Bloodsong

CHAPTER 2: OLD FRIENDS

Valeriana Lazur was twenty years old, drowning in blue linen and on her way to fainting from a combination of heat, breathing difficulties and the overwhelming impression that a higher power had put a finger to her life and tilted it sideways.

This is good,

she chanted under her breath.

This is great. This is fine. It'll be worth it.

The senior seamstress pulled a string here, tightened a stitch there, squeezing her smaller fraction by fraction, making the dress a prison with nary a pause. Extraneous fabric succumbed to scissors —

snip, snip

— and a trio of needles tacked the gap shut, upheld by slender green limbs. More of those flew around Valeriana, who couldn't dream of letting her gaze follow them, lest her head spin worse.

"I must leave some room here and there, or it won't come off afterwards."

"That's . . . thank you." Valeriana struggled to keep relief from flooding her face. The senior seamstress prodded her with the blunt end of a tentacle, adjusting the space between fabric and flesh until satisfied that there was more of it, but not that much.

"Have a look, then."

Valeriana had a look. The reflection shown by the full-length mirror stationed opposite to the fitting podium was underwhelming. She was herself in a blue dress. Pale, long, gangly limbs, dark hair painstakingly tamed, a rounded face from which a pair of likewise dark eyes peered with caution.

"It's gorgeous," she said.

The senior seamstress beamed.

Just then, a crash sounded nearby. Valeriana stopped herself from jumping by reasoning that the clatter came from outside. It couldn't, therefore, be something they might hold her accountable for.

Her brittle calm was short-lived.

Another apprentice seamstress slipped inside the room, looking harried enough to give Valeriana a pang of unwitting sympathy. Her heart plummeted in sudden, startled dismay when the girl, spotting her, headed straight for her.

"My lady, my lady, your brother!"

Oh.

No.

Valeriana's only saving grace lay in remembering, before a damning 'brother what brother I don't have a brother' left her lips, that for all intents and purposes and as far as the staff of Modona Textiles knew, the moody creature holed up in one of the adjoining fitting rooms was her dear beloved sibling rather than a male of no relation.

She didn't regret lying. Being out in public with Jack was certain to lead to much murmuring, what with him having recently steeped himself in scandal. No one in the capital gave a whit about what the youngest Lazur girl got up to, but they'd be interested in any woman spotted in such dismal company, if only so that they could place bets on how long it would take for some ghastly fate to befall her.

"Gods be good, what did he do?"

The elder seamstress' lips made a grim wrinkle and her hand an impatient gesture, urging her to go sort out whatever it was so that they could get on with deciding on embroidery patterns. Valeriana hurried out, firing apologies at the two women, anyone else who might be within earshot, the world at large.

Outside, they directed her to a dressing room two curtains over, which she padded towards with the uneasy trepidation of someone entering forbidden territory.

It was the men's section. If it got out that she'd been seen here, there'd be no escaping the wrong sort of talk. Her father would shame her out of the family. The twins would make snide remarks. Tessalia might strangle her.

The seamstresses attending that section didn't seem about to tell her off for wandering in, appearing more relieved by her appearance than anything. The only boy of the lot, no older than sixteen in true age, stood off to the side looking close to tears.

"What happened?" Valeriana demanded. Before leaving for her fitting, she had given the staff detailed instructions on how to wrangle Jack into something resembling compliance. She had given Jack himself a speech on how important it was that he behave in a civilized fashion. Somehow, things had gotten all twisted. "There was this awful racket coming from here."

Her best friend — standing on the fitting podium in his underclothes, arms crossed and working up an almighty sulk — jerked his chin toward the trembling apprentice.

"Nothing happened. The butterfingered moron just dropped a tray."

"Were you being rude and frightening towards him?"

Jack glowered. Behind him, the two seamstresses — Valeriana had requested that he be attended by a pair of them, on the assumption that one of them was bound to annoy him to the point of dismissal — wore identical weary, dogged expressions.

"No."

The seamstresses traded a glance, but remained tight-lipped.

Valeriana heaved a sigh.

"Have they taken your measurements yet?" The tape the taller seamstress wound fretfully around her hand told Valeriana that no, they had not, even as Jack's lips parted to lie. "It's been an hour. Your suit won't get done in time for tomorrow if you keep stalling. This . . . doesn't have to be the ordeal you insist on making it."

