Out for Blood

The declaration weighted the air with a heartbreaking poignancy. Chrysabelle nodded, not knowing quite what to say but feeling very much as if she’d just entered a shrine. The room held a fortune of things, but the cost wasn’t what staggered her. It was the effort that had been made on Dominic’s part. The pure display of love and affection that the items represented. And how her mother had packed them away, carefully preserving them but wanting nothing to do with them either. “He must have truly loved her to buy her all of this.”

Velimai shook her head. It wasn’t just that. Your mother had a hard time leaving the comarré life behind. Perhaps it was the injuries she sustained during libertas or the friends she left behind or knowing that her children were still trapped in that life. Neither Dominic nor I could figure it out, but he did his best to surround her with the things she’d left behind. Beautiful clothes, fine jewels… she wanted for nothing. And yet, she was never really happy.

Imagining her mother longing for something unknown broke Chrysabelle’s heart a little. What was it that her mother had missed? Her daughter? Her head suddenly came up. “Wait, you said neither Dominic nor I. Exactly how long did you work for my mother?”

Long enough. Velimai’s gaze hardened, and she gestured toward the racks. We should pick a dress so that Nyssa can get started with the alterations.

“Yes, we should. There are so many to go through.” Chrysabelle let the conversation drop. Velimai was a tough nut to crack when she wanted to be. There was no point in pursuing what had happened between Dominic and Maris now, but certainly Velimai knew. Soon, Chrysabelle would get the wysper to explain. Then maybe Chrysabelle would understand better how to be with Mal.

Nyssa helped Chrysabelle go through the racks while Velimai, unable to touch most of the delicate fabrics due to her sandpapery skin, explained the last place Maris had worn each gown or in many cases, pointed out that it had never been worn at all. Indeed, tags dangled off much of what the closet held. Dress after beautiful dress was examined, but nothing quite fit what they were looking for. The dress had to be white and cover a good portion of Chrysabelle’s signum in keeping with comarré custom, and it had to be lightweight enough for fighting, with a skirt full enough to hide the slits Nyssa would add so Chrysabelle could easily access the daggers she’d be strapping to her thighs, yet not so full that Chrysabelle would get tangled in the fabric.

“How can there be so many dresses and still not one that works?” Chrysabelle hung yet another gown back on the rack. “I wish that pale blue gown was white. It comes pretty close.”

Wait, Velimai signed. She walked the racks, peering intently at the garments as she passed. Near the end of the long room, she pointed to a large white box on a shelf near the ceiling. Get that down.

Chrysabelle unfolded the stepladder tucked between two rack supports and climbed up. Carefully, she balanced the large box in one hand and came back down. “What is this?”

A dress that might work. Velimai took the box and set it on the floor, then eased the lid off.

Precisely folded tissue paper covered the garment. Chrysabelle pulled back the first layer of snowy white wrapping. “Oh.” The word left her like a sigh.

Velimai nodded, waving her hand and urging Chrysabelle on.

She lifted the dress out of the box. The fabric fell loosely, unfolding to reveal a swath of white silk and shimmering lace. “This is… gorgeous.”

Try it on, Nyssa signed, smiling. Let’s see it.

Chrysabelle shed her loose tunic, pants, and half-cami, then stepped into the dress and eased it over her body. She moved so that Nyssa could zip it and tie the sash around her waist. Then she turned to face the mirror on the back of the door.

And let out the breath she’d been holding.

The skirt was full enough to take the necessary slits, descending from a narrow waist defined by a gold-embroidered sash that looked as if it might have once belonged to a Medici countess. Lace flowed from the straight strapless neckline to hug her upper chest and arms, sheer enough to show off her signum, except that they blended with the design and luster of the lace so well it was hard to tell what was gold and what was lace. It revealed her and hid her at the same time.

“This dress was made for my mother, wasn’t it?” Even the gold embroidery on the sash mimicked the curves and swirls of signum. “It’s amazing. Did she ever wear this?”

It was custom made and it’s stunning on you, Velimai signed. No, she never wore it.

“Why not?” Chrysabelle twirled. The skirt flared softly. It would hide the daggers perfectly.

Because she changed her mind about marrying Dominic.

“This was her wedding dress?” Chrysabelle went still. The skirt swished to a stop. She let the significance of the words settle over her as she nodded slowly. “Then it’s the perfect dress to wear to kill Tatiana.”

“Syler’s outdone himself, don’t you think?” Tatiana cupped the Casablanca lily to her nose and inhaled.

“I do.” Octavian relaxed in an overstuffed chair before a crackling electric fire and sipped from a crystal goblet of blood, fresh from the suite’s well-stocked chiller. Lilith played with a doll at his feet. Over and over she bit the doll’s neck and laughed.

The suite of rooms Lord Syler had prepared for them was exceptional. Most definitely the best he had. The apartment also adjoined the quarters reserved for Daciana. The staff that they’d brought with them, just Kosmina, Oana, and Daci’s dressing maid, scurried about unpacking, putting things away, steaming their party clothes and setting their personal things around. Oana was making up the crib Syler had provided and preparing to put Lilith down for a nap. Poor child hadn’t slept at all on the plane.