WARNING: This story contains strong language and depictions of sexual assault that may be upsetting for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
"So, allow me to confirm." Dessie lowered her gaze to the parchment in front of her, then looked up at Lyrani. "You need three dresses in two days' time: one made from sunshine, one from moonlight, and another made from stardust."
"Did someone say 'stardust'?" The old elf behind Dessie turned, gripping a notebook in her leathery hand.
"Just a sprinkle," Lyrani said quickly, noticing the telltale gleam in Omiane's eyes.
She had ordered a dress sewn from rose petals once, and Omiane had certainly delivered—right down to the thorns and dewdrops. It made a statement, but Lyrani would have preferred not to spend her evening pricking her arms every time she rested them against her sides while her dress leaked into her shoes.
Omiane pursed her lips. "I shall make a note of that, dearie."
Her eyes misted over. Lyrani imagined Omiane was going to that place only the old seamstress could go, where magic abounded, nothing was excessive, and anything was possible, at least with regard to clothing design.
"It's going to compliment your skin tone beautifully." Omiane's puckered mouth stretched into a smile.
Lyrani looked down at her hand. For a moment, she could see what the seamstress saw, the shimmering dust popping against her brown skin.
Lyrani had always thought stardust was where it belonged—decorating the heavens—but perhaps it wouldn't look too bad on her either. Perhaps it would make her feel like a star, as fierce and mesmerising in beauty as the night sky.
Omiane blinked away her vision. Her eyes cleared as she returned to reality. "Dessie, why are you still standing here? Didn't you hear Lyrani? Get to work!"
"Yes, madam!" Dessie flushed red to the tips of her pointy ears then grabbed Lyrani's order form.
She glanced at Lyrani before scurrying away.
Dessie was acquainted with Lyrani's work well enough to know never to mention a word of it in the boutique, but she hadn't yet mastered the art of masking the emotions on her face, of hiding the feelings that could be used against her by any trained eye.
Lyrani narrowed her eyes as her best friend disappeared behind the wooden wall separating the lift to the seamstresses' workroom from the rest of the store.
Dessie knew something she wasn't saying, and Lyrani was going to find out what it was. Perhaps it was something to do with the mission the dresses were intended for.
Before Lyrani could set off in pursuit of her friend and the truth sealed behind her lips, Omiane set her notebook on the table.
"Are you off to somewhere exciting, dearie?" She flipped through the book, licking her finger as she went.
The pages moved too quickly for Lyrani to read, but it was no surprise when Omiane stopped, muttering to herself as she ran her finger down the instructions on how to craft a wedding gown from shedded swan feathers. She had been in the business her whole life, long enough to learn where everything was located in her shop and where every design was in which notebook.
"I believe I am."
Lyrani didn't know much about her latest mission, but according to Lord Dundor, there was dancing involved. That combined with the order of dresses fancier than anything Lyrani had worn in years could only mean one thing.
Lyrani was going to a ball.
She would have to ask around for a refresher. It had been too long since she had last gone to a dance. She had forgotten how to accept a dance invitation politely, how to glide onto the floor on her partner's arm, even the steps that her feet had once known without her having to think about them.
As girls, Lyrani and the other lords' daughters had chattered and giggled about the gatherings they'd host when they grew up, about the music, the flowers, and the crystalware, but she hadn't been invited to any of those parties since she left home to become a secret agent.
Perhaps it was better that way. Lyrani wasn't a lord's daughter. Not anymore.
"Always so cryptic." Omiane studied Lyrani, her eyes glittering with interest. "Not to worry! I'll have your dresses ready by the deadline. I can guarantee that you will be the loveliest elf at the ball."
Lyrani had overheard Omiane make that promise to many clients, but she had yet to break her word, at least in Lyrani's experience.
"Thank you, Omiane! You're the best."
With a last smile, Lyrani turned her back on the grey-haired elf and faced the store. She kept her face placid, slid her casual hands into her pockets, and maintained an aimless gait even as she knew exactly where she was going.
Omiane's Boutique was the same as always—crowded with eager young ladies and elegant noblewomen, and smelling of wood, new fabric, and the lavender perfume masking the sweaty smell of work.
Lyrani traced Dessie's footsteps, slipping behind the wall as she had seen the other elf do. Her hands tensed in her pockets, and her strides recovered their purpose now that she was out of sight of the rest of the shop.