"I told you I didn't need to be dragged in here."

He had. Valeriana had not hesitated to ignore him, aware that the rift between Jack and his family would only mend if he were to do two things: swallow his pride and improve his wardrobe. Since either would take a lifetime for him to do if left to his own devices, she'd appointed herself his custodian in the matter.

She tugged him off the fitting podium and pulled him aside, lowering the volume of her chiding while the seamstresses made a show of busying themselves with tasks that excused them from staring at the pair of them.

"You need to be dressed as befits the occasion. It's a ball at the Glass Tower, not a . . . gathering of drunks at the Charuin Gardens."

"A ball which I also told you I had no intention of showing up for."

"Your aunt will be in attendance." Valeriana disliked rehashing arguments, especially ones she recalled winning. "Your brother and father won't be, so your usual excuse to escape social events does not apply. If you hide from her forever, she'll stay angry at you forever."

Jack shot her an annoyed look but didn't present an immediate rebuttal. Often the case whenever she had the right of it in a way that he couldn't find arguments to demolish.

"Why are you so invested in us making up? I never got the impression that you were fond of her." Valeriana shrugged, noncommittal. She had nothing against Lady Marabeth, save for the fact that the woman scared her witless. Her feelings were not a relevant factor.

"You're upset that she isn't talking to you, and I dislike seeing you upset." She sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she breathed, in, out. "Be nice for three whole minutes. Let these ladies take the measurements they need to at least get started."

"You realize that this won't fix anything? Aunt Marabeth couldn't care less about my reputation or how I dress. She's seething about me getting expelled from Charuin. I will not impress her by prancing like a peacock in front of the lifeless slime balls who attend these events."

"I attend them."

"You don't get a say in the matter, though, do you?"

"Jack."

It got through to him that it had been a low hit. His face went an odd color as it blanched and flushed with scant seconds of reprieve.

"Sorry."

"No harm done. Listen," Valeriana added, taking on a cheerful tone that worked well on him . . . about forty percent of the time. "You are getting a suit made. You will go to the ball looking like a gentleman, talk to a lot of important people, drink in moderation and have a fun and lovely evening. You'll show everyone, but most especially Lady Marabeth, that getting into fights and poisoning your classmates is not all there is to you."

"Calpurnia had it coming."

"Doesn't matter! You disfigured the grandniece of a sitting member of the High Council, Jack! If your father weren't on there too, you might have gotten yourself sent to prison!"

"I reassert: she absolutely had it coming."

"Please. If not for yourself, then try for me. I won't have myself seen dancing with you if you show up wearing one of your usual ensembles."

Too late she remembered that she couldn't promise him a dance, not tomorrow evening, possibly never again. Another incoming change she hadn't yet taken the time to dwell on. Suddenly her mouth felt dry and her surroundings appeared hazy, the floor insubstantial.

It would be fine. It would be worth it.

The realization drove home that she would need to tell Jack. Soon. The longer she delayed, the more she'd start feeling as though she were stalling.

She steered Jack back towards the stand; he scowled with exaggerated offense.

"In what way are my usual clothes not up to your standards?"

"They're very—" Valeriana waved at the pile of garments plopped on a nearby divan. "Very West Earth. And colorless. Downright drab. None of those things are fashionable." She turned pleading eyes to the seamstresses, hoping for a word of support, but the prospect of being left alone with Jack once she excused herself tied their tongues. Which he didn't fail to notice and didn't waste time looking smug about. She swatted the air around his hair, annoyed. "I mean it."

She wasn't stalling.

There was no godly reason she should want to, nor did she have grounds to feel like she was hiding a secret. She'd tell once they were somewhere private. Or perhaps it would be best to ease him in, start by dropping hints . . .

She needed to tell him.

"I see I'm left with no choice but to defer to your expertise," Jack drawled. It might be wishful thinking, but he seemed to eye her dress, or what would be her dress once lined with thread within an inch of its miserly fabric life, with what passed for an appreciative expression. "I'm still not wearing anything in a color that puts me in mind of a fruit bowl. I'm aware of your tricksy ways by now, Valeriana dear."

Valeriana made another swipe at his head, this time managing to cuff his ear when he ducked in the wrong direction.

She'd tell him. Later.

