Clara loved to wander Stalt on her own. It was so cute and quaint compared to the capital, but she still found all the things she wanted. And today she had money to spend on it. After swimming in slimes yesterday, surely she deserved a treat.
"I want a dress like this one," Clara said, pointing at a low cut dress with enough ruffles to light up her heart, "Let's try it on."
Clara stood on a low stool in the tailor's shop, surrounded by a display of a dozen frilly dresses. The tailor bowed slightly, bustling off with pins in her mouth and energy in her elderly steps.
I need to remember her name, Clara thought, it's common decency.
Clara danced through the fitting, admiring how with a few pins, the tailor could get the dress to fit as snug as a glove. Speaking of gloves…
"How much for these gloves?" Clara said, pointing to some delicate white silk, "I don't want to go over budget."
The tailor looked up and said, "How much is your allowance. You didn't come in with a manservant, or even a handmaid."
"I've never liked having a handmaid." Clara waved her hand with as much grace as she could, "But my budget is about two-hundred gold for this dress."
How does Harriett do that hand-wave? Clara thought, She makes it look so… wispy.
"Hmm," the woman said, folding her cloth measuring tape, "I don't know about that pair. Your allowance will barely cover this dress as it is. Why don't I find you some nice cotton ones?"
Clara paused. They weren't low on money, and she'd gotten four hundred gold from Petra for the last quest. One-fifth of their reward for something only Jasson and Harriett had a real hand in. Still, they had a lot of money coming once they started selling those crystals…
"How about a compromise?" Clara said, "I'll add another fifty gold and you find me the nicest pair within that budget."
"All right," the tailor said, shifting the pins to the other side of her mouth, "Now, are you sure you want this dress?"
Clara twirled, loving how the skirt flipped out and danced with a life of its own. Then she caught a glimpse in the mirror and traced the neckline of the dress. It wouldn't be mistaken for a salacious amount, but it was definitely more -or less- than she wore normally.
The tailor said, "Got someone in mind?"
Clara blushed and looked over her shoulder, then said, "Yeah. Decently. He's sweet and playful and gets along with my sister."
Petra kissing Jasson flashed through Clara's mind. She flushed.
Clara sighed and said, "Too well. I should have made my move before that. To be honest, I don't even know if my sister likes him that way. It was a bit of an odd moment. But…"
"He looks at her more," The tailor nodded and repinned a portion of the dress to hug her figure more, "He's gotten a foot in her door and wants to go that way. He sounds…young."
"About a year older than me," Clara sighed, "Nothing like my last one. Although ten years is not a large age gap. Still, that one was never more than flirtatious and polite. He seemed to think that politeness was all that mattered in life."
"I know the type," The tailor said, "How long have you known this new boy?"
"Almost three weeks," Clara giggled, "I picked him up out of an alleyway and he hasn't let me down since."
The tailor spat a pin from her mouth and said, "Three weeks? You better not be planning anything drastic. Your sister matters more than a man you met three weeks ago. By the gods, what do you actually know about him?"
What do I know? Clara thought. Not nearly enough.
There was that day before they left for Smill. He'd asked her to accompany him, and Petra had given her the signal.
Test him.
So she'd put herself in the most vulnerable position she knew how to. She'd positioned herself above a massive fall in an area where monsters could be. She didn't have it in her to test him further once alone, something she doubted Petra could even do, and let herself settle for mere backstabbing. But then he had just looked at his crystal, ignoring her.
Clara had been about to turn and confront him when she heard small voices coming from the crystal. They would be too low for most people to make out, but Clara had trained her sense of hearing. The voices on his crystal were subdued, bitter, cracking.
It was a funeral.
At first, Clara had thought that it was a recording from a friend's funeral. He had that kind of tight-lipped expression. Someone he'd known had died, and he was watching a recording from that mysterious crystal of his.
But then they started talking about a boy named Jasson.
