The Glittering Court (The Glittering Court, #1)(92)

We passed fishermen and lumberjacks doggedly going to their jobs. Adoria’s aristocrats strode haughtily through, flanked by servants. One young man, with a long wig and flamboyant purple coat, stopped to bow and take his plumed hat off before us in a gallant gesture. Aiana rolled her eyes when we moved past him. “One of the ‘idle elite,’ as we call them. The sons of wealthy settlers with nothing to do, so they dress like that and think they’re pirates or some such nonsense. Except pirates do more work than they do. They need to spend a day with Tom Shortsleeves or one of the others.”

“Are all those pirate stories real?” I asked. “The heroic ones and the cruel ones?”

“Embellished, but real. All stories have a seed of truth.”

She took me to one of the more reputable-looking shops, with WINSLOW & ELLIOTT OUTFITTERS etched on the glass window. Stepping inside, I saw all sorts of gear and supplies that one might need in setting off on an adventure to unknown lands. Two young men spoke to another man behind the counter, and when I caught a glimpse of him, I was surprised to recognize his face.

I nudged Mira, who was studying a pair of leather boots. “Hey, remember Grant Elliott from the ship? He’s working here.”

“Who?” she asked, not really paying attention to me.

Grant walked through the store to fetch a saddle for his customers, his eyes sliding over us in surprise. He nodded a greeting to Aiana.

“Qi dica hakta,” she said.

“Manasta,” he replied gruffly. Aiana meandered away from us to study a display of canteens, and I hurried after her.

“What was that you said?”

“My native tongue. Mister Elliott is half-Balanquan.”

“Is he?” I looked back at him, hoping my scrutiny wasn’t obvious. Although he had black hair like Aiana, there was nothing about him that would’ve suggested he wasn’t an ordinary Osfridian. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“I think he prefers it that way. It’d be much harder to run a business in Cape Triumph if people knew the truth about his background.”

“How did you end up in Cape Triumph?” I asked. “If it’s not rude of me to ask.”

“Not at all. I ran away to escape an unhappy marriage. It had been arranged against my wishes. But my wife and I . . . weren’t compatible.”

“Your wife?” I asked, wondering if she’d had some sort of translation issue.

“My wife,” she affirmed. “The Balanquans don’t look down on same-sex relations the way your people do.”

I didn’t answer right away. “Look down” was putting it mildly, since such things were considered a great sin by the priests of Uros. Possibly more so than being an Alanzan.

“Did you leave because . . . um, because you didn’t want to be with a woman?”

She grinned. “I have no problem being with women—just not that one. She was unkind, to put it mildly. I came to your colonies, wanting to learn about your culture firsthand, and eventually fell in with the Thorns. Jasper offered me a job, and as you might imagine, I had a particular interest in looking after girls who were being sold off to men they hardly knew.”

“Is that . . . is that why you dress like you do—like a man? Because you . . . prefer women?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like an idiot. Aiana’s laughter only intensified that feeling.

“I dress like this because it’s more comfortable than all those ridiculous skirts and petticoats the rest of you prance around in. And, as you’ll soon see, you’ll be dressing the same. You aren’t going to work a gold claim in a ball gown.”

With that, she left me gaping and went to the counter to speak to a now-free Grant. I found Tamsin and Mira on the other side of the store, sifting through bolts of fabric.

Tamsin held up a piece of coarsely woven linen. “I wouldn’t use this to scrub a floor.”

“I remember the dress you came in wearing,” said Mira. “It wasn’t nearly in such good condition.”

“Even so, I’m not going to start wearing this stuff again for the sake of nostalgia.” Tamsin regarded me sorrowfully. “Damn, Adelaide. I hope you can at least get something in organdy.”

“Adelaide,” called Aiana. “We need to measure you.”

Tamsin came with me out of curiosity, but Mira stayed to further examine the loose fabrics. Grant looked much as he did on the ship—handsome, decently dressed, but messy around the edges. When we reached the counter, he looked us over. “So who’s the lucky explorer?” he asked.

“Me,” I said.

“Off to Hadisen with Doyle, eh? Quite an adventure ahead of you.”

Tamsin fixed him with an imperious look. “That’s Governor Doyle. Please address my fiancé by his proper title.”

We all looked at her in astonishment, and she turned sheepish.

“Well, I mean, he’s not my fiancé. Not yet. I’m going to work on that.”

“And not really governor yet either,” Grant pointed out with a smile. “But who’s keeping track?”

Aiana snapped at him in Balanquan, which he responded to good-naturedly. I thought back to how he’d always spoken so politely during shipboard encounters and then been so gruff during the storm. I supposed stress could bring out the worst in everyone, because he seemed perfectly fine now as he gauged my size, keeping a proper distance with his measuring tape.