I have my own dressmaker.” “Well, then,” I tell her. “Can you make sure it’s very different from hers?” Fallon spits out a sound of contempt. And I’m sure the cut will be different.” I look over at Mage Florel, whose eyes are as wide as everyone else’s. “Oh, come now, Fallon,” I say as I gesture at the fabric around us, mimicking her sneering tone. “You can’t have it.” I try to ignore the slight trembling of my hand. Fallon leans in a fraction and bares her teeth. We’ll find something just as lovely for you.” Heart racing, I put my own hand down firmly on the fabric sample, right next to Fallon’s. “I’ve others, Mage Gardner, don’t you fret. “Why?” “Because,” she replies, her voice syrupy with condescension, “this is what my dress is being made of.” “Ah, what a pity,” Mage Florel sighs. “You can’t use this,” she says, her tone hard. “Do you think you could use this?” “Of course, Mage Gardner,” she replies, obviously thrilled by my choice. And all of their embroidery is as exquisite as this.” I glance up at her. “It’s so beautiful.” “Salishen silk,” Mage Florel says reverently. “I run my finger along the textured silk.
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