The passage around Lyrani was wide but dark. Even if any customers noticed it, they wouldn't want to look any closer, especially with the smiling seamstresses and gorgeous dresses elsewhere in the store. The wondrous garments put Lyrani's clothes to shame.
She smoothed out the short dusky-blue dress belted at her waist self-consciously. She wore this with dark grey leggings because it allowed her to move quickly and easily as she did now, hurrying along the corridor towards the lift hiding in the darkness. Her scuffed black lace-up boots had seen long fights and longer treks.
Lyrani dressed for practicality more than beauty, but she allowed herself a brief fantasy of the latter now and then, of enchantment, admiration, and stardust glowing in the night.
Lyrani arrived at a set of wooden doors. She pushed them apart. The laughter and chatter around her faded as she stepped into the space behind them. She pulled the doors together and tapped her knuckles on the side of the lift two times like Dessie had taught her when she visited her during her first week working at Omiane's. How long it had been since then, but the motion still came automatically to Lyrani.
The sound passed through the shaft, reaching the ears it was meant for. Lyrani stumbled as the lift began its ascent.
In the depth of the darkness, Lyrani's wristwatch told her she had only a few minutes to prise the truth from Dessie if she didn't want to be late for her meeting.
The lift carried Lyrani up a dark shaft then came to a jolting stop at the edge of a room flooded with midday's light. Again, Lyrani stumbled, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness engulfing them.
"Miss Esch." Two voices, alike in tone but not timbre, greeted Lyrani as she stepped out of the lift and into the workroom.
"Koy. Jal." Lyrani smiled, patting each troll on the head.
Despite only standing up to Lyrani's waist, the trolls possessed a strength greater than that of the other clans in the realm. They weren't the friendliest or most cooperative beings, but they valued honest work, especially if they enjoyed it.
When their bright smiles lit up their round, green-brown faces with enthusiasm, Lyrani couldn't understand why anyone said trolls were ugly creatures.
The smack of fabric being set onto a worktable resonated across the room, reminding Lyrani of her purpose.
Her instincts told her Dessie knew something she had to know, and she trusted them. After all, recognising and hunting down secrets was Lyrani's job.
At the dull tap of Lyrani's feet on the wooden floor, Dessie looked up at her.
Her mouth stiffened. "What is it now? Did Omiane send you up here with another order? More alterations?"
"No. I came to talk to you."
Lyrani offered Dessie a smile, but the other elf lowered her eyes to the rolls of fabric on the table. They shimmered like the stones Lyrani and Dessie borrowed from her father's collection when they were children pretending to be princesses.
"Nice of you to make the time."
Dessie's words struck Lyrani as sharply as a fist could, but she kept her face devoid of any expression betraying that. She'd have never survived this long as a secret agent if she hadn't learnt how to mask her feelings as well as her identity.
Lyrani kept her tone light. "Do you need a hand with that?"
"No, I got it." Dessie unrolled the gleaming, dark material as Lyrani stopped in front of her workbench. "You're the last person who should be offering anyone her hands. They're very full from what I hear." There was a bite to Dessie's words that wasn't uncommon.
What was unusual was for her to turn it on Lyrani.
"How full, even I don't know." Lyrani sighed. "I can't tell you more. I would if I could."
"Oh? So, because you can't tell me, I have to hear it from Morloy?" Dessie fixed her resentful gaze on her workbench.
"Dessie, I'm sorry." Lyrani sighed. "Morloy lives and works with me. That's the only reason he gets my news first, but I know that doesn't leave him with much to share...You know ECISI has rules."
"Of course I know that." Dessie reached into her pinafore pocket and withdrew a measuring tape. It fluttered between her fingers. "It's still annoying that I know so little about your life."
Dessie had known everything about Lyrani once—what book she was reading, what her favourite colour was, and who she fancied. Those were things Lyrani no longer had time for.
Her life had since become a swirling mess of missions and assignments. Lyrani barely stepped out of one disguise before taking on another. She hadn't been such a fool as to think life as an Elven Council of Irylen Secret Intelligence agent would be easy, but she never expected that it would be this difficult.
Dessie couldn't find out about that mission Lyrani worried about. She couldn't know about the team member Lyrani mourned, or the joke a healer had told her to distract her from the pain of having her arm sutured.