That was no problem. Clara was sure that there were plenty of people named Jasson. She'd even read a book with a character named Jason. But…the way he reacted didn't line up with merely a shared name.
He responded personally to every speaker, crying like they were talking about him. It got to the point that, no matter how confused Clara was, she had to admit the truth.
That was his funeral. Somehow, this mysterious man was dead.
And he loved his family very, very much.
Pulling herself back to the present, Clara said to the tailor, "I know enough about him. And I know that I have years before this becomes anything serious. But… I want to stay even with my sister. I don't like her having an early lead."
The tailor picked up the spat pin and stuck it back in her mouth, then said, "Sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders. I'll have this dress ready for the Grand Ball next week."
"Ball?" Clara said, whipping to face the tailor, "When? Where? Who's hosting? What's the theme?"
"Oh!" the lady said, "I'm sorry! I thought that was why you were getting this dress! Have you not received an invite?"
"I'm new to town," Clara said, "Seeing if it's somewhere I want to live. So, tell me more about this so I know who to ask…"
****
Clara skipped home, head full of dancing and glittering lights. A Ball! For the first time in months! They even had enough money, if not the connections to attend.
They couldn't get their House established in a week, but it was vital to start developing a relationship with the local noble class as soon as possible. Especially with word of their fight with Clout. They couldn't afford to wait unti they were perfectly ready.
Petra would agree. Clara was thrilled and filled with hope, a little song dancing in her and telling her she'd go.
Now all she had to do was figure out how.
Clara found Petra preparing dinner, with Jasson on his crystal in the corner and the kittens cuddling around the table. Clara walked up and dove both hands into the fur, petting the orange one, then turned to Petra.
"Petra!!" Clara said, "There's a Ball next week! Help me figure out how to go."
Petra turned, sizzling pan held in bare fingers as she pointed with a dripping spoon.
"A Ball?" Petra said, "We don't have the finances for that yet! Who's hosting?"
"The brother of the Duke of Stalt," Clara said, grinning confidently, "Frank Peckishire. It will be held in the royal palace, with viewing atop the highest tower in all of Stalt."
Jasson looked up from the corner.
"Okay," Petra tapped the spoon against her arm, "You're right. I don't think that we can afford to miss a Ball like this. The Duke himself will be in attendance. It is an unparalleled opportunity to develop relations with the Baron Butcher of Stalt."
"Baron Butcher?" Jasson said, standing, "Why would you want to ally with someone named that?"
"He's the main reason we chose Stalt, besides our family home here." Petra motioned to the ruins around them, "His name is twofold. Years ago, he was known as the "Butcher Baron" due to his prowess on the battlefield. But now he's known as the "Baron Butcher" because of how many Barons he's executed."
"Uh," Jasson said, "You're not making it better. What did they do?"
Clara beamed and grabbed Jasson's arm as she said, "M*rder, r*pe, enslavement of citizens, bathing in the blood of innocents. Under the Baron Butcher, the law is held equally against citizens and nobility alike. That's why this is the best place for beginnings. It was just a war-torn duchy before that."
Clara frowned. Why was Jasson looking at her like that? Had she said something weird again?
"So we need to get to know him." Petra said, "You're not coming, though."
"What?" Jasson asked, "Why?"
"Because you don't have any manners," Petra said, food flinging from the end of the spoon as she pointed it at him, "And this will be a fine establishment. High nobility. Sorry."
"What?!" Jasson said.
Clara felt a pang for the disappointment in his voice. Did Jasson like going to Balls? She wouldn't have taken him as one who liked to dance. That would be too perfect if he did though…
"I've seen you spit a bone so hard it stuck in the ground," Jasson said, "How is that manners?"
"That is a conscious choice," Petra said, "I'm sure you figured this out in Smill. As we are high nobility ourselves, with years of training, 'Grace' is just a switch in our brains."
He's so cute when he spats with Petra, Clara thought, It's just too bad that Petra's just as cute spitting back.