Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

as she saw Vin. The old dressmaker leaned on his cane, dictating notes to a young assistant. "Move around a bit more, my lady," he requested. "Let me see how it fits when you do more than just walk in a straight line."
    Vin spun slightly, turning on one foot, trying to remember the dancing moves Sazed had taught her.
    I never did get to dance with Elend , she realized, stepping to the side, as if to music she could only faintly remember. He always found an excuse to wiggle out of it .
    She twirled, getting a feel for the dress. She would have thought that her instincts would have decayed. Now that she had one on again, however, she was surprised at how easy it was to fall back into those habits—stepping lightly, turning so that the bottom of the dress flared just a bit. . ..
    She paused. The dressmaker was no longer dictating. He watched her quietly, smiling.
    "What?" Vin asked, flushing.
    "I'm sorry, my lady," he said, turning to tap on his assistant's notebook, sending the boy away with a point of his finger. "But I don't rightly think I've ever seen someone move so gracefully. Like a. . .passing breath."
    "You flatter me," Vin said.
    "No, child," Tindwyl said, standing to the side. "He's right. You move with a grace that most women can only envy."
    The dressmaker smiled again, turning as his assistant approached with a group of square cloth color samples. The old man began to sort through them with a wizened hand, and Vin stepped over to Tindwyl, holding her hands at the sides, trying not to let the traitorous dress take control of her again.
    "Why are you being so nice to me?" Vin demanded quietly.
    "Why shouldn't I be?" Tindwyl asked.
    "Because you're mean to Elend," Vin said. "Don't deny it—I've listened in on your lessons. You spend the time insulting and disparaging him. But now you're pretending to be nice."
    Tindwyl smiled. "I am not pretending, child."
    "Then why are you so mean to Elend?"
    "The lad grew up as a pampered son of a great lord," Tindwyl said. "Now that he's king, he needs a little harsh truth, I think." She paused, glancing down at Vin. "I sense that you've had quite enough of that in your life."
    The dressmaker approached with his swatches, spreading them out on a low table. "Now, my lady," he said, tapping one group with a bent finger. "I think your coloring would look particularly good with dark cloth. A nice maroon, perhaps?"
    "What about a black?" Vin asked.
    "Heavens, no," Tindwyl said. "Absolutely no more black or gray for you, child."
    "What about this one, then?" Vin asked, pulling out a royal blue swatch. It was nearly the shade she'd worn the first night she'd met Elend, so long ago.
    "Ah, yes," the dressmaker said. "That would look wonderful against that light skin and dark hair. Hum, yes. Now, we'll have to pick a style. You need this by tomorrow evening, the Terriswoman said?"
    Vin nodded.
    "Ah, then. We'll have to modify one of the stock dresses, but I think I have one in this color. We'll have to take it in quite a bit, but we can work through the night for a beauty like yourself, can't we, lad? Now, as for the style. . ."
    "This is fine, I guess," Vin said, looking down. The gown was the standard cut of those she'd worn at previous balls.
    "Well, we're not looking for 'fine,' now, are we?" the dressmaker said with a smile.
    "What if we removed some of the pettiskirts?" Tindwyl said, pulling at the sides of Vin's dress. "And perhaps raised the hem just a bit, so that she could move more freely?"
    Vin paused. "You could do that?"
    "Of course," the dressmaker said. "The lad says thinner skirts are more popular to the south, though they tend to lag in fashion a bit behind Luthadel." He paused. "Though, I don't know that Luthadel even really has a fashion anymore. . .."
    "Make cuffs of the sleeves wide," Tindwyl said. "And sew a couple of pockets into them for certain personal items."
    The old man nodded as his quiet assistant scribbled down the suggestion.
    "The chest and waist can be tight," Tindwyl continued, "but not restrictive. Lady Vin needs to be able to move freely."
    The old man paused. "Lady Vin?" he asked. He looked a little closer at Vin, squinting, then turned to his assistant. The boy nodded quietly.
    "I see. . ." the man said, paling, hand shaking just a little bit more. He placed it on the top of his cane, as if to give himself a little more stability. "I'm. . .I'm sorry if I offended you, my lady. I didn't know."
    Vin flushed again. Another reason why I