That was how things had to be for Dessie's safety and that of Elvenland.
"Can I take you for lunch after I return from my mission?" asked Lyrani.
Dessie gave her a little smile. "I'd love that. I'll let you know when madam gives me some time off."
Lyrani grinned back. After all these years, food was still a peace offering to Dessie's taste.
"Don't let Omiane work you too hard."
"As if I have any other choice, what with you and your fancy dresses." Dessie snorted, pulling her measuring tape taut across the material.
Lyrani couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, orders are orders."
Dessie's soft smile vanished. Lyrani's stomach clenched. "Speaking of orders" —Dessie raised her blue eyes to Lyrani's dark ones— "Trelle came in earlier, requesting dresses identical to yours."
Lyrani drew a sharp breath, balling her fists. If that meant what she thought it did, her mysterious new mission was already off to a bad start.
Every agent worth their salt had a set of rules when it came to the job to anchor them amidst a disastrous mission.
Lyrani had three golden rules.
Rule 1 was simple: no calling friends for help even when in trouble undercover.
Rule 2 was more complex but do-able: no falling in love with the target.
Rule 3 was the newest addition: no working with Trelle Lore ever again.
"Give her a chance." Dessie pushed some stray stands of her cinnamon-brown hair back into the braid winding around her head. "Perhaps she has changed."
"That's as likely as my father welcoming me back to Esch House with open arms and a festival in my name."
People like Trelle didn't change. That was her most infuriating trait.
Her perfect smile was annoying, sure. The way she always knew what to say while Lyrani sat tongue-tied beside her drove her to madness, but the one thing Lyrani couldn't forgive her for was her stubborn ways.
Countless questions swept about Lyrani's mind, but a glance at her wristwatch reminded her that she didn't have time to make sense of them, not yet.
"I should be on my way," said Lyrani. "But I will get to the bottom of this at my briefing."
Perhaps Trelle had made a mistake. Perhaps there was another reason why she had ordered the same dresses as Lyrani, one that didn't involve them working together.
"I know you will." A smile curled the corner of Dessie's mouth. "I'll see you when you return. Be careful."
A shadow passed over Dessie's face. Like Lyrani, she must be thinking of Jacden. He had been Morloy and Lyrani's friend and had once meant everything to Dessie. And he was gone because of Trelle.
Lyrani threw her arms around Dessie. The table pressing into the front of Lyrani's thighs didn't matter when she was holding her best friend, her non-blood sister, for the first time in months.
Dessie patted her back. "There, there. You'll be fine. It's not goodbye forever."
It could very well be. Neither of them knew for sure.
Lyrani pulled away. "I really am sorry, you know. About everything."
"Don't be silly. I understand. It's just..." Dessie looked down at the material spread over her workbench. "Orders have been flooding in lately. There's some big celebration happening at Vlitavia Palace. The king needs fifty outfits for one week. His guests have also been sending in their orders...and some of them have been brutal. Nothing I do pleases them. I've never had to make so many alterations in my life. It's driving me insane."
"I know busy seasons can be rough, but you'll get through this." Lyrani squeezed her shoulder. "You can't please everyone. If it makes you feel better, I love my dresses."
"You haven't seen them yet." Dessie rolled her eyes even as she fought a smile.
Time and distance did their best, but they couldn't keep Dessie and Lyrani apart for long. That was why their friendship was one of the most precious parts of Lyrani's life.
"Now, don't you have a briefing to attend?" Dessie raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, yes." With a wave, Lyrani headed to the lift. "Happy dressmaking!"
Dessie pulled a face. As she fumbled for something to throw, Lyrani ducked into the lift, out of her range, chuckling.
After bidding Koy and Jal a preoccupied goodbye, Lyrani took the journey down to the ground floor in silence, leaning against the side of the lift to keep her balance.
Thoughts cluttered her mind as she weaved around rolls of material, mannequins clad in half-finished garments and clients discussing their orders with seamstresses. Their conversations turned to indistinct buzzes because Lyrani's mind was elsewhere.
She knew nothing about her latest mission, but an unsettling sense rose within her at the thought of it.
Lord Dundor always kept the details of her assignment under wraps until the briefing.This time wasn't any different, so why did she feel so anxious about it?