As promised, Isla-Dove paid the twins when they found her at the square.
As a result, Miss Capen deprived her of supper.
Isla-Dove didn't realize that the seamstress knew there had been money inside of her cloak. She had been keeping an eye on the coins and checked them every time Isla-Dove returned from being out. She claimed it was a test to determine her trustworthiness.
Isla-Dove failed her test, even when she tried to explain that she bought nothing with it but had given it to those in need. Miss Capen didn't believe her and presumed she had gotten herself a meal. Therefore, Isla-Dove got no meal that evening.
The following morning, Isla-Dove rolled over in bed, gripping her stomach. Sharp pain stabbed at it when she forced herself to sit up. She winced, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet and off of the creaky mattress. It was a new day with new work to do. She felt like doing nothing. Her head pounded with a pulsing headache, but she left the dusty room and headed down the staircase to the workshop anyway.
There was no sign of Miss Capen, but a large basket of deliveries waited for Isla-Dove by the front door. Her stomach growled painfully. She glanced back at the stairs. The kitchen was up there. She didn't grab anything on the way down, but she doubted that she currently had the energy to go back up.
Instead, she braced her legs and hoisted the basket up into her arms, her body trembling.
The morning passed in the same way it normally did. Deliveries that involved lots of walking, remaining alert to folks who eyed the beautiful clothing that hung partially out of the basket, and making sure she didn't fall and spill the expensive fabrics on the ground.
She did that once before. The punishment had been worse than no food.
Isla-Dove could feel that her hair needed washing as coarse strands of pink stuck to her neck. She wanted to cry at the thought of how she looked to others. She wanted to be beautiful. She wanted to turn heads in a good and stunning way.
Every few minutes, Isla-Dove's vision swam in small currents of black. She wished she could blame heat waves but she know it was overexertion, dehydration, and malnutrition. Some nights, she pleaded with the sky to allow her to not wake up once she fell asleep. She wanted freedom, whether it be in life or through death.
The magician gave her the chance to gain freedom in life. It was up to her to go through with the deal, find the unicorn, and kill it. Finding it would be a difficult task alone, and her hesitance had an affect on the hunt. She had yet to find the time to search the forest, but part of her was relieved because that gave her more time to ponder the decision.
It was an animal. It would save millions of lives...hers included. But she would also be cursed. Was a curse worth freedom? Wouldn't a curse only be another form of bondage?
Isla-Dove went through the motions of walking and delivering without having to give it much thought. She was so used to it that her mind could wander at the same time. What brought her mind back to her surroundings was when a voice shouted, "Hey! Hey, pink haired girl!"
She swiveled around, arms ready to swing the basket if needed. The shout wasn't angry; more of a greeting call for her attention.
She blinked.
Then she blinked again.
If this was an illusion from her mind, she wasn't as stable as she originally thought.
A guy was walking toward her, either not noticing or not caring about the stares that he got from folks as he made his way toward Isla-Dove. She stared at him, eyes starting at the top of his head and slowly working their way down in utmost confusion and alarm, not because he was handsome (though he most certainly was), but because Isla-Dove could see the folks gawking behind him through him. She stared at his torso only to see others staring back.
He was translucent.
Others saw it, too, so she now knew it wasn't her mind playing tricks. The fact that his gaze was set on her made her take a step away. She lifted the basket to better shield her chest in case he had a weapon. "Stop there."
He paused before he had fully reached her, raising a hand and smiling. "I know, I know. This is why I don't normally walk through the city during the day."
"Are you dead?" Isla-Dove asked, squinting at him. Was he a ghost?
"Oh, no, no, no." His smile turned nervous as he said rather sheepishly: "I'm cursed." When Isla-Dove said nothing, he added, "I did a stupid thing so I'm stuck like this during the day."
She had no idea how to respond to that. Instead, she asked: "Do I know you?"
"You were being trailed by a couple of men a few nights ago. You came to me for help." He furrowed his eyebrows when she stared blankly. "Don't you remember?"
Trailed? She racked her brain for any memory like that but had nothing. She stiffened a moment later.
A few nights ago. Her heart began beating faster, pulsing with a hot sting. If he was being truthful and she'd been trailed by men, she was a walking target if they saw her in the daytime and still had wicked intentions.
"I...I'm sorry," she said timidly. "I'm actually also cursed or something. I...I can't remember anything from sundown to sundawn. I wouldn't remember anything that happened any given night."
"Oh. Wow." He pursed his lips, now studying her with the same alarm that she was studying him.
