Page 121 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Unfair, really, when she was the only one at risk. Why did he have to take precautions by himself?
She admired a pair of light, paper-thin gloves, soft and supple as real human skin. They were the wrong size for her, of course.
“Can I help you at all?” asked the glove maker.
Aislinn turned. She was slim, for a dwarf, with white hair and even whiter eyes. Eyes that stared at nothing.
“I, um, quite fancied the look of these gloves, but they’re too small for me.”
“Hand them over.”
Aislinn did so. The glove maker turned them over in her hands. “A fine fabric,” she agreed. “Doesn’t need lining. I can make you a pair from scratch.”
“We’re leaving in a couple of hours—”
“I work fast, lass, with my machine here, and today’s a slow day.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Put out your hands.”
Aislinn did as instructed, laying them flat against the paper lining the counter. The glove maker traced around them quickly, deftly, in an ink that left a raised pattern.
Aislinn wondered how a blind tailor worked. She noted that the measuring tape was lined with textured knots, and supposed the fabrics must be identifiable in a similar way. Or perhaps she had an assistant. It seemed rude to ask either way. Blindness was rare in Faerie although not unheard of. It was hard to heal eyes too ravaged by time or disease, but most things could be cured if they were attended to soon enough, and she’d heard tales of witches trading in eyes before, or even replacing healthy ones to imbue folk with the sight of a hawk.
The glove maker tutted under her breath as she lifted Aislinn’s hands away, pinching the fingers. “Why have your hands got to be so big?”
“Why’s your mouth got to be so rude?” said Aislinn, before she could stop herself.
The glove maker barked a laugh.
“I mean, um—” Aislinn started, unable to finish.
“Can’t say sorry because you aren’t, hmm?”
“No.”
“You must be the faerie lass they’re talking about.”
“I must be.”
“Off to the Deep, they say.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Well, I hope the gloves serve you well there, girl. Best of luck. That’ll be four drahma for the rush order. I’ll send them up to the palace before you leave. Have no fear.”
Back at the palace, Aislinn found Caer in the throne room, examining maps with Bell and Minerva, trying to chart their best path towards the place where the mirror was rumoured to be located. She tried to catch his eye, but it seemed like he was deliberately avoiding her, and she lacked the courage to go up and speak to him with an audience. She would rather fight a cave troll.
Fighting actually sounded like a really good idea right now.
Her bags packed, and with nothing else to do until Minerva gave the order, she located the armoury, found a few blunt weapons, and swung them around for a while until her thoughts turned narrow with the illusion of battle. The exercise dulled her rapid pulse, satiated the thrumming heat inside her. Not completely, but enough.
Enough, enough, enough.
Before long, Beau came to find her.
“Might have known you were here,” he said. “We’re ready.”
