By the time Elissa reached the courtyard, she felt bundled enough to survive an avalanche. Kestrel was already mounted on a sleek black mare, looking like a flame against the grey stone, while Vane leaned against the carriage, looking tragically bored.
"There she is!" Vane called out, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I was beginning to think we'd have to send a search party. Or at least a very loud trumpet player."
"Ignore him," Kestrel said, signaling the guards to open the heavy iron gates. "He's just cranky because he had to wake up before noon. Are you ready, Elissa? The lower city is a madhouse today."
Elissa looked up at the towering spires of the Bastion, then back at the siblings who were, in their own chaotic way, becoming her anchors. "I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"Good," Kestrel grinned, her horse dancing impatiently on the cobblestones. "Then let's go find something that will make those ministers choke on their wine."
As the carriage began its descent down the winding mountain pass, Elissa looked back at the fortress. She caught a glimpse of a lone figure standing on one of the high balconies—a dark silhouette against the pale sky. Even from this distance, she could feel that familiar, intense gaze.
Alistair was watching.
The descent from the Bastion was a jarring transition. One moment, Elissa was in the silent, ozone-scented corridors of a fortress; the next, she was thrust into the lungs of the North. The Market District was a labyrinth of cobblestone streets draped in heavy awnings of teal, crimson, and gold. The air was a thick soup of smells: roasted chestnuts, expensive saddle soap, the metallic tang of the forge, and the earthy musk of the mountain oxen pulling merchant carts.
"Stay close," Kestrel warned, though she looked like she was enjoying the chaos. She moved through the crowd like a blade through silk, people instinctively parting for the D'Valtheron crest on her cloak. "The merchants here can smell a Southern accent from three streets away. They'll try to sell you 'enchanted' rabbit fur if you let them."
Vane sauntered behind them, looking bored but keeping a hand casually near his belt. "Oh, let them try. I've always wanted a rabbit that could do my taxes."
They stepped into The Maiden's Mirror, the city's premier clothier. Inside, the roar of the street died down, replaced by the soft snip-snip of shears and the scent of dried lavender. Madame Bisset, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a sharp needle tucked perpetually behind her ear, didn't just walk—she floated toward them.
"Highness. Lord Vane," she curtsied, her eyes immediately darting to Elissa. "And the Starwind. A challenge. We must find the balance between the Southern sun and the Northern frost, yes?"
Kestrel immediately dived into the stacks, pulling out a roll of deep, predatory crimson. "This," she declared, holding it up. "This says, 'I will dance with you, but I might also kill you.'"
"It's... a bit loud," Elissa murmured, her fingers trailing over a nearby shelf.
"Loud is the point, Elissa!" Kestrel laughed. "But fine. You're not a 'blood-red' girl. Not yet."
Vane, who had been lounging on a velvet settee, suddenly sat up. He pointed a gloved finger toward a hidden corner where a single beam of light hit a specific roll of fabric. "There. The one that looks like it's trying to be invisible but failing miserably."
Elissa walked over to it. Her breath caught.
It was a bolt of pale, shimmering beige that leaned toward a delicate shell-pink in the dim light. It wasn't bold, but it was alive. It was shot through with intricate silver thread that looked like the veins of a winter leaf, and tiny, hand-sewn pearls were scattered across it like fallen dew.
The Glass Garden, she thought.
The fabric felt exactly like the moment with Alistair the night before—quiet, shimmering, and holding a hidden warmth beneath the frost. It didn't scream for attention; it commanded it by being perfectly, hauntingly still.
"It's beautiful," Elissa whispered, her fingertips grazing the cool, textured surface.
"It's too subtle," Kestrel argued, coming over to inspect it. "The ministers will think you're a mouse."
"No," Vane disagreed, his voice surprisingly soft. "The pearls make it look like frost on a rose. It's elegant. It doesn't scream, Kestrel. It whispers. And in a room full of people screaming for attention, a whisper is the only thing anyone actually hears."
Elissa looked at her reflection in a nearby silver-framed mirror. She thought of Alistair's hand on her shoulder, his low voice telling her she wasn't a prisoner.
"This one," Elissa said, her voice firmer than it had been since she arrived in the North. "I want this one."
Madame Bisset smiled, a sharp, professional glint in her eye. "A wise choice, My Lady. It will not hide you. it will frame you."
After they finalised their fabric Madame Bisser took their measurements and gave a assuring smile.