"What's your name?" Isla-Dove asked. Was she really followed and did he really help her, or was this an excuse to talk to her? If it were an excuse, were his intentions good or bad?
The guy smiled again and gave her an exaggerated bow. His murky gray eyes looked as though somebody had flown to the sky on a stormy day and chipped a piece of it to mold them. They held happiness, even given his partially invisible circumstance. "Reginald – but I go by Riggs – Dashopid; fantastic pastry chef and professional pegasus flier."
Isla-Dove smiled a little. For a second, she thought about giving a curtsy, but she doubted that her legs would let her back up if she did. "Hello, I'm Isla-Dove Kepperton." She considered adding on to her introduction, too, but what could she say? A seamstress' slave and professional hill hiker? She opted against it.
"Isla-Dove?" He let out a small chuckle, the sound sending a tingle through her body. "Did your parents want two daughters?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'd hope my name would've been Isla if that were the case. I've always found Dove to be unattractive."
"No, I think it's sweet," Riggs said. "It radiates innocence. Now I'm going to call you D, in honor of Dove."
"You say that as if we are going to become good acquaintances."
"I was hoping more along the lines of friends."
"I can literally see through you." Isla-Dove's smile widened. "I should think your first priority would be to set straight your curse. Also, we've only just met."
Even though she joked about the curse, it made a twinge of worry spiral in her chest. If it were a curse, would she become ghostlike as a result of killing the unicorn?
No, because she doubted that Riggs killed one of the mystical horses. Would the consequence for her be worse than that? This unicorn was the last of its kind, after all.
"Professional pegasus flier?" Isla-Dove asked instead of allowing her brain to spiral downward into fear. Those words were just sinking into her mind. Pegasus' resembled a normal horse more than a unicorn, and they were more common. The palace had stables that housed about twenty. Wild ones roamed the skies frequently. There was even a race held every year for those who enjoyed the thrill of flying.
"Yeah. I had one of my own before I was cursed. Kind of hard to ride your steed when you can't touch him until sundown." Riggs was rather solemn, glancing up at the sky. "I miss it."
"I've never flown before," Isla-Dove said, looking up as well.
"Well, well, well." His eyes twinkled mischeviously. "Looks like we'll be meeting again after all."
"That wasn't saying I want to fly."
He studied her a moment. "That's too bad."
Isla-Dove glanced around. Folks still stared as they walked by but nobody stopped to say anything or listen in on their conversation. When Riggs' hand moved to the side, she snapped her gaze back to him, tensing. She still wasn't sure that she trusted him. How could she even know that he was telling the truth about her being followed?
He had only moved his hand to rest it on a large satchel that rested at his side, the strap secured on his shoulder. The satchel was slightly translucent as well. "What's in that?"
Riggs didn't answer. He unclasped the top and opened the flap. At first, Isla-Dove saw nothing. When she stepped closer to him, a sweet, strong aroma hit her. Her stomach growled immediately, begging for a taste.
"I said that I'm a fantastic pastry chef, remember?" Riggs tilted the satchel for her to see its contents. "These are my signature pastry – what I'm popular for. They are cookie sandwiches but they're the best you'll ever have."
Isla-Dove wanted to cry at the sight and smell. There were multiple slots in the satchel, and in each slot was a beautiful dessert.
"They are all a fluffy cream sandwiched between two thick, soft cookies of one of three flavors – cinnamon, chocolate, and vanilla." Riggs smiled as she stared hungrily. He really didn't know how hungrily.
The chocolate ones had a hardened drizzle across their surface and chocolate chunks mixed in the cream. The cinnamons had a light dusting of the brown spice sprinkled across them as a whole, and the vanilla sandwich held colorful sprinkles in both the breading and cream. Isla-Dove lifted her gaze away, her mouth beginning to salivate. "They smell heavenly."
"I would let you have one but nobody can access them anymore until nighttime when I'm solid."
"Why are they under the curse like you?"
"The curse is that I become untouchable from sundawn to sundown. I believe it's because the satchel is a part of me too. I rarely ever separate from it."
"Where do you do your baking?" Isla-Dove finally set the clothing basket down in front of her to rest her burning arms.
Riggs watched her with some concern before answering. "The palace kitchen."
"The palace?" She gaped at him, completely stunned. She wouldn't see him there if he could only bake at night so that part made sense. But how did he have access to the palace?
