As the Crow Falls | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Two

Niccola was glad she had brought one nice dress with her to Calis, smuggled deep in her bag so as not to raise suspicions of thievery if she got waylaid at the border. With an hour to go before she had to leave for the palace, she turned in front of the mirror in it, dissatisfied. The dress's fit was impeccable, but its glamor paled in comparison to the crow-black gown. For the hundredth time in as many days, it hurt to be a serving-woman.

Niccola dropped the dress's skirts and felt a lump in her throat as she stared down her market shoes by the door. Her sister's remaining slipper was tucked beneath her mattress, as safe as she could keep it. The thought of never wearing the pair again would have been enough of a blow. Never wearing it again when the slippers were all she had left of her sister here, and when she wanted so badly to look nice for this visit, brought her dangerously close to tears.

She just wanted to look pretty. Not even regal. Just pretty. It was a foolish thought, when she cared little about Isaiah's parents, and when Isaiah would not see what she wore. But that did not stop her from wanting it.

Her hands moved to her hair, done up in a satin scarf since the night before. The temptation to wear her family's braided crown had been strong, but she could not give into that, either. Not when there was a risk of Isaiah's parents recognizing it up close. She'd settled on something just as beautiful, if less significant in its beauty. The scarf flowed over her shoulders as she pulled it off. Niccola grabbed the bottle of hair-oil from her bedside table and set about drawing her hair into a thick braid wound around her hairline like a flower crown. She'd spent hours after dark last night on the preparation for it, moisturizing and detangling her dense curls so that they would bounce like this beneath her hands. She loved the feel of them. With her hands busy and the aesthetic satisfaction of the style, she soon used up the extra time until she had to leave. Which was just as well, really. Any longer, and the thought of how she would look at Isaiah's side would only mess with her further.

The walk to the palace fairly flew by. Niccola arrived with her head held high. If she could not look the part of a highborn woman, she was determined to at least act like one. Isaiah met her at the gate again. Pekea was noticeably absent from his shoulder, and he wore a smile, but a nervous one.

"You arrived early," he said, as they had agreed he would: an act to assuage any suspicion among the guards. "Perhaps we can tour the palace while we wait for the table to be set. I admit I have not yet shown you the most beautiful parts."

"That sounds lovely."

They fell into step with an ease that had become practiced without Niccola realizing. Isaiah wore a white, button-down shirt with cinched cuffs and loose sleeves, and over it, his favorite vest. He looked neat and dapper, and Niccola felt her own lack of a nicer dress all the more acutely. They would look a fine couple if she were better dressed.

What flashed across her mind next was an image of Isaiah introducing her—in a full gown—as his partner. Niccola snatched the thought and stuffed it away, appalled at its existence. The warmth it spread through her proved less stuffable, and crawled up to her cheeks as Isaiah pointed out features of the gardens on their walk to the doors. This was an act, and she would not let herself forget it. Yet the image resurfaced, and this time she did not immediately push it away. It was not an unpleasant one. And if she was to act the part of the woman he was courting, she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

They were holding hands again. Isaiah squeezed hers lightly as they reached the front doors, and Niccola swallowed back her fantasies. She had not heard a word he had spoken since they'd left the gate, and she would have to be quicker on her feet for the task at hand. Her search for the woman in the sketch rested on these next few minutes. She could not afford to get distracted.