His jaw set, Yirel moved from the bed and went to the dressing table and pulled out a small stack of stationary and a pen. With a light and quick hand, he made several notes as ‘Darling’. By now the seamstresses he bought from were well acquainted with this method of requests.

“Spring, fetch me the watersilk dress.”

The color was a fresh and almost blue-tinted green, and the fabric rippled in the slightest breeze. Yirel took a moment from his writing to run his hand over the dress and sighed. He’d worn this… last summer? The year before? And he’d felt like a dandelion puff, weaving around the other dancers as he had.

It wrapped around his torso just under his collar bones, and fell with a slight outward flare down from his hips. There were no real sleeves to it; just a wide strip of cloth that was allowed to hang freely between the sides of the dress and where a loop was fitted over his wrist. Simple, and elegant. And there was no way he was going to wear it again without alterations.

“Fetch me a box to place this in, Sprig. Then, deliver this message to the staff; ‘Feel free to eat whatever you wish from this morning's meal, whatever is left can be either incorporated into supper, or placed in our stasis closet.’ End of message.” The construct moved away and Yirel went back to his notes. Of course most of the work would be handed to Mistress Shelvie, but there were some things that he’d have to outsource if he wanted things ready in time. Three days. Bastard. Cavish probably didn’t know or care how difficult he’d made things with his ludacris demand to be ready for him in so short a time, without ever considering that Yirel would have to have certain garments made in order to comply with his asinine rules. “Ruins my favorite dress and the undergarments, and then expects me to always be dressed in such a way for him… as if I had more than the one set, to switch in and out as I please!”

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at the notes he was writing, crumpled one and re -wrote it with a larger number. Yirel would do what had been asked of him though, to the letter. And if the bill was larger than Cavish had anticipated, well… At least Darling would look lovely on his arm.

He snorted and shook his head. He was being petty and he knew it. And he also knew it was likely to turn about and bite him as much as it might annoy Cavish. But that didn’t stop him from penning more notes. Requests for fabrics and alterations and new dresses entirely; just a handful of rush orders so that he would be ready for Cavish’s ball, and the foundation for a season's worth of new or altered gowns and accessories. Silk and lace and velvet and fur, in colors and designs he’d always wanted but could never afford.

When a decent stack had accrued, Yirel laid down the pen and nodded. That should be more than enough for the clothing side of things.

As for jewels however.

His family's mines were the one source of their combined power and wealth, and that wasn’t very much in the grander scheme of things. Still, it was enough of an edge that he could commission pieces at a lower rate if he made sure the metals and gems came from his supply. It was a small operation, but quality goods made up for the lack of quantity.

Tapping his fingers against the table, he decided that he’d make those purchases himself, in the guise of doing it for his cousin. While he did generally trust the taste of a jeweler or two and a handful of seamstresses, all of whom he’d gone through before to buy pieces for his ‘Darling’  disguise, he wanted to have a more personal hand in this.

He finally allowed himself to look in the mirror. And winced at the way his hair was torn from the tight braid he’d styled for himself this morning, and the general state of disarray he currently presented. It was hard to tell if the molestation or the crying after had contributed more, but he put that thought aside and angrily started to take his hair down so he could brush it and braid it once more.
What he really wanted was to lie back down on the bed again and wallow in his pity. Instead he made himself presentable once more and took his leave of the house for the day. His list of errands had just grown after all.
~
The gossip had already spread to every corner of the market by the time he arrived. Darling was engaged, and to Rhindov Cavish of all people! It made his stomach turn every time he had to stop and receive the well wishes and congratulations of clueless imbeciles. He shook hands and forced a smile all while biting back the bile that rose in his throat. Something of his distress must have shown though, because once the initial greetings had been exchanged the bothersome individual was quick to take off on more than one occasion.

If it had been any other day, for any other reason, he’d have worried after his reputation. As it was though, he was glad to cut through the crowds as quickly as he could. It was a tricky matter to hand off the lists he’d compiled to the girl at Mistress Shelvies with a hoard of this year's debutantes crowding the shop.They laughed and gossiped and picked over the lace gloves on display like doves. Yirel picked his way through the crush of femininity, feeling the sting of it like nettles for the want. Once at the counter, he pushed the paper into the hands of the helper there. He thought her name was Cherise? “Here, take this to the proprietor. I trust her to take care of all the details and arrangements. The bill is to be sent to the Cavish Estate, that’s written down too.” He had to speak up to be heard over the din of tittering voices. “Everything should be there in the notes, but if questions arise, reach out. I hate to leave you with more work in such a state, but I must be off..!”

And before she had a chance to do more than nod, Yirel was already pulling away. He wanted to linger, and so made himself leave all the quicker. He really must get control over his face again. He could feel the grimace pulling his features sour as he made himself look towards the door and nothing else. The whispers of the skirts behind him were amused before they were cut off and he was in the street once again. Turning sharply on his heel to the right, he stalked toward the next of his destinations.

He moved in a haze of purpose. And though the items he was commissioning and buying were ones he’d always yearned for, the context and reasons stripped all the potential for joy away.

Or so he’d thought.

And maybe that was true at the start. But as the day wore on, swatches of fabrics were brought out for him to touch and judge, raw and polished gems lifted to the light for him to appraise… It was impossible to stay in a foul mood. Not even the continual reminders of the sham engagement were enough to keep him disgruntled.

