Page 56 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“This is where you get your clothes?” I am genuinely surprised, but sounding like a snob will also help my case. Especially with the girl who sees entirely too much.

“Only my dresses. Portricia is the best, trust me.”

“I wasn’t talking about the seamstress, I was talking about the village,” I say.

“It’s not a village.” She gives me a look, up and down, assessing me. “It’s Arson’s Alley.”

I’m guessing I should’ve known that.

Aralia pulls me down the street. She doesn’t even yelp when an austec scurries by. I wonder if I should yelp and make the mental note to at least flinch the next time I see one.

The door we enter is made of glass, which means the orphia of Arson’s Alley can’t be as poor as they look. They are getting our handiwork.

A woman with gray-and-black hair tied up into the highest hairstyle I’ve ever seen hurries to greet us. “Oh, Aralia, you look stunning as always.” The woman smiles in a way that lights up her entire face—including her gray eyes.

I inch away before she can get too close.

Aralia hugs the Nepenthe. “As do you, Portricia.” Then she gestures to me. “This is Desdemona, she also needs a dress for the Gerner.”

Portricia eyes me up and down and sticks out her tongue, which is long and thin and forked at the end. Gross. I smile as best I can.

All Portricia says is, “Gold.”

“Excuse me?” I’m really trying not to sound offended.

“Your complexion,” she says. “It’s suited for gold, not silver. I’ll put you in gold.”

I hide my confusion behind casually crafted words. “But Soma’s colors are silver and blue.” That was Leiholan’s only instruction.

“Yes, they are, but I don’t dress my clients for Soma, I dress them for themselves. And you, sweets, are a gold.”

I don’t think I should say that I don’t know what gold is. Obviously, I’ve put together that it’s a color—but not one I’ve heard of and certainly not something I’ve seen. But if she knows gold here, then I would be expected to know it in Utul.

“I don’t want to stand out,” I say sheepishly. I’m already so used to all eyes on me, and not in a good way. They’re always either fearful or full of pity. I don’t want more of that.

“I couldn’t in good conscience put you in silver!” Portricia basically shouts.

“How about blue?” I say.

“How about I put you in both and you decide.” She smiles and whispers, “But you’re gonna choose gold.”

“Fine,” I say, and Aralia smiles at me.

Portricia claps, but only with the tops of her hands. “Splendid!”

I give Aralia an unsure smile back. The next thing I know, she and I are standing in front of a mirror and Portricia is covering me in dark-blue fabrics. Wrapping them around my arms and waists, then doing the same for Aralia, but with silver.

I try not to shrink back when her skin touches me.

“Remember how this looks, sweets,” she says while she chews on something.

And then she covers me in the most beautiful fabric I’ve ever had the good luck to see, let alone wear.

Portricia tells me to step into a dress and pulls it up around me, pulling the fabric snugly against my waist. The dress hangs low and loose around my chest, with straps wrapping around my neck, creating a slight choking effect. I don’t see the back, but it feels entirely bare. Good thing I have Hogan’s glamour. The dress cuts off before my ankles, where Portricia is now pinning extra material so that the dress hangs down to my feet.

“A leg slit?” she asks from the floor.

“Definitely a leg slit,” Aralia answers for me.

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