Aalis donned her veil and nomad clothing to visit the markets. Though her dreadlocks were explained away by being a nomad, she felt safer behind the veil than in full view. She was wary of attending the markets but knew that Verne and Giordi were there and used their familiar company as a place to pause before entering the fray of Fort Mavour’s buying and selling. Giordi was a paramount success as a minstrel and Verne, claiming he’d heard more than enough songs and ditties to last a lifetime, offered to go with Aalis to the tailors, trying to find something appropriate for Judd to wear to the feast.

  “If I have to hear another song about swooning maids and well endowed heroes, I might be tempted to beat him to death with his own lute.” Verne complained in response to her query if Verne minded coming.

  “Are you sure you are not just looking for an excuse to go to shopping with me?” Aalis teased lightly. Endolin had told her where to find the best tailors in Fort Mavour. She said it was unlikely that something could be made quickly enough for the feast her mother wanted to host for Judd but, perhaps, the tailor might have something ready made that could be adapted.

  “Unlike other…women,” Verne whispered, “I am not inclined to shop. I find it rather pointless.”

  “You would not be so reluctant if you needed clothing.” Aalis replied, climbing stairs to the second storey where the sign of a tailor hung.

  “A shirt, trousers and boots are all I need…preferably in natural colours. None of this…prettiness. Oh, allow me.” Verne stepped up and opened the door. When Aalis gave her a look she shrugged. “I’m the valiant male, remember? And don’t forget, you’re a nomad.”

  “Something I suspect Lady Jocasa doubts I am.” Aalis mused as they entered the store and found a pair of sisters waiting for them. They were a little alarmed by Aalis’ appearance but when she explained that she was attempting to purchase something ‘knightly’ for a grand feast and heard the jingle of her coin, they nearly fell over themselves to accommodate her.

  “If it was a custom design, nothing would be too difficult to request.” The first sister, with her hair wound in a bun on her head and stuck with pins so that she resembled a human pin cushion, insisted.

  “But without time on our side, we turn our attention to previously ordered clothing that was abandoned by unscrupulous clients.” The other sister, who wore a skirt made out of patchwork pieces of fabric so that she resembled a living quilt, added.

  “Could we see the ready made clothing?” Aalis asked.

  There were several pieces that caught Aalis’ attention. One was a navy tooled leather vest where the panels were held together with plaited leather strands. The hem favoured the right side of the hip while the left had two loops of the leather strands hanging down, reattaching at the back. The shoulders were slightly raised, stitched with more of the plaited leather strands and there were several oversized stitches across the front panel that gave the formal vest a rugged yet stylish flare. Beneath it was a white shirt with a high collar. The sleeves were generous but curtailed at the wrist with beautifully embroidered cuffs.

  “This was a sample piece we created together.” Pincushion sister explained. “I wanted a white shirt of stunning crispness and subtle yet elegant embroidery. My sister wanted to create a vest that looked like it could be worn in the wilds yet of such quality that it would hold its own in a more formal setting.”

  “I think you have both succeeded.” Aalis admired the cut. She turned to the sisters. “This must have been a great deal of work…and you did it just for fun?”

  “By the stars, no,” patchwork sister laughed, “we wanted to showcase our talents to Sir Donimede, hoping he might turn to us for his styling…but the man refused to even look.”

  Aalis frowned. “Why?”

  “I think it was because he heard Laurea decided not to use black leather for the vest.” Pincushion sister said with her hands on her hips.

  “Ogre dung, Lenona,” Laurea retorted, “it was the moment he heard we were women that he turned his nose up.”

  “Either way,” Aalis interrupted before the light argument became an all out feud, “it is Sir Donimede’s loss and Judd LaMogre’s gain. I will purchase both vest and shirt for you cannot have one without the other,” she turned to Verne as the sisters giggled with pleasure, wrestling with the dummy to remove the clothes, “do you think this will suit Judd? Verne?”