“Tha’s a pretty piece you’ve got there Sir-a. I’ve plenty in stock fora full jewelry set iffin you’d like.” Yirel glanced to the owner, craftsman, and proprietor, and then back to the hand sized flake of peachy-orange stone he held.

“It is pretty. What is it though? I don’t think I’ve seen it here before.”

The older man grinned; showing off his true excitement and quite a few missing and tea stained teeth. “Ah..! See now that is the most interestin’ thing. You have, but not like that in yer hand there Sir-a. That there is from the southern edge of the country, right where it butts up against the Ouzmah.”

Yirel looked at the stone with a bit more trepidation, moving to hold it on the tips of his fingers. “Oh?”

“Aye, Sir-a. I assure you, ‘tis safe as a Saint. No taint follows or spreads from it. The village folk fashion pretties from it all the time, and even build with it.”

Yirel scoffed and brought the material closer to his eyes, fascinated by the color and varying levels of opacity. It was lovely, and strange, and heavy. “How is this mined then, if I’m only seeing it now? Surely if it’s found that close to the tainted lands it must pose some hazard? How are the villagers doing it?” His curiosity got the better of him, and the reason he was actually here was placed on hold.


Gerald laughed and leaned forward on his stool, his eyes glittering. “Tis not mined atall,” he cackled, slapping his knee. “Yer holdin’ not a rock Sir-a, but what was once a tree!”

“Tch, a tree? I-”

“I swear it on the Angel Herself Sir-a! I’ve been to th’ barren lands where it be found. Huge cylinders -what used to be trunks- fallen and shattered like stone columns. Almost like walking the fabled city of Eirodithus.”

Yirel could picture it himself. The parched dirt and rocky land, flat and craggy all at once stretching towards distant mountains and littered with rubble. Scrub bushes could hardly anchor and root despite their hardiness. It was a land of the dead. Looking down at the mineral in his hand, he was both drawn in and repulsed. Learning its origins, he fancied the color almost flesh-like now.

“-baskets on ther backs, or sometimes drawn by goats or dogs. The biggest pieces they keep ta build with since shipping it would cost a kings fortune, but some traders have been convinced to bring smaller quantities. People’ve been livin’ with it just fine for a handful of decades now. Far as anyone can tell it’s no differn’t from a river stone.”

“I’ll take it.” The words left him before he could really think about it, but he was certain nonetheless. “This piece as it is, and a set of womens jewelry for my cousin…” He tilted the stone in his hand, considering for a moment. The storefront was impressive, filled with uncut stones and finished pieces and everything in between. The quality was impressive. And the fact that the upper gentry hadn’t noticed him yet was a blessing for Yirel, but he imagined something of a curse for Gerald. However, that was most likely about to change.

“I’ve always found your work to be masterful, and my cousin raves about your artistic eye,” he said, looking at the shopkeep.

Gerald, for his part and in a very amusing way, straightened up and cleared his throat. “Oh aye?” He asked a touch sheepishly.

“Yes. And I’d like to surprise her with something exceptional. As I am more than sure you’ve heard, the young Lord Cavish has expressed his interest, and as a show of his infatuation gifted the use of his accounts for her wardrobe the rest of this season?”

Gerald had the tact to pretend. “Oh is that why you’re out collecting all manner of new pretties for miss Darling? I think I might have heard something of the sort at the pub this mornin’…”

“Hm, The tides of gossip will never cease to confound me,” Yirel said with a dry tone, then sighed. “As it is the case, I intend to make him pay dearly to have my cousin as the flower on his arm. If he is serious, then he is furnishing part of her dowry and if not, then we have reparations at hand.”

Gerlad chuckled and nodded. “Always knew yer one of the smart ones.You don’t let them fancy manners blind you like the rest seem ta.”

Yirel didn’t know how to respond to that, considering he was only here due to his stupidity. Not that he’d let Gerald know that. He huffed. “Enough of that. Back to the jewels. I want you to make something that matches my cousin and this stone. Something only you could make.”

The shopkeep scratched at his chin, looking between the stone, Yirel, and some far off point as ideas took his mind for a moment. Yirel knew he could make something breathtaking. Even now the items on display for the lower gentry were of a quality he’d seen himself in Cavish’s manors; Pedestal pieces of carved gems made to look like fruits, each one requiring a second closer look to be sure they were not in fact real. More than one apple or grape bunch had insects searching for a way to eat them. The necklaces and bracelets, ear bobs all glittered with a careful precision. Each one, made to shine as bright and as beautiful as it could on its own to make up for the lack of neighbors.

Elegance without being gaudy. Natural clean lines in favor of gem encrusted clusters of glitter.

Gerald broke his silence abruptly. “It won’t be cheap, and it won’t be fast either. It might be at the end of the season that it gets done…”

After a moment of weighted silence, Yirel nodded. “But?”

The older man broke into a grin, almost on the edge of mad. “But it will be fit for royalty.”

“Deal.”

By the time he returned home, Yirel was exhausted. It had taken nearly all day to go and track down all the vendors he needed. Walking through his front door, he only paused long enough to let his maids know he was returned and that he would be taking dinner in his room. Once there, he collapsed onto the bed and pulled the tree-stone from his pocket. In the lamp light it almost glowed a soft rose, but it was merely an illusion.

He held it over his face, turning it this way and that. It had once been wood, part of a great tree. And now there was no hint of it at all. Nothing in the texture, color, weight even. The more he looked and thought, the more glad he was to have it. This strange and wonderful piece of beauty from an ugly place.