Naamah's Blessing

at the couturier. “You
are
here to accept a commission?”
    Benoit Vallon favored me with a saturnine smile. “I’m not letting it fall to Eglantine House, that’s for certain. Atelier Favrielle has a reputation to maintain, and you’re surely one of the more interesting creatures I’ve dressed over the years.” He plucked up the sari I’d let fall, stretching out the unwieldy length of embroidered, sequined silk. “This is gorgeous fabric. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Bhodistani work so fine. Have you more?”
    “Aye, but—”
    “But what?” He shot me an impatient look. “It’s gorgeous, yes, but you cannot run around the City of Elua in midwinter looking like you’ve escaped from some pasha’s harem, Lady Moirin. So show me what you have, and let me find a way to incorporate it, hmm?”
    I nodded reluctantly. “All right. But not
all
of it.”
    “Fine.” Benoit began taking my measurements with a cloth tape, jotting down figures. When he was satisfied, he turned his attention to Bao. “So this is the infamous juggling physician-prince husband?”
    “Tumbling,” Bao supplied.
    “Tumbling.” The couturier repeated his impatient gesture. “Strip.”
    Bao blinked. “Me?”
    With a sigh, Benoit Vallon indicated Bao’s loose-fitting Bhodistani tunic and breeches. “Must I repeat myself, messire? All
you
need is a turban to play the part of the pasha from whose harem your wife escaped. Now strip, please.”
    “We talked about this,” I reminded Bao, pinning my sari back in place and opening one of our trunks. Ironically, it contained the crimson turban Bao had worn at our wedding.
    “You did not tell me it involved stripping for strangers,” he complained, but he obeyed, shucking his clothing.
    “Hmm.” Benoit circled him, gazing intently. “Very nice. Lean, yet muscular. An excellent physique for well-tailored attire. No more baggy, ill-fitting atrocities for you, messire.” He took in the gold ear-hoops, the tattoos marking Bao’s forearms like streaks of jagged, black lightning. “Very… piratical.” He pointed at the latter. “Are those some sort of tribal markings?”
    “No.” Bao didn’t elaborate.
    “There’s a certain brooding darkness about you,” Benoit said shrewdly. “A roguish glamour, one might say… but it’s somewhat more, too.” He hoisted his measuring tape. “May I?”
    I rummaged through our trunks, putting to one side those saris with which I did not want to part, like the crimson one I’d worn at our wedding and the mustard-yellow one that had been Amrita’s first gift to me, keeping half an eye on Bao as he suffered himself to be measured.
    There
was
a faint aura of darkness that clung to him, and there had been ever since he had died and been restored to life. I could see it more clearly in the twilight, but I could see it in daylight, too.
    I’d never known anyone else to remark on it.
    Finished with his measurements, Benoit Vallon gestured for Bao to clothe himself once more. “Very good. Do you remember what I told you at our first consultation, my lady?”
    I smiled. “I do, messire. You advised me that autumn hues would flatter me best, and that if I must wear color, to avoid bright hues in favor of deep jewel tones. Oh, and that I should never wear stark white, but ivory instead.”
    “So I did. Well done, child.” He picked through the piles of fabric I’d heaped on the bed. “I’ll take this, and this…” A pair of squares of embroidered silk I’d set to the side caught his eye, and he picked them up to study them. “Interesting. These were never Bhodistani work, were they?”
    “No,” I said. “Ch’in.”
    There were two squares, one embroidered with a pattern of flowering bamboo, the other with a pattern of black-and-white magpies. I had purchased them both in a Ch’in village called Tonghe. The first had been embroidered by Bao’s half-sister; the second, by his mother.
    Benoit glanced up at me. “They’re lovely.”
    “They are,” I agreed. “But I fear they’re not available.”
    “Why not, Moirin?” Bao asked softly. I looked at him in surprise. “Such things were meant to be used,” he said. “To be worn, to be enjoyed and admired. It is what my mother would have intended.” He smiled at me. “Even though you are apt to hoard your treasures like a dragon with his pearl, it is what she would have wished. And I would wish to honor her; and my sister, too.”
    “These were made with love,