Page 41 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)
The mortification of the alternative would surely kill me, but if not, then I’m positive Skelm would finish the job.
I’ve been too distracted by my own muddle of thoughts to realize we’ve made it to Giant’s Crook already.
Kleio's excited squeeze on my arm is the only thing that brings me back to the present.
Regaining my attention and therefore my sight, I gaze up and around the wharf in poorly concealed amazement.
The stadium that was built inside the mountain cover has been completely torn down. The docks have been restored and expanded, with merchant stalls lining them up and down the sides. There’s no sign of the northern ships that normally reside here, and I wonder idly where they’ve relocated them.
Not that I would ever go looking for them.
Well, not now that I’m a captain.
The sounds of filthy swearing and loud scuffling I’ve come to associate with Giant’s Crook are even rowdier today. It seems that our typical wharf hands have been turned into shopkeepers.
The eight of us decide to split up and make a lap around the stalls first before choosing anything. We’ve all been given strict instructions of no more than two fabrics each. Any baubles or trinkets will not be provided for by The Order and must come from your own oblation stash.
Luckily, I’ve been building mine up this last month down at the boneyard.
Ten minutes or so later finds Kleio running her hand back and forth over a line of rolled silk in an orchid shade, her attention appearing to be somewhere far from the wharf. “Silver for your thoughts?” I tease lightly while coming to sort through the silken fabrics on the rack across from her.
She glances up, and the distance in her eyes is keen. There’s a sad smile laid upon her lips when responding, “This just reminds me of a market back home.” Kleio swallows back emotions foreign to myself before adding, “The locals called it the Cloth and Gem Quarter.”
I nod in understanding, even though I do not understand, not really. I don’t know what it's like to miss a place or to have memories that take me back to a different time. But for Kleio’s sake, I joke, “Did it smell as awful as this?”
The corners of her mouth lift, and she shakes her head with a small laugh, “ Gods no. ”
One of the dockhands playing merchant today makes a noise of indignation from where he stands behind a makeshift stall.
I swivel my head backwards and give him a dark look of annoyance at his eavesdropping.
“Busy body,” I tut. I’m not wrong; it does smell.
The mixture of stale saltwater and sweaty dock workers leaves a less than desirable scent in the air.
We proceed to the next stall, which displays rows upon rows of velvet swatches in every shade imaginable. The fabric is soft and warm beneath my passing touch. Kleio delves back into her own world as we continue on in our search.
“Did you visit it often? This market—or erm— quarter ?” I feel compelled to ask.
There’s an intrinsic need inside of me to do anything in my power to keep those shadows at bay.
The ones that sometimes take away the wonderful warmth to Kleio’s eyes whenever lingering too long on thoughts of her past life.
I pretend not to watch her as intently as I am and hold up a swatch of putrid yellow, gazing at it as if it’s something I’d truly choose.
“Every time there was an event or we had company to entertain, which was fairly often, yes. Asha’s mother always insisted that I watch her while she shopped,” Kleio answers while inspecting a lilac-colored roll.
Kleio and Asha are sisters, but only by half. Kleio came from a previous marriage. Her mother passed when she was too young to really recount how. Then her father, a highborn in the Oyster Court, remarried another highborn, and Asha was born soon after.
The next open-air boutique hosts a large plethora of wool and fleeces.
Likely many of the outfits will be lined with one of the two.
Luminalia is always held outdoors, deep into the winter months.
I wonder idly what the other cardinals will make of it, if it will be anything like their own holiday celebrations.
“I’d like to see this quarter one day,” I muse aloud.
Kleio nods with a reserved smile, as if she doesn’t dare allow herself to truly hope.
There was once a time when she did, and it kills some piece of me that The Order has taken that away, even if her fervent beliefs did used to drive me up a wall.
Perhaps being so close to the possibility makes it harder to hold on, knowing the pain if it slips through your fingers.
I’m saved from trying to find the right words to comfort her by Greer calling us to come check out the stand next door.
We join my fourth in command and find the rest of my crew has begun swarming the medium-sized booth as well.
It takes only a moment to understand why the bolts of fabric before us are jaw-droppingly beautiful.
The textiles all vary in types of cloth and hues of color, but what’s unique is that each of them is expertly embellished with unique designs or wonderous patterns. Some are made from lace, others feathers, a few with gemstones, and some even shimmer with flecks of gold and silver.
I join Herse, where she skillfully sorts through a rack of various darker-colored bolts.
Half an hour later, and my hands feel like they’ve been flitting along the spools for hours . It’s almost too overwhelming to have so many options. I’m at a complete loss for what to choose. Each piece I see is lovelier than the last, but none of them truly feel like me.
The others have already made their selections and are in the process of choosing their gown design styles.
We’re meant to turn them into our Grand Regent upon our return in order to have them tailored.
All this searching has me exhausted and verging on hangry.
I’m about to just say fuck it and wear my dress regalia to the revel when Kleio whistles at me to come over.
My breath catches at the sight of the swaths of fabrics that Kleio and Herse have expertly layered atop each other and hold out in presentation.
“It’s—it's…” I begin, unsure how to find the right words.
Beautiful, stunning, fetching.
“Brilliant,” Herse finishes for me.
My second and third share equal grins of satisfaction as I take the bolts in my arms and carry them to the merchant stall as if they’re incredibly fragile .
I’m quiet as he begins cutting the proper amounts according to Kleio’s instructions. She and Herse then delve into the dress designs and begin plotting out my attire for the event.
Fiddling with my captain's ring, I study the trinkets set up at the front of the market stand. My eyes scour the jewelry situated behind a glass display before roaming over the basket of gem-studded hair clips and charms. All of them are undoubtedly worth double my entire stash of oblation scraps.
A shine catches my eye next, and I walk over to the far wall without giving my feet permission to do so. There are small wooden pegs lining the entirety of the ramshackle stand, each of them laden with what appears to be strands of precious metals. My fingers reach out and brush them.
A bundle of thin golden threads is braided together like real hair, and it feels just as fine as my own. I’m utterly perplexed by their possible usage. Maybe it's the detailing on the fabrics, if you want to embellish them yourself? That might be possible, I suppose.
My eyes hungrily searched the countless pegs.
Bundles of copper, platinum, palladium, more gold, and silver all shine under the orb lights.
On the higher pegs, some are strung with beads, gemstones, and even pearls.
I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult those would be to embroider onto a fabric.
“They’re hair threads.”
My head snaps over in question towards Kleio, who's appeared at my side. She stares almost wistfully at the various bundles. “They’re what ? Hair dipped in metal?” My revulsion for that idea and exactly how it would occur must be prominent in my expression because Kleio snorts loudly in amusement.
“No, nothing like that!” she exclaims before laughing again at my complete lack of knowledge about the outside world. I know with Kleio, there is no malice in it, and I bite back a victorious smile at the return of her laughter.
She then goes on to explain, "They're very finely shaved bits of precious metals that spin into hair-like fibers. It used to be a style a while ago, at least in the Oyster Court. People would tie them into their hair or weave them through their braids. ”
"Ah, I see,” I muse, pretending to understand at last. My eyes travel up to the pricing at the top of the pegging board. The strands themselves are ridiculously expensive—nearly fifty silvers. Each.
I turn away at last and take my bag of fabrics from the dockhand without another glance.