________________________________________

Jack let himself be talked into buying three formal suits: one silver and gold, one paisley patterned, one dark blue. They would be ready for picking up later the next day, in time for him not to arrive at the ball unfashionably late.

Valeriana's own dress, she'd been assured, would be finished by midday. There'd be time to ask for alterations if anything went wrong. Assuming that everything that could go wrong would go wrong wasn't something Valeriana consciously made a sport of, but she maintained a consistent habit of it regardless.

"You won't have any lips left if you keep chewing them like that." Jack, back with drinks, seized the chair across from her and swiped a hand over the table to clear a layer of dead azalea flowers before setting the glass bowls down. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Her voice might have squeaked a little. Might have. Valeriana snatched the nearest bowl, stirred the ice through the fruit and took a large gulp once it stopped smoking. Her tongue and throat objected at once. "Nng. Sorry, I think I grabbed yours by mistake. Here."

Jack watched her with one eyebrow arched.

"What's wrong?" he repeated. Lowering his voice, although here there was no need. The topmost level of the Hanging Palace was as secluded a place as could exist in bustling Alkarosh. It saw few patrons, since it wasn't as extensively restored as the rest of the eatery. The tables and chairs were carved from stone and not too comfortable, and it boasted an abundance of overgrown plants and parakeets. The stairs were also a bit of a climb, and one needed to ensure that drinks remained covered so that no random bird droppings would fall in.

Nevertheless, Valeriana liked it. It was quiet, and they were the only ones there. If Jack were to shout at the news she was about to deliver, he wouldn't be heard at street level.

She hoped that there wouldn't be shouting.

"It's . . ." This was it. She'd started. No turning back now, or she'd lose her nerve. Only it seemed to have gone already, all of it, not a shred left. Feeling deflated, Valeriana settled her gaze on the azalea tree looming behind Jack's head, her eyes unable to stop skidding away when he tried to meet them. "My sisters. They'll be showing up here once they've done their shopping. I didn't tell Ange and Bells that we would meet. As far as they know, Tess was taking me out to get that dress. They may be appalled to find you here."

"I should care about those pretentious pit vipers and their sensibilities why?"

"Don't badmouth them. You've never heard me speak ill of Berthold, have you?" It occurred to Valeriana that she'd overlooked flying into a suitable amount of panic at the notion of her sisters catching them together. They wouldn't approve. They approved of very little.

"I don't remember ever asking you to refrain." Jack propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward in the fashion of someone who hadn't had teachers drill proper posture and manners into him with a wooden ruler. "In fact, had I known that the option existed, I'd have encouraged it. Now I feel cheated. Imagine what an excellent time we could have had maligning that bastard together."

"You shouldn't call him that."

He smiled, deceptively innocent.

"Why? It's not inaccurate. He is a bastard. And not even full Tsikalayan to boot." Yet also the only son whose existence Jack's father acknowledged without needing to be arm wrestled into doing it. A fact that Jack himself worked hard to pretend didn't bother him, as if he could hope to fool her. "Let's not start about him, though. We were on the subject of . . . whatever you were about to say before you clammed up and brought up your sisters to save face."

Valeriana's head jerked up from the drink she'd been half-heartedly nursing.

"I did not," she spluttered. Jack shot her a look over the rim of his glass, saying nothing while taking another swig. The quirk of his mouth told her he wasn't buying it. "Didn't. Speaking of, do you plan to go back to Lenosh if your aunt forgives you and rethinks the whole matter of you—"

"Were we speaking of anything near that topic? Pardon me, I hadn't noticed." Jack shook his head and affected a sigh. The impish glint in his eye suggested that he was more amused than annoyed by her clumsy attempts to steer around the topic which — what was wrong with her? She should tell him. Especially now. Having twigged that there was something to unearth, Jack wouldn't rest until he did so. "I'll play along, but once we've exhausted this terribly strategic change of subject, I expect you to spill whatever's eating you."

"Uhm."

"Excellent. Since it interests you so much, I'll be heading home irrespective of Aunt Marabeth forgiving me. Charuin Academy won't take me back, so there's nothing left for me here. If she insists on barring me from Blackburn Hill, I'll go bother my father for a roof instead." Jack set his glass down, tracking her movements as she crossed and uncrossed her ankles under the table. Valeriana expected him to pounce at any moment, but he only looked thoughtful. "You really don't like talking about whatever it is, do you?"

