Page 6 of The Never List
“We just want you to know the perks,” Ivy continues. “You could do a lot with the money from selling one.”
“And a woman from the high nobility is always chosen anyway,” Layce says with a shrug. “We’ll keep a low profile.”
“But no pressure,” Ivy says.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, truly meaning it. I have the best friends in the world, and I honestly don’t know if I would’ve survived this year without them.
“Okay, come here.” Layce waves me over excitedly as she turns back toward Ivy’s bed and the pile of silk atop it. “Now, it took me six months and a ton of careful planning to sneak each of these out of Mistress Mardone’s shop, so if you don’t like the colors, keep it to yourselves.”
Layce is an Ari, too, residing in Cedar and Silk, but even our combined income would never be able to buy three dresses of this caliber. Her position at Mistress Mardone’s shop gave her an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, and I’m beyond grateful for her willingness to swipe me a gown. And with the way Mardone gouges her prices for the middleand lower classes, I don’t feel bad about it.
Ivy squeals as Layce carefully slides the dresses out of the bags.
“This one is for you,” she says, handing Ivy a forest green gown. “And this one,” she says, handing me a pile of black silk and lace and leather, “is for you.”
My lips part as I fumble with all the fabric in my arms.
“Go,” she says, motioning toward the wooden screen in the corner of Ivy’s room. “Masks will come after makeup and hair.”
I stand there for a moment, unable to express my gratitude at all they’ve done for me, all the risks they’ve taken to ensure I get my shot at finding my sister.
Layce waves at me impatiently. “We don’t have much time,” she says. “Hurry up.”
I blink out of the moment and rush behind the separator, grateful for the time to collect myself. I don’t think I could ever find the right words to thank them, anyway. By the time I have the dress on and buttoned, Layce has placed a pair of black boots at the edge of the screen. The spike of the heel is bloodred.
I step out, and Ivy pauses, one slipper on and one in her hand as she gapes at me.
“I knew you needed the black!” Layce exclaims. “No one ever wears black to the Choosing.”
My eyes go wide. “What? Then why—”
“Because black looks amazing on you.” She shushes me, moving me into the chair in front of Ivy’s vanity. “Relax, Rylee. Your mask is gorgeous, too. You’ll look exactly like you belong there, but no one will have a clue who you are.”
I try to relax my face as she gets to work on my makeup.She uses all manner of brushes and tints on me. She spends a long time on my eyes, considering I’m about to put a mask over them, but I don’t complain. How can I? Makeup is another luxury I can’t afford, one not even worth stealing. It’s not like I can wear it in the Ashlands without having the kings’ enforcers down my throat, asking where I got it. I’m so far outside my comfort zone tonight. How am I ever going to pull this off?
Funny how a set of invisible lines between cities can change so much. My friends have never gone hungry or almost been arrested for wearing lipstick. Neither of them knows what it’s like to not eat, to not know where your next meal is coming from. And it’s not their fault, either, just a privilege of being born in the right spot on the map with the right familial titles, too. Just like it’s not my fault Erin and I were born in the wrong one.
It’s the kings’ fault.
The way they hoard their wealth, the way they tax the Ashlanders to the point of starvation and then expect us to bow and kiss their feet whenever they appear, all under the pretense that their protection is worth the cost. Protection from realms across the sea, threats that haven’t set foot here in two decades. As if they were the ones who created the magical wards around our continent and not the goddesses whose sacrifice keeps our land safe. A sharp gust of wind picks up in the room, and Ivy’s plants tremble.
“Hey,” Layce says, drawing my attention as she slides the mask over my face. “You’re not alone in this.”
I blow out a breath, leashing my power. “Thank you,” I say to both of them as I slide out of the chair and turn toward them. “You two look stunning.”
Ivy’s rich brown skin looks luminescent beneath the green gown that hangs off one shoulder, tightening around her waist and draping elegantly over her long legs. A deep slit climbs up her thigh, and the straps of her shoes wind their way up her calves in thin black crisscrosses. The mask hiding the top half of her face is made of dozens of gold and hunter green ivy leaves, her full lips on display beneath it.
Layce’s crimson dress hugs her body and stops just above her knees, the color making her skin look rosy. Her mask is a slash of red feathers that flares out on the left side of her face.
“Turn around,” Layce demands with a smile.
I turn, finally looking at myself in the full-length mirror, and an aching lump forms in my throat. I’m not sure if it’s shock or gratitude or appreciation or a combination of all three. Because Layce is right—no one will ever recognize me in these clothes. I’ve never had anything as expensive touch my skin, and I’m suddenly sure I never want to wear anything else.
Lace sleeves hang off my shoulders, exposing my collarbones, while black leather clings to my upper torso, lifting my breasts and cinching tight around my stomach. Layers of silk and lace fan out from my waist, draping to the floor in elegant tiers that hiss when I move. The dark-red stain on my lips stands out against my pale skin, and my blue eyes are almost searing behind the dark mask that covers half my face.
I step closer to the mirror, touching the delicate mask comprised of hundreds of miniature fabric butterflies.
“Are you ready?” Ivy asks from behind me, a makeup brush in hand.