  Verne was gazing at a dress on a wooden clothes dummy. It was a gown of stunning blue, the skirt split on the right side all the way up to the hip so that the underskirt, which was white silk with white embroidery on it, could be seen and admired. The same white embroidered silk made the sleeves which came all the way down to the wrist but sweeping blue draping split sleeves gave elegance to a normally plain part of the gown. The neckline was a curved V, light boning throughout the bodice giving shape without crushing either lung or rib.

  Aalis studied the dress but was more interested in Verne’s fascination.

  “Pretty…is it not?” She asked gently.

  Verne stepped back. “Frills and finery…”

  “Of course,” Aalis smiled, “that is what a gown is about.”

  “You’d look fantastic in it.” Verne folded her arms and leaned against a stack of fabrics, turning her head aside. “It’s your colour.”

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  “The blue is too strong. It would look better on you.” Verne snorted. “What?”

  “As if I could wear anything like that.”

  Aalis folded her arms, her stubbornness ignited. “That voice that you just used…it is not you. It was your brothers and father speaking and they did so out of fear.” She moved around in front of Verne who gave her a guarded look. “Verne…you cannot be defined by another person. You will always end up coloured by their opinions and prejudices and fears…”

  “Oh Aalis,” Verne sighed, “I already know where your hopeful heart is heading. You’re as predictable as one of Giordi’s awful love ballads. You think, if I don something as elegant as this…I’ll suddenly turn into the long lost Princess Genovieve, a paragon of beauty and grace. All I needed was the right gown and the right glamourous occasion and the right handsome stranger and I’ll transform into the woman I was born to be.” Verne huffed and shook her head. “It’s a fantasy.”

  “Dreams often start that way,” Aalis tilted her head to catch Verne’s eye, “sometimes we just need a little nudge.”

  “Yeah, well,” Verne stood up, “unless you’ve suddenly come into a fortune, you’d be hard pressed to buy Judd formal clothing as well as this dress.”

  Aalis opened her lips then clamped them shut. “You are right, of course.”

  Verne gave her a triumphant smile and led the way to the front of the store, passing Laurea who was returning to let them know the clothing was ready to transport. Aalis pointed at the gown and Laurea raised her eyebrows. Aalis put her finger to her lips and the pincushion sister nodded. Aalis reached into her purse and pulled out a silver coin. Laurea’s eyes widened as Aalis put it into her hand and whispered quietly to her before moving away. A devious smile curled up on Aalis’ lips, one she was hard pressed to suppress when she joined Verne, paid for the vest and shirt and left the tailors as if all their business had been concluded.

  And, in a way…it had been.

  Supper with Sir Donimede and Lady Jocasa also included Willower, Deacon Alast, Clerics Rodel and Caste, Lord and Lady Gemel from Fort Verion, their son, Sevelon who was a young man with an unfortunate break out of spots across his mournful countenance, Lord Hewey and Lady Knell.

  They dined at a large square table where they could sit three a side. Sir Donimede was in the middle of his side with Lady Jocasa on his right and Willower on his left. Judd sat on the side closest to where Willower was, Lord Hewey and Lady Knell on his left. Opposite him were the Gemels taking up one side and facing Donimede’s side were the officers of the Order of the Grail. It was worth noting that Sir Donimede’s chair was the grandest out of all the chairs at the table.

  Tall floor candelabra were arranged around the room to cast light onto their dining experience and a single fireplace, three times as large as the one in Judd’s chambers, kept the room warm. In the middle of the table was a bronze plate with several candles at differing heights and hues arranged on it. The candles had been lit when Judd arrived and he noticed that, as the flames melted the wax, the streams trickled down the candles to create a beautiful marbled effect that filled the bronze pan.

  When he remarked on it, Sir Donimede scoffed lightly. “That is my wife’s doing. She claims the candles and platter form something special.”

  “Would you care to explain?” Judd turned to Lady Jocasa as servants replenished their wine.

