Chapter 118

Abby

“Arms up a little, Luna. There.”

I lifted my arms. The seamstress knelt at my feet with a mouthful of pins and a measuring tape around her neck, and worked her way along the hem in small, quick tucks, muttering to herself. Ivy stood beside the mirror holding a pincushion the size of a fist and watching every movement with the expression of someone memorizing a recipe.

The dress was lavender.

Cassandra had chosen the color, though she had pretended to let me choose it. She had laid four swatches on the desk in the Luna’s rooms and said whichever you like, of course, and then tapped the lavender twice with one finger when she thought I wasn’t looking. It was soft and pale, like the sky just before the light goes, and the bodice was fitted close, and the sleeves came down to my wrists in a fall of something so fine I could see my skin through it.

“It brings out your eyes,” Ivy had said, the first time I tried it on. Then she had gone pin