An Enchantment of Ravens(42)
“You look much better,” she said gravely when we were finished. “Except pink isn’t your color. Take it off again!” She dove back to the closet.
I was stepping out of the wads of fabric when a rustling sound came from the wall. I turned to find a raven poking its beak through the branches. It angled its head this way and that, snatching at the leaves and tearing them off to make room for itself, cocking a demanding purple eye in our direction. Relief swept through me, chased by the prickling awareness that I stood there in my undergarments. I snatched my arms against my chest just as Rook popped his head the rest of the way through. Stuck halfway in and out of the wall, he made an irritable burbling sound in his throat.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It was hard to remain self-conscious in front of a bird.
“All right, hold still,” I told him. I went over and slipped my hand in next to his feathers, and pulled the branches aside. He flapped down to the floor. With a self-important air, he strutted across the room and tugged on the hem of Lark’s dress.
“Stop!” she said. “I’m busy. I won’t break her, I promise.”
Rook and I exchanged a look. She’d just given her word, whether she meant to or not, but I had to wonder if it counted for much given how unlikely she was to understand how, exactly, one went about breaking a mortal.
She spun around. “This one.” Her face glowed with satisfaction.
Oh, god. It was a Firth & Maester’s. I took it reluctantly, as one might a queen’s diamond necklace, and held it close with my knees pressed together, overwhelmingly mindful of Rook standing just a few feet away. “Lark, I don’t know about this one. I have to go tromping around in the woods looking for berries after we’re done, and I’d hate to damage it.”
“Why would you care about that?”
“Well, because then it’s ruined. Wouldn’t Gadfly be upset if he had to replace it?”
“You’re silly. Watch!” She fetched another dress from inside the vines. Involuntarily, I recoiled. It looked like it had served as a wedding dress long ago, but its once-white fabric was soiled and graying, riddled with moth holes. The ribbons dangling from the waist were so rotten one of them dropped off when Lark pulled it against herself. But as soon as the dress touched her body, it unrolled new lengths of snowy satin. Lace restored itself like blossoms unfurling, and the ribbons spooled down to her toes, pristine. Just like that the dress looked freshly sewn, without the slightest trace of decay.
Seeing my expression, Lark shrieked with laughter, showing every one of her pointed teeth. Then she stopped laughing all at once, as though she’d shut the lid on a music box.
“That’s what he meant when he told me to get you new ones,” she explained. “But we can only make them look exactly how they did when they were made. So I can’t change its shape if I want to, or add anything on.” She sized me up. I could tell she was about to ask about my sewing skills again, so I swiftly donned the Firth & Maester’s dress before she had a chance.
It was made of gorgeous sage-green satin. The bodice was embroidered with tiny songbirds in silver thread, and a cream-colored satin ribbon marked its raised waistline, beneath which an additional layer of sheer muslin draped over the green underskirt. I felt diaphanous and shimmering, like a dragonfly’s wing. Ordinarily I’d never wear anything half this fine without a petticoat underneath, and the sleek fabric slid unfamiliarly over my bare legs, a touch as silky and subtle as water. It looked terribly at odds with my stout leather half-boots peeking out beneath the hem, but that was one aspect of my wardrobe I refused to compromise. I never knew when I might have to run.
“Perfect for berry picking,” I joked weakly.
“What about you?” Lark demanded of Rook, who was watching me with a cocked head. Warmth flooded my cheeks, and I resisted the urge to fold my arms again, even though there was nothing to hide. “Has Gadfly changed you out of those dreary autumnlands clothes?”
Wind shook the Bird Hole, and Rook materialized beside us looking rumpled and cross. “Yes, that was his first order of business, unsurprisingly. But these colors don’t suit me at all.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport! Black and brown and whatever else you had on suit everyone poorly. I think you look awfully fine.”
“I believe we must agree to disagree about fashion,” he replied with dignity. “Also, it wasn’t brown, it was copper.”
“Copper!” she repeated, and gave another shriek of laughter, though the source of her amusement eluded me.
To be perfectly frank, Rook could trail about in a bedsheet and still look magnificent. But he did look better in his own clothes—the fern-green jacket Gadfly had scrounged up for him didn’t match his darker complexion or his hair, and fit too tightly across the shoulders. His embattled cravat showed signs of restless clawing; I doubted it was long for this world. But, I thought wryly, at least we matched.
“Are the two of you finished? I’ve been ordered to bring Isobel back down for introductions once she’s dressed. And you can help introduce her, of course,” he added to Lark, who was summoning a pout.
“Oh, all right!” She seized his arm.
Rook lifted his other elbow meaningfully, and I smiled and shook my head. “We’ll never make it through those corridors if we’re promenading arm in arm. I’d impale myself on a coatrack.”