"Mhn." Why? Why, though? The news was good, amazing even. Jack would overreact, Valeriana knew in her gut that he would, but only because he was dreadful at processing change. Knowing that, knowing that he'd come around and be happy for her after the inevitable five minute meltdown, she ought to hurry and get that unpleasant portion over with.

Her tongue remained tied.

She must seem wretched. Jack didn't even try to exploit her anxious dithering and get her to crack, only rolling his eyes to let her know she was behaving ridiculously. Valeriana couldn't summon the nerve to protest, since for once he was correct.

"When will you go back, anyway? The official mating call dance season must be nearing its end."

Valeriana was sure that even the roots of her hair had turned red.

"Please don't call it that." As grateful as she was that he had allowed another detour, she felt the softer parts of her shrivel up in mortified revulsion. She never could decide, when Jack started talking like this, if she was glad he found it all so deplorable or envious that he got away with having that point of view.

"Why? I find it both an adequate and accurate descriptor." Jack leaned back, grinning at her expression. "It's a yearly conglomeration of events that exist for dressing up and trying to entice someone to put a dagger through your hand and their c—"

Valeriana fished a piece of kiwifruit out of her glass and threw it before something even more tasteless left his mouth. It bounced off his forehead and fell on his open palm.

Jack eyed it. He eyed her. She sensed the danger, but wasn't out of her chair fast enough.

"Do—n't you dare!" Valeriana remembered a split second into opening her mouth that it wasn't a good idea to shriek, because people on the street wouldn't hear, but whoever sat one floor below might. She batted at the approaching hand, squirming against the arm around her waist. His hold was unrelenting.

"You assaulted me first!"

"Because you were about to be crass! You're not making me eat that!" With a huff, she extricated herself and ducked under his arm. He made a token attempt to prevent her escape before shrugging and plopping the fruit in his mouth instead.

"I wasn't about to make you eat it," he told her, pausing to chew and swallow and enjoy her grossed out grimace before adding: "I was going to put it down the back of your dress."

"That's evil."

"You started it."

"Still evil." To Valeriana's aggravation, he only laughed and returned to his seat, beckoning her to follow. She glared and spent an unnecessary moment picking invisible lint from her skirts before sinking in place, sniffing primly. "I don't know when I'll be going back to Lenosh. Or even if I'll return there at all."

Jack ceased smiling so abruptly that, were her heart not hammering at two times its normal pace, it might have skipped a beat.

"What do you mean?"

"I . . ." Sweet darkness, there was something wrong, something with her tongue or all of her, because it was again stumbling against her teeth, preventing her from getting the words out. "You see, I—"

"Valeriana!"

Never had the sound of her name being screamed out in anger brought greater relief. Jack, who'd rested his chin on his hand to provide the perfect picture of intent listening, moved it up and pressed his fingers against his temples, groaning.

Valeriana gave him an apologetic look.

"I told you they'd — why are you getting up?"

"Wine. Will be back shortly."

"But neither of them likes—"

"For myself, Val." He was away faster than she could blink, and much faster than the incensed whorls of pale pink — Angelica — and royal purple — Belladonna — bore down upon them. Valeriana got no time to focus on the rascally betrayal before the pair stood before her, casting a shadow over the table.

"Are you out of your mind?" Belladonna spoke up first. Angelica would have, but the other twin stood looking at the arch Jack had fled through with her head tilted and mouth agape, scandalized speechless. "You're out. Alone. With a man. Today? Considering tomorrow? What were you thinking, you insensate, unmitigated idiot!"

"It's only Jack," Valeriana protested, to no avail. The twins were too stringent about keeping up appearances to attend to the fact that Jack Aramis might as well be her brother by blood. "We just came here from Modona. He needed a suit made, and I was already going there to get my dress—"

"Tessalia was supposed to take you. Where is she?" Angelica looked around, scanning their surroundings as though she expected their missing sibling to jump out from behind one of the big flower pots. When that failed to happen, she jammed a finger down on the table, next to the empty glasses. If the top had been wood or tile, it would have cracked. "Did you forget to turn your brain on this morning? You can't take him clothes shopping. Garda knows someone needs to do something about his absolute lack of dress sense, but it can't be you! If father even dreams you did this—"