Velvet

Sunset painted the summer-warm streets of Eastway in burning orange, almost red—almost enough to trick the eye into mistaking the light for blood. Baldur’s Gate being what it was, one could forgive such poetic notions.

“Amrik, if I find myself in a room full of nobles trying to pretend they know how to drink wine, I’m going to sculpt the lot of them.”

Amrik laughed, and squeezed Adanessa’s hand. Lace against his leather, slim, strong fingers in his own blunt ones. “I promise, my dear, I would never inflict such a torture upon you.”

“You would, if it would upset your brother’s plans.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Adanessa hooked her arm into his, pressing up against his side as they continued through the darkening streets. Not warm, never quite that, but living and solid and willing to be seen in public with him, even after all that had happened. Well. For certain values of seen in public, anyway.

“Where are we going?” she asked. They were halfway through Heapside now, the lamplighters scurrying out of the growing gloom. The wall of the Upper City was nearer with every step, the last dregs of sunlight streaking the stone.

“Trust me a minute more,” he said. She huffed, fluttering the storm-grey veil that concealed her face today. Gods, he wished it were dark enough to tempt her into lifting it, he wanted to kiss her already. He should have stolen one before they’d left her house, but he knew if he had, they never would have gotten past the door.

At Heap Gate, the guards gave Amrik a nod. Young nobles dragging in whichever handsome prospect they’d found in the Lower City were a common enough sight of an evening, though Amrik supposed he could only be called young any more by those who measured lives in centuries rather than decades. But, as Adanessa had no visible weapons on her, the guards had no reason not to let one of the world’s more dangerous creatures past their post.

A few twists and turns took them through the better-kept and better-lit Upper City streets until there it was, ostensibly closed, the little dressmaker’s shop he’d spent the past tenday courting. He rapped on the door.

“Master Vanthampur?” asked the gnomish woman who opened it.

“The very one.”

She beamed. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Right this way.”

Amrik held the door and motioned for Adanessa to enter. He couldn’t see her face behind the veil, but he knew her well enough to feel her roll her eyes regardless. And to feel her smile. She went past him cautiously, as any good Eastway girl would on being thrown into an Upper City boutique. Less that she didn’t think she belonged there—Adanessa Vidrid belonged wherever she pleased, and had better taste than most—more that if someone wanted her dead, this would have been a very good place to get away with it.

“Here you are sir, as requested.” The dressmaker patted a bundle laid out on the counter. “You just get yourself changed, my lady, and I’ll get right to work, though you’ve such a lovely figure I’m sure it won’t take but a moment.”

“Changed?”

Adanessa could go very, very still when she was distressed, and did so now. One hand brushed the silk hood covering her head, lingered at the edge of her veil. Amrik put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“You can’t very well put on a new dress without taking the old one off,” he murmured. He ran his palm up her bodice; her head twitched in the direction of the dressmaker. Amrik raised his hand until he felt without looking the eyelets that attached her veil to her hood and began, very carefully, to unhook them.

“She,” he said, voice the low purr he knew she liked, “is the only blind dressmaker in Baldur’s Gate.”

Her veil fell free and Adanessa turned in his arms, instinctively hiding her face from the open world. Amrik tipped her chin up and drew back her hood—her snakes swarmed free with a grateful hiss. One nudged at his palm with its blunt nose; he trailed his fingers along the familiar verdant scales. Adanessa wore a mixture of fear and annoyance and disbelief and, very prettily, hope.

The dressmaker coughed. “Is she ready, Master Vanthampur?”

“How does she know how lovely my figure is if she’s blind?” Adanessa whispered. Amrik kissed her nose.

“She says that to everyone, my dear. Upper City boutiques like to compliment their clients—especially the ones with plenty of coin.”

Adanessa stared at him. Blinked her lovely golden eyes. Then the hope won out—she laughed and slipped from his arms and her clothes. “I’m ready, madam dressmaker,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at Amrik, snakes writhing about her neck, their golden tongues flicking at her pale back. A coy smile curved her lips. “Show me what Lord Vanthampur has picked out for me.”

Oh, now she was teasing. Amrik didn’t care. He folded his arms and chewed his lip as the gnome helped Adanessa into the dress. Red velvet, subtle brocade, a long and luscious fall of a skirt and a cunning sort of long-sleeved shift underneath of golden lace studded with crimson beads, carefully shown through in artful slits and loops of sleeve. He wasn’t entirely certain how it all worked, only that he had been certain when he’d seen the design that Adanessa would make it look phenomenal.

He’d been right. Adanessa twirled, arms out, eyes bright, snakes all a-slither with her delight.

“Well, Master Vanthampur, what do you think?” she asked. “Does it meet your expectations?”

“Exceedingly.”

She put her palms on his chest, slid them up his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair. The whisper of her breath at his ear sent a shiver down his spine.

“Then take me home so I can thank you.”

Amrik bent to kiss her.

“As you wish, my dear.”