“This is it,” Keda announces, stopping abruptly. “Carys’s shop.”
“Carys? Your friend is called Carys?”
“Do you know her, miss?” Teagan asks.
“No,” comes a lilting voice from the doorway, where a woman has just appeared. Her shiny black hair is braided in a perfect circlet, her light green eyes are glittering with warmth, and her hands rest on her heavily pregnant stomach. “But she knows my husband quite well.”
Chapter
Twenty-three
“Welcome, Rhya.” Carys extends a hand of welcome. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I clasp her palm against mine, smiling tentatively back at her. “I wish I could say the same, but truthfully I had no idea this was your shop.”
“Small world, isn’t it?” Keda steps forward to greet her childhood companion with a light embrace. “You’re a bit rounder than the last time we met, old friend.”
“And you’re cheeky as ever!” Carys grins. “Seeing as it takes having a baby to get you to pay a visit.”
“I had no idea you were expecting! You should’ve written.”
“When I next find a spare minute that my fingers are not hemming a bodice or threading a needle, you’ll get a lengthy letter.”
“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath. I know how busy you are.” Keda heaves a guilty sigh. “I hate to pile on your workload, but we’re not here for a social call. This is official business with the best dressmaker in town. Lady Rhya is in dire need of a gown for Fyremas. It seems the royal dressmakers are hard at work on a ruffled yellow monstrosity—no doubt following Her Majesty’s orders to make her look as ridiculous as possible during the procession.”
“That does indeed sound like a scheme our magnanimous queen would concoct.” Carys glances at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something better suited for you. There’s no time to make something from scratch, but I have several gowns in my inventory that can be altered before the festival.”
“Truly, I don’t want to cause—”
“You’re an angel, Carys!” Keda cuts me off, beaming. “I knew we were right to come to you.”
“Do make sure to tell the incensed royal dressmakers of my angelic character when they discover I’ve subverted their efforts.” Her hand sweeps the air, beckoning us forward. “By all means, come inside.”
Keda’s lips flatten in remorse. “I wish we could stay, but Teagan and I have errands to run at the market. It’s chaos at the palace, pure chaos. We’ve a list of orders a league long. We’ll head off now, then circle back in an hour or so to collect Lady Rhya.”
“Only if you’re up for company, Carys,” I interject. “If you’re too tired—”
The dressmaker waves away my words. “I’m delighted to have some company.”
After we bid Keda and Teagan farewell, Carys ushers me into the shop, sage eyes twinkling with happiness, gait shuffling from the heavy burden she carries. It is a bright, clean space stocked with fabric—bolts and bolts of it lean against the wall, along with dozens of bundles of satin ribbons and lace trimmings. There are spools of thread in every conceivable color, racks of needles of every length and thickness. Several completed gowns are displayed on the hanging racks, their designs just as elegant and eccentric as the ones in the window. Others are pinned in various stages of development against fabric mannequin forms near the back.
“Your shop is lovely, Carys.”
She shoots me a warm glance as she leads me to a cozy sitting area by an array of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, furnished with two upholstered chaises and a matching set of armchairs.
Carys promptly collapses into one of the chairs. “You’ll have to pardon my lack of hospitality. I’m usually a much better hostess, but in this condition…” She grimaces down at her protruding stomach. “I feel ready to pop, and there are still weeks to go.”
“When are you due?” I ask as I settle across from her.
“A fortnight. Just in time for Fyremas.”
“You must be very excited.”
“To be able to see my feet again? Tie my laces? Go for more than an hour without using the toilet?” She snorts. “Surely.”
I laugh. “Uther is bursting with pride. I’ve never seen him smile so much as when he spoke of you and your child.”
“Och!If he had his way, I’d be confined to my bed under lock and key for the next two weeks, the scoundrel. I told him: I’m carrying a child, not a cargo of explosives. A bit of movement is healthy.”