

She hoped Priscilla didn’t expect her to say anything, because she doubted she could find the words, much less speak them.

Her throat had suddenly twisted itself into a knot.

So, she was beyond relieved when Priscilla patted her arm and promptly returned to business matters.

She instructed Mavery to remove the dress and try on the others, as well as several pairs of dress boots.

In the end, they both decided that the emerald dress was the winner.

Priscilla pinned the dress in several places, and Mavery felt a bit wistful as she changed back into her ordinary clothes.

Priscilla placed a pair of lacquered boots inside a bag with Tesseraunt’s Boutique stitched on the side.

“There is no charge for these, as they are from last year’s collection,” she said, handing Mavery the bag. “Genuine patent leather, so you had best begin breaking them in now.”

Mavery doubted Priscilla would take “no” for an answer, so she accepted the bag with a nod. As she approached the door, she paused and turned to Priscilla.

“I’ve been curious about something. Why do you call your son by his wizard name?”

Priscilla stood with her shoulders back and chin raised. “Because no Tesseraunt has ever been a mage, much less a wizard. The day he earned that name was the proudest day of my life. I will never understand why he tries to hide his accomplishments.”

“Maybe because he wants to be more than his accomplishments,” Mavery said. “Maybe he just wants to be Alain.”

Priscilla smiled, but her eyes lacked the warmth from earlier. “He will always be Alain, of course, but I will never let him forget who he has become—and everything he achieved to get there.”

Mavery decided they would have to agree to disagree on that matter.

She opened the door and returned to the chaos on the shop floor.

It was somehow even busier now than it had been when she’d first arrived.

Lydia, the seamstress from earlier, was now arguing about fabric swatches with a different noblewoman.

Mavery stepped out of the boutique and returned to a world that felt leagues more sane.

Outside the shop, she leaned against the wall and peeked inside the bag.

The boots were so glossy, her reflection stared back at her.

With a shrug, she decided to take Priscilla’s advice and exchanged her regular boots for the new pair.

The stiff leather pinched her toes, and the heel was a bit higher than what she was used to, but they were bearable.

Carrying her old boots inside the bag, she headed back to the main plaza. As she walked down the tree-lined street, the shadows grew darker, the air more frigid. She peered up at the sky, but it was the same as it had been earlier: blue and cloudless.

She stopped walking. When she looked down, she gasped. Her blood turned to ice.

Thick tendrils of shadow swirled at her feet, like mist lingering after a storm. The air reeked of ash and arcana.

“Oh, shit.”

She ran.