Laila slipped her loose, chiffon blouse over her head, then stared at herself in the silver mirror. She dallied a bit, playing with the clunky ruby necklace that sparkled around her neck. Her pale skin and powdered face seemed bright underneath the atelier’s warm, bulb lights.

“I think the color that suits my complexion the best is powdered blue,” she said. “Won’t you agree?”

I glanced at her, then leaned forward on the cutting table.

The brocade spread out before me was already prepared. The patterns were cut, but with Laila, I needed no measurements. She was always a thin and wiry female, with collarbones that jutted out from her skin like sharp daggers. Her waistline was thin, her stature was short, and it didn’t take much material to make a complete dress for her.

She was unlike her sister, who was tall but stocky, wide in the hips, with a fuller bust, and darker skin. Laila looked like a true Azharan, while her sister seemed to come from the Churan shores. Both were from the same noblehouse as far as I could tell.

“Powder blue,” she repeated to herself as she held the tulle against her chest. “Powder blue surely looks better.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me through the mirror’s reflection. “I bought more tulle if you care to look at it.”

I eyed the brown paper bag next to her feet, reading the big, bold, glossy print on its front: TAYANA’S. She’d perhaps come from the fabric store then, if she hadn’t even taken the time to repack the fabric.

One could easily tell that Laila was wealthy if she’d paraded the Celiphan streets with the shopping bag. Tayana’s was the largest fabric store in Chura, but it sold only luxury fabrics, the sort of material that only noblehouses and gods could afford.

Easing away from the cutting table, I pulled the bag away from her feet and peered inside. White brocade, tulle, gold, and emerald threads—all that I needed to complete this dress.

She’d brought the brocade ten days ago, and I’d already cut out the sixteen patterns needed for the bodice. However, the skirt portion of the dress would require more brocade and tulle, perhaps some thicker mesh to give the skirt body.

Staring at Laila, I tapped my fingers together and pulled in a breath. This was a lot of fabric, a lot of cutting.

Underneath my gloves, my knuckles were raw from all that hand-stitching I was forced to do. The bodice needed a skeletal structure, and despite watching the khiata collect dust in the corner, I knew that hand-sewing was the best option if I wanted the stitches to lie flat. I’d managed to finish it last night with a few minutes of daylight to spare. Sitting by an open fire with several lighted candles around me, I watched the moon lazily cross the black sky as crickets sang in the night. Once I was finished, I made myself a cup of tea and started with the patterns.

“How does it feel working in the city?” Laila asked.

“It has gone quite well.” There was no other response I could give.

She turned to face me, the corner of her lips twitching. “Is Illaryia different?”

“Not by much.” In fact, Illaryia was no longer what it used to be. A small archipelago of islands was the best place for me to set up my atelier. The wealthy could cross oceans to have their gowns and coats made. I’d preferred it that way, but much had changed since that one night—

“I reckon you won’t go back.” Laila, the wife of a nobleman and warlord, wouldn’t have appreciated the simple life that Illaryia would’ve offered her. She wore the finest silks, ate at the best restaurants, and mingled with the Churan upper-class.

Despite her being the daughter of an artisan, Laila and her sister found themselves in the inner circles of Churan’s wealthier houses, often invited to the Palace’s endless balls.

I, on the other hand—

“Are you attending the Autumn Ball?”

“No.” My answer was flat.

Laila cocked her head to the side. Turning, she glanced at me as though she could see past the shadow cast across my hidden face. She stared as though she could see my eyes. I wondered if she could.

“You’re not going? But the Royal Household invites everyone, even the peasants.”

My fingers gripped the handle of the cutting shears. It wouldn’t be the first time I missed the ball. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone mistook me for a peasant. However, I wasn’t interested in leaving the atelier. There were many reasons for this, some I preferred not to share or even think of. However, what I wanted was peace during the festivities, something, again, Laila wouldn’t understand.

She needed a gown; this dress would bring her the attention she’d been craving. Of course, her payment would be as lavish as the dress, but I had to tread carefully.

“I have a lot of work to complete,” I said. “Besides, even though the ball is open to everyone, it doesn’t mean that everyone should go. Some things are to remain as they have always been.” I cut the last few pattern pieces out and rested the shears on top.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Laila twirled once more in the mirror. “Perhaps some things should stay as they are.”

She didn’t know who I was. If I were to show up at a ball in this coat … the attention it would attract.

Though made of the most comfortable fibers, woven with power, and washed in sacred rivers, I’d dreaded wearing it. It was designed to keep my eidan null while allowing me maximum control over it should I ever need to wield it.

Those who harnessed eidan were scarce as it was, with the few who harnessed it being hunted and killed by the gods.

The Autumn Ball was sure to be guarded, and I knew they hunted me. Their hounds had sharp senses that could sniff out even the faintest flicker of embers.

I shook my head; I shan’t risk it.

“And did you hear? The EzeKasala is attending the ball!”

My ears twitched.

Did she really speak the truth?

“Izzy?” Laila stared at her reflection, then twisted her mouth. “Did you not hear me? The EzeKasala—”

“I heard you, my dear. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you want to meet the EzeKasala? The one who created the realms?”

I picked up a spool of green and threaded a needle. “Why would I want to meet the EzeKasala?” I asked. But really, what I longed to say was I had already met Him.

Laila sighed, then pulled on a different blouse. This one was made of soft cotton with ruffles at the end of the sleeves. The entire garment was cut to give her a subtle shape without taking away from her more delicate features.

The neckline dipped below her collarbone, showing extra skin with grace. And the hem of the blouse scraped against her thighs.

“Why don’t you want to meet Him? He is lovely. He invited my family for dinner. He tells the most wonderful jokes. His sense of humor is beyond anything I’ve ever come across.” Laila turned to face me. “He is genuine and kind. We need more of Him in our cities.”

“I agree.” I continued to hand-stitch the bodice as Laila sang praises of the EzeKasala.

“I am sure if you met Him, He would immediately hire you to be the royal couturier.”

I stopped. My mouth went dry. “I am perfectly fine—”

“I know, I know. You say it all the time. But wouldn’t it be lovely if, for once, you actually try to make a name for yourself?”

“I do have a name for myself. After all, here you are, a Royal, coming to me to get your gowns made. That is enough for me.”

“Izzy, no one knows how you look. They don’t even know your real name.”

“And I like it that way.”

“But why? Why do you like it that way? Why don’t you want people to know you? Why don’t you want to be seen?”

“I enjoy my privacy.” I resumed sewing.

“Privacy may be good, but loneliness is a heavy price to pay for it.”

A smile cracked on my lips. “I am not lonely.” And it was true. I was not lonely.

The atelier was always filled with someone needing a gown made or a coat stitched. I always sat next to the window and looked outside; I saw people as they bustled about during the day and night. The birds woke me up with their cheerful songs, and the crickets lulled me to sleep. I was not lonely. Never lonely.

Laila frowned. “I love the blouse,” she said. “How much?”

“Whatever you want to pay me.”

“You say that all the time, and I never can give you a suitable answer. I always want to give you too much. Will you take thirty gold pieces?”

She was right. She could never give a suitable answer. “It is too much. Maybe ten gold pieces. And a silver piece.”

Laila sighed. She pulled out her purse and counted the pieces on the table. “And what of the gown? You give me a price this time.”

“Twenty gold pieces for the gown.”

“And a silver piece?” She smiled.

“And a silver piece.”

“I will give you two silver pieces. You’ve worked hard enough. And please, even if for me, come to the ball.”

“I will consider it.”