A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

a shirt as exceptional, let alone an undershirt. I looked through the altered clothing hanging upon the rack. There were a handful of shirts and three pairs of pants with a freshly sewn hem.

I selected a light blue shirt with an open collar and the trim black pants I wore when initially measured. I pulled on fresh cotton stockings and then slipped my new boots on over them. Black cord in hand, I reached behind my head and tied my hair into a knot as instructed. I stepped out from behind the racks just as I was finishing buttoning the front of my shirt.

Patricia tsked. “No, no, like this.”

She grabbed the front of my waistband and pulled me close. She undid the clasp and tucked in the front of my shirt, caring little for how far her hand went in the process.

“Color suits you,” she whispered as she unbuttoned all but a few buttons at the bottom of the shirt, allowing the collar to open and expose the silver brocade from beneath. “Cerulean, like the Seveli Sea.”

She stepped back and clapped her hands. “Mirror!”

Two men appeared from the bustle of activity, placing a mirror on an easel as Margarette had done. She took my hand and walked me to it. I may have looked like a stable hand a few hours ago; now I was as she said, a prince of men.

Crylwin emerged behind me, grinning like a fool. He wrapped a leather belt once around my waist, then tucked the excess length in a loop to hang freely. It was thick black and capped with silver. It looked to be of the same Seveli leather as my boots. Twice now, I was on the receiving end of his generosity. I thought to object until I felt the weight of the gift upon my left leg.

“I had the jeweler craft this for you,” Crylwin explained, “I thought the corsair style would suit, though I don’t know of any pirates ever wielding tall swords. With your height and the loose fit of the scabbard, I figured it would let you look more natural as you carry Nahdril about.”

“Phillip’s work?” Patricia asked.

Crylwin nodded. “Yes, he began on it this morning. It’s marvelous work as expected.”

Patricia smiled modestly. “He has no equal.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Crylwin said. He dug into the pocket of his lord’s coat and pulled out my blue sapphire. He handed it over. The rough edges were gone, polished now to perfection. To his word, the jeweler shaped it to resemble a small blue flame. I ran my finger over the spiraled groove cut into the bottom and smiled.

Crylwin, anticipating my excitement, handed Nahdril to me. I unscrewed the housing on the end of the handle and threaded the stone in its place. I turned slowly, careful to feel the traction until the stone set and no longer turned.

I unwrapped the cloth from Nahdril and eased her into the scabbard. There was a satisfying click as the point of the blade settled into place. It was a light rigging known as a rogue’s hip, something traditionally meant for a saber or rapier, but with the weightlessness of Nahdril, it was perfect. There was plenty of give on the hip too as I moved Nahdril about; I would never struggle to draw Nahdril free, regardless of the angle or closeness of quarters. I moved the handle forward and leaned on it with both hands as I had seen many a boat sword do down by the docks.

“Voila!” Patricia clapped excitedly. “Behold my pirate lord.”

“Let us make him a lord then,” Monroe said as he stepped to the side of the racks and retrieved a garment case I had overlooked. He stepped behind me and draped the item over my shoulders. It was beautifully tailored in Monroe blue, just a half shade lighter than Crylwin’s coat. The stitching and embroidery around the hem and cuffs were made of spun silver, not the gold of Crylwin’s or dark ebony of Edwin’s. Even the buttons were made of silver. As thick as they were, I thought them to be three or four nobles a piece.

I could feel the weight of Monroe’s hands upon my shoulders, and the weight of responsibility in wearing it, but the coat itself was light with fabric that breathed and moved as I did. I ran my hands along the front. It was thick like washed wool or pressed leather, but it was processed so smoothly that it felt like spun silk.

I placed my hands in the coat pockets and felt a pair of gloves waiting. It was a proper thing for a lord to have. You never know when you might need to touch something unclean.

“Patricia, is this your work?” I asked. “I mean, when did you have time to…”

She waved her hand. “Only the family Delacroix knows the secret of Illyrian silk. It has no equal.”

“And the Monroes are indebted to you and your family yet again,” Monroe said politely, “Stunning work, and on so short of notice.”

Patricia’s smile widened as she curtseyed. “I am not as practiced as mama, but I am not without my talents.”

“Do give my regards to your mother when next you see her,” Monroe continued. “I was remiss to find that she did not make the journey.”

“Had she known of such an occasion, the Seveli Sea could not have kept her,” Patricia said. “Such a happy accident that Patricia was able to attend.”

“To happy accidents then,” Monroe said, raising an invisible glass in the air.

She raised her own invisible glass in salute. “Blessings—as you Easterners like to say.”

“Blessings!” Monroe echoed.

Richard emerged from the hallway issuing final orders to the workers carrying away the weapons to the armory below. Aides began pulling up the thick pads that lined the floor, replacing them with polished wooden slats. There would be dancing tonight, I observed.

As the final racks of weapons departed through the door, Richard approached. “The guests are beginning to arrive, my lord. Shall I