  “The melted wax from the candles form a unique pattern that is unable to be reproduced,” Lady Jocasa gestured to the coloured swirls mingling together, “when the bronze pan is filled and I remove the candles, I will carve some grooves into the wax and fill with tiny rivulets of gold and medallions then seal it. It will become the top of a table or perhaps a wall mounted display.”

  “That is very creative.” Judd was sincere in his praise.

  “It is very expensive.” Sir Donimede lamented. “The candles, the bronze platter…the gold and medallions…all useless afterwards.”

  “Each piece is significant and I only set such items out for moments that I would want to capture in wax.” Lady Jocasa replied lightly.

  Judd felt cornered. “Lady Jocasa, I hope that you did not go to any expense on my part…I am not even a knight yet.”

  “I have confidence in you, Judd LaMogre,” Lady Jocasa smiled at him so warmly that Judd felt distinctly uncomfortable when her warmness contrasted so spectacularly with Sir Donimede’s coldness, “besides, there are other…moments worth capturing and celebrating.”

  Judd didn’t know what to say to that and drank from his wine.

  “Sir LaMogre…”

  “He is not a knight yet.” Cleric Rodel corrected Sevelon Gemel. Caste cleared his throat very softly, trying as subtly as he could to warn Rodel to be cautious about rebuking the higher classes.

  “Apologies, LaMogre,” Sevelon leaned forward, “in Fort Verion, I have heard tales of your deeds even at the table of Sir Rylan himself.”

  “Sir Rylan has heard of me?” A thrilling tremor ran down Judd’s spine.

  “Your exploits are new and varied. After you liberated Fort Sol from the giant spider and the orthros, Sir Egrette and his soldiers returned to Fort Callain where tales of your conquest quickly made for new stories told in the soldier’s mess and also from Sir Egrette himself.”

  “Soldiers are prone to exaggeration.” Cleric Rodel said with a slight bite in his tone.

  “I also heard of Judd LaMogre’s exploits upon his knighthood quest,” Lord Hewey added, “I was there on business and when I returned to Fort Verion, I was able to confirm the reports from the soldiers as I was told them by Sir Egrette himself.” He looked to Lady Knell. “You have just returned from Fort Omra, have you not?”

  “I have, where, I must say, you impressed Sir Fereak.” Lady Knell had a somewhat drooping nose which was not helped by the way she tended to look down it from her rather tall height. “A virgin death drop onto an invading hydra…I think you will be treated to a parade or two when you return to Astaril.”

  “I remember when I received my knighthood, bestowed upon me by King Rocheveron,” Sir Donimede spoke up, looking even paler against the black of his clothing and the stark dye of his hair, “it was then that he offered me a boon and of course, I requested a fort. I had my eye on Fort Faine but Mavour’s knight passed and it was in need of a strong hand.”

  “A boon, father?” Willower asked, curiously.

  “It is a generous gift offered to all those who receive a knighthood,” Sir Donimede raised his goblet, “up to half the kingdom…not that anyone has ever had the guile to request it.”

  “What would you ask for, Judd LaMogre?” Willower turned to Judd with wide hazel eyes, the green in them glowing in the candlelight, her lips rosy and moist.

  “Well,” Judd’s throat dried out, “I…I do not know.”

  “Come now,” Donimede teased, “surely it is the true reason for your pursuit of a knighthood, the chance to request anything from King Rocheveron?”

  “I honestly do not know,” Judd admitted then shrugged, “perhaps when I was young, even up until I set out on this quest, I had all manner of requests in mind but now…they all seem so…” He sighed and shook his head. “In the grand scheme of things, now that I have experienced the wilds, the monsters and met so many people…all my wishes look petty and vain.” He looked down at the wine in his goblet, swirling it around the rim. “I have so much, companions I trust, excellent weapons, clothing, food, a fine stallion and my knighthood is within my reach…what more do I need?”