Simple, but clever—just as in English, the word postran referred both to clothing and the place where it was kept.
Tiny bells had been threaded through the curtain of fabric that served as a door, and they rang softly as Lila pushed the cloth aside. Stepping into the stall was like crossing the threshold into a well-warmed house. Lanterns burned in the corners, emitting not only rosy light, but a glorious amount of heat. Lila scanned the tent. Once the back wall had been covered with faces, but now it was lined with winter things—hats, scarves, hoods, and a few accessories that seemed to merge all three.
A round woman, her brown hair wrestled into a braided bun, knelt before one of the tables, reaching for something beneath.
“An esto,” she called at the sound of the bells, then muttered quiet curses at whatever had escaped. “Aha!” she said at last, shoving a bauble back into her pocket before pushing to her feet. “Solase,” she said, brushing herself off as she turned. “Kers …” But then she trailed off, and burst into a smile.
It had been four months since Lila had stepped into Calla’s tent to admire the masks along the wall. Four months since the merchant woman had given her a devil’s face, and a coat, and a pair of boots, the beginnings of a new identity. A new life.
Four months, but Calla’s eyes lit up instantly with recognition. “Lila,” she said, stretching out the i into several es.
“Calla,” said Lila. “As esher tan ves.”
I hope you are well.
The woman smiled. “Your Arnesian,” she said in English, “it is improving.”
“Not fast enough,” said Lila. “Your High Royal is impeccable as always.”
“Tac,” she chided, smoothing the front of her dark apron.
Lila felt a peculiar warmth toward the woman, a fondness that should have made her nervous, but she couldn’t bring herself to smother the feeling.
“You have been gone.”
“At sea,” answered Lila.
“You have docked along with half the world, it seems,” said Calla, crossing to the front of her stall and fastening the curtain shut. “And just in time for the Essen Tasch.”
“It’s not a coincidence.”
“You come to watch, then,” she said.
“My captain is competing,” answered Lila.
Calla’s eyes widened. “You sail with Alucard Emery?”
“You know of him?”
Calla shrugged. “Reputations, they are loud things.” She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing smoke. “What brings you to my stall? Time for a new coat? Green perhaps, or blue. Black is out of fashion this winter.”
“I hardly care,” said Lila. “You’ll never part me from my coat.”
Calla chuckled and ran a questing finger along Lila’s sleeve. “It’s held up well enough.” And then she tutted. “Saints only know what you’ve been doing in it. Is that a knife tear?”
“I snagged it on a nail,” she lied.
“Tac, Lila, my work is not so fragile.”
“Well,” she conceded, “it might have been a small knife.”
Calla shook her head. “First storming castles, and now fighting on the seas. You are a very peculiar girl. Anesh, Master Kell is a peculiar boy, so what do I know.”
Lila colored at the implication. “I have not forgotten my debt,” she said. “I’ve come to pay it.” With that, she produced a small wooden box. It was an elegant thing, inlaid with glass. Inside, the box was lined with black silk, and divided into basins. One held fire pearls, another a spool of silver wire, violet stone clasps and tiny gold feathers, delicate as down. Calla drew in a small, sharp breath at the treasure.
“Mas aven,” she whispered. And then she looked up. “Forgive me for asking, but I trust no one will come looking for these?” There was surprisingly little judgment in the question. Lila smiled.
“If you know of Alucard Emery, then you know he sails a royal ship. These were confiscated from a vessel on our waters. They were mine, and now they are yours.”
Calla’s short fingers trailed over the trinkets. And then she closed the lid, and tucked the box away. “They are too much,” she said. “You will have a credit.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Lila. “Because I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“It’s not a favor if you’ve purchased and paid. What can I do?”
Lila reached into her coat and pulled out the black mask Calla had given her months before, the one that had solidified her nickname of Sarows. It was worn by salt air and months of use; cracks traced across the black leather, the horns had lost some of their upward thrust, and the cords that fastened it were in danger of breaking.
“What on earth have you been doing with this?” chided Calla, her lips pursing with something like motherly disapproval.
“Will you mend it?”
Calla shook her head. “Better to start fresh,” she said, setting the mask aside.
“No,” insisted Lila, reaching for it. “I’m fond of this one. Surely you can reinforce it.”