He seemed to understand her thought process because he closed the satchel flap as he said, "My incredible wizard of a brother, Dayton – who has since passed away – is really the main reason why I have access to the palace, but the royal family also loves my pastries. He actually made my satchel. It has the slots for pastries to be held and the satchel altogether keeps them fresh until they're ready to be eaten. He also enchanted it so that it has much more space than the size it appears to be. I carry about two to three dozen of my pastries a day."
The word that Isla-Dove comprehended the most out of all of that was "wizard."
"You said your brother is a wizard?" She felt dizzy with excitement at the thought. Wizards were a dwindling population and magic was not something you could learn. You were either born with the ability or not. There was no in-between, and the current estimation of magic folk still alive was less than 1%.
Riggs nodded. "Was a wizard." A pause. "Do you go to the palace? I swear I've seen you there."
"Yes, actually, I mostly deliver dresses there," Isla-Dove responded slowly. Her hope for a wizard's help slipped away. "My best friend also works there...not that she can give me access." She laughed a little before adding, "The princess and I are on good terms so she'll let me stay longer once deliveries are made."
Riggs' gray eyes scrutinized her. "And you say "good terms" meaning..."
Isla-Dove's face flushed when she realized what he meant. "Oh! Meaning friends. She...I think she fancies me – and I say that respectfully, I'm not boasting – but I'm...I don't like women that way."
He nodded. "Do you enjoy visiting the palace?"
Did she? Isla-Dove's eyes lifted up in the direction that the palace was. "I don't know. It's almost a form of torture. It's a part of my life but it isn't actually my life, you know? It's like a whole new world of luxury and experiences that I get to witness but not participate in."
Riggs nodded. "Agreed."
Only then did she realize that she still had work to do but had been standing there on the street talking to this young man for too long. "I'm so sorry, but I need to go. I have deliveries to finish."
"Yes, me too." Riggs offered a smile that made Isla-Dove's stomach twist...but in a good way. "It was nice meeting you. I hope we meet again."
"Yes. That...That would be nice." Even as the words came out, her feet didn't move. She stood awkwardly, unsure if she should say more or not.
Riggs cleared his throat. "Goodbye."
"Bye." Isla-Dove returned the small wave that he gave her before he was turning and walking back the way that he came. She turned to start walking too. Three steps in and she realized she had left the basket on the ground. She turned rather quickly, arms lifting for a second to steady herself.
The basket wasn't there.
Oh, no.
Isla-Dove froze in place, eyes darting around in search of it. Strategically, if the deliveries were a mix of royal and commoner, Miss Capen placed the important ones at the bottom, which did mean they were delivered last but also meant that if a sly hand did snatch something from the pile, it wasn't something for the royal family.
The queen had a dress at the bottom of that basket.
Isla-Dove's panic fueled her legs and she began searching in vain for the basket. Just finding out that half of the day's deliveries had been stolen, Miss Capen would severely punish Isla-Dove. She couldn't imagine if, along with that, a dress to the queen was missing.
Her fear of the punishment drove her to make a vow with herself.
She wouldn't tell Miss Capen.
Isla-Dove hurried back to the workshop, trying to avoid bumping into folk but failing twice. Once inside, she frantically searched for the seamstress' most current book of designs. She found it quickly. It was lying on top of the table, opened to a marked page.
She flipped through it until she came to the most recent page, then backtracked a few to study the designs of what she'd been out to deliver that day. If her estimation was correct, there had been four dresses left in the basket. It would be hard to figure out which three had been for commoners, but Isla-Dove recognized the one for the queen.
With a shaking hand, she touched the sketch of the gown. Her eyes skimmed over the instructions. She had been with Miss Capen for fourteen years. She started secretly sewing and seaming when she was twelve, as a late night hobby when sleep abandoned her, and with leftover supplies that Miss Capen ordered her to discard.
To the normal eye, the queen's gown would look very sophisticated. Luckily, it seemed that Isla-Dove could accomplish and deliver it to the queen without Miss Capen ever knowing. She could deal with the other missing dresses later. The queen would be the priority.
Isla-Dove closed the sketchbook and hugged it to her chest.
She would remake the queen's gown herself.
🦄🗡🦄🗡🦄
Happy April Fool's Day!! We're already in month four of 2022...what the hell. 👀
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Finally got to throw in another crisis. Do you think it's smart for Isla-Dove not to tell Miss Capen about the dresses and try to remake the queen's gown herself?
Thoughts on Riggs and his peculiar curse? ;) The picture at the top perfectly depicts how I imagine Riggs' pastries described in this chapter.