And yet her gentle smile never left. “I only meant that if you’ll be using a glamour, we can pick out a color that will complement your chosen skin tone. Or … if you already know what gown you’ll be wearing, we can coordinate the two.”
Trying to smother the envy that had stoked inside her chest, Levana looked down at her hands. The long, slender fingers and flawless skin that weren’t really hers.
Wetting her lips, she met Solstice’s gaze again. “What would you choose for yourself?”
Solstice quirked her head to one side, reminding Levana of the small birds in the palace menagerie when they heard an unfamiliar sound and mistook it for a predator.
Solstice returned her attention to the drawer of gloves. “Well…,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve always been fond of jewel tones, myself.” Crouching again, she peeled back a couple layers of tissue paper and emerged with a set of silk gloves in rich sapphire blue. Though the gloves themselves were undecorated, their tops were rimmed with small gold chains and each had a tiny metal clasp. Levana guessed that they would reach almost to her shoulders. Solstice held the gloves against Levana’s wrist, showing the contrast with her dark skin. “What do you think?”
Pressing her lips together, Levana ran her thumb over the gold clasps. “What are these for?”
“It’s part of a new design I’ve been working on. It’s meant to be a set. See, they go with this necklace…” She led Levana to a jewelry counter lined with chains and beads and fasteners, and gestured at a gold collar. At first Levana assumed it was made of metal, but when she picked it up, she realized that it was tightly woven gold thread, intricately braided together and flexible in her grip. Two more clasps were attached to it on opposite sides. Sol continued, “I have small filigree chains that connect it to the gloves, see?”
Levana did see. It was beautiful and unusual, two things that were always popular in court fashion, but not gaudy as Levana found so many of the trendy pieces to be.
She trailed her fingers over the braided threads and imagined wearing it on her neck. How regal she would look. How it would accentuate her throat and collarbone, how the deep blue silk would look so stunning against her honey skin and rich brown hair.
Only then did she realize that in the fantasy, she looked like Solstice Hayle.
She set down the necklace, and Solstice gestured back to the dresser. “Would you like to see the other gloves?”
“No,” said Levana. “I’ll take these. And the necklace too.”
“Oh—wonderful! Will you … do you want to take them with you today, or did you want them to be personalized?”
“Personalized?”
Solstice nodded. “That’s what I specialize in—the little flourishes that, I like to think, set my shop apart from all the other seamstresses in Artemisia. If there’s a particular design you’d like embroidered on the gloves, I should be able to have them done by tomorrow morning. Some of my clients like to get their favorite flower, or their initials…”
Levana glanced at the quilt of Earth that hung on the wall. “You did that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.” Solstice laughed, and her laughter was surprisingly giddy, like a child’s. “Although it took much longer than a single evening. Do you like it?”
Levana frowned. She did like it, very much. But she didn’t want to say so.
“You can embroider the gloves for me,” she said. “I want the design to be something whimsical, like you did in the quilt. Maybe something with an L in it, but nothing too obvious.”
“An L? Like Luna.” Her smile was back, as warm as ever. “I’d be happy to. Shall I have it delivered in the morning?”
“Yes.” Levana paused, before squaring her shoulders. “Have it delivered to the palace. Address it to Princess Levana, and I will let the stewards know that I am expecting a delivery. They will see that you receive payment.”
Solstice’s smile froze, her eyes caught between surprise and panic. Levana knew the look well, the look when any of the palace servants realized they’d been in the presence of royalty and their minds skittered to recall if they’d said or done anything worth punishing. Gathering herself, Solstice gave a half curtsy, using the countertop to keep her balance. “I am sorry I didn’t recognize you, Your Highness. It is such an incredible honor to be in your service.”
Heated by the knowledge of her power over this insignificant woman and her insignificant shop, bolstered by the thought that it was, indeed, an honor to serve her, Levana was tempted to demonstrate her authority. She imagined demanding that Solstice kneel to her, knowing it couldn’t be easy in her condition. Or threatening her business’s reputation should she be displeased with the gloves when they arrived. Or suggesting that Solstice give her the marvelous quilt of Earth, as a royal tithe, or a symbol of gratitude, and watching her struggle to give up something that clearly had so much value—to her, and to her livelihood.
But Levana buried the fantasies before her tongue could betray her.
Solstice would surely tell her husband, and then Evret Hayle would never again refer to Levana as Her most charming Highness.
She gulped, hard, and forced a smile for the first time since stepping into the shop. Perhaps this was why she’d come. So that Solstice would tell her husband about the princess’s unexpected visit, and that Levana would even be wearing one of her designs to the coronation. Levana’s heart warmed to think that Evret would know what a generous princess she was. She wanted him to think about her, even if only for a moment. She wanted him to admire her.
And so, she lied. “The honor will be all mine,” she said, “in wearing such an exquisite piece. I can see why Sir Hayle has sung your praises so highly.”
Solstice flushed with all the joy of a woman in love, and Levana left, quickly, before her own bile could burn her throat.
* * *
By the next morning, on the day of Channary’s coronation, it seemed that all of Luna had been granted permission to pretend that the assassinations had never happened, that the memories of King Marrok and Queen Jannali would live on peaceably in their history texts, and that young Channary would make for a most fair and just ruler. Levana wasn’t sure how many people believed this, and no doubt those who did had never met her sister, but Channary’s right to the throne went unquestioned even by her. They were, after all, the only known heirs of the Blackburn bloodline, that distant ancestor who had been first born with the Lunar gift. Channary, as the eldest royal daughter, would be queen, as her son or daughter would rule next, and the generation after that, and the generation after that. It was how the crown had been passed on since the day Luna became a monarchy, since the day Cyprus Blackburn created his own throne.
Levana would not be the one to disrupt those values now, no matter how much it irked her to know that silly, vapid Channary would spend more time batting her lashes at handsome servants than discussing the economic difficulties facing their country.
But Levana was only fifteen years old, as she was so often reminded, so what did she know about it?
Nothing at all, is what Channary would say, or any one of the thaumaturges who were preparing to swear fealty to her. Their bias seemed to ignore the laws, that Lunar royalty could rule as young as thirteen, with or without the advice of a council.
Levana stood on the third-level balcony, staring down into the great hall where the funeral had been, where her sister had sobbed until she could hardly breathe and then fainted, or pretended to faint, and was carried away by—of all the guards—Evret Hayle, who was standing nearby when it happened. Where Levana had been left alone to blunder through an unprepared speech of lies and fake tears.