House of Salt and Sorrows(10)

A tear fell, running down the end of his nose. He pushed it aside, gazing at the tiles beneath our feet. Small chips of sea glass made a mosaic of waves crashing down the hall.

“After so many years of tragedy and sadness, I have the chance to grab that happiness again. It’s not as complete—how could it be, with so many gone?—but I need to take it while I can.”

The ribbon around my wrist was already frayed, and I toyed with the fringed ends, overcome by a sense of déjà vu. Wasn’t this exactly what Camille and I had just spoken of?

“I suppose these dressmakers might have some light gray silks?” I reasoned, conceding.

“Cecilia always loved you in green,” he confided, bumping his arm into mine. “That’s why she made up your room in all that jade. She said your eyes reminded her of the sea right before a big storm.”

“I’ll see what they have,” I said, accepting his hand as he pulled me up. “But you will not catch me wearing pink.”



* * *





“Look at this satin! It’s the most delectable shade of pink I ever saw!” Rosalie exclaimed, hoisting the rosette cloth above her head.

The Gold Parlor was a mess of fabrics and trimmings. Crates of bows and laces lay open like treasure chests, their contents spilling out. There wasn’t a bare surface to be found. I’d tripped over three boxes of buttons already.

Camille held a swatch of saffron up to her face. “What do you think of this shade, Annaleigh?”

“It suits you beautifully,” Morella cut in. She was in the middle of the chaos, sitting on a tufted chaise longue like a pampered queen bee. She hadn’t looked at me since the incident in the dining room. I needed to find a way to apologize.

“Something blue would bring out your eyes more,” I said, scooping up a bolt of cerulean. “See? And it sets off your coloring—you look so rosy. Don’t you think, Morella?”

She nodded faintly but turned to inspect a glimmering bit of ribbon Mercy pulled from a box.

“This chiffon is perfect for my lady,” a seamstress said, stepping into the conversation. “Have you seen these sketches yet?” She offered Camille a handful of designs. “We can have that made into any of these dresses.”

Camille took the drawings and sat on a pouf covered in glittering pastel damasks. The seamstress knelt beside her, taking notes.

On the rack near me, lengths of cream-colored linens and beautiful green silks rested on padded hangers. I’d selected three patterns for long, flowing dresses and even a ball gown for the triplets’ party. Despite my misgivings, the seafoam tulle—dotted with sparkling silver paillettes like twinkling stars—made me giddy with anticipation. It would be a truly magnificent dress.

Lenore opened an ornate box. “Oh! Look at these!”

Nestled inside the velvet lining was a pair of slippers. The silver leather looked as soft as butter and shimmered in the afternoon light. Silk ribbons were sewn on either side to tie around the ankle.

These shoes were meant for dancing.

Verity grabbed one and held it close to her face, inspecting the pattern of beads around the toe with awe. “Fairy shoes!”

“How stunning,” Morella said, admiring the other.

Reynold Gerver, the cobbler, spoke up. “Each pair takes two weeks to make. The soles are padded for extra comfort. You could dance all night, and your feet wouldn’t mind at all come morning.”

Rosalie snatched the shoe away from Verity. “I want a pair of them for our ball.”

“No, I saw them first!” Lenore protested. “I want them.”

“We should all get a pair,” Ligeia said. She joined Morella on the chaise, touching the ribbons. “We only turn sixteen once.”

Camille looked up from the sketches. “Can they be made in other colors? I’d love a pair in rose gold, to match my gown.”

Gerver nodded. “I have samples of all my leather here.” He pulled a book out from under the discarded yellow fabric. He paused, eyeing Morella. “Because these slippers are so unique…they can run quite dear.”

“Quite dear?” Papa’s voice boomed from the doorway. “I leave my girls alone for an hour and you’ve spent me out of house and home, have you?”

Rosalie held up the shimmering slipper. “Papa! Look at this! These shoes would be perfect for our ball! May we get them? Please?”

He looked at each of my sisters’ hopeful faces. “I suppose you all want a pair?”

“Us too?” Honor asked, standing on tiptoe to peer over a stack of hatboxes.

He kept his face as a neutral mask. “I’ll need to see them. One of the most important lessons of trade: never shake on an agreement until you’ve inspected the cargo.”

Rosalie gave the slipper back to Verity and nudged her. She stepped forward, holding it out with reverent, chubby fingers.

“They’re fairy shoes, Papa.”

He turned it over and over again with theatrical interest. “Fairy shoes, you say?” Her round eyes, the same green as mine, beamed. “They seem awfully delicate. Very insubstantial.”

The cobbler stepped forward. “Not at all. I assure you, they will last a whole season’s worth of balls. I make my soles from the finest leather in the kingdom. Flexible but tough.”