Governed by Whimsy (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 4) by Forthright

Author:Forthright [Forthright]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twinkle Press
Published: 2020-04-04T04:00:00+00:00

Keeping to a Budget

Ambrose’s steps slowed as he wound his way through the Dimityblest warehouse, where cloth spilled from bins in decadent waves. What splendor. While he would back up Canary, Ambrose wouldn’t mind if the costumers brought in such choice cloth.

Winding through the labyrinth of shelves, he spied jewel-toned thread, neat packets of needles, and all sorts of closures. More interesting were the trimmings, which would undoubtedly inspire eye-catching fashion. Feigning indifference, he sailed on.

She wasn’t even surprised to see him.

“Which of these?” she asked, holding up two cards of buttons.

Refusing to be distracted, he said, “It’s time to return to your berth.”

Greta’s gaze turned speculative. “If you were a dragon, what color would you be?”

“I’m not a dragon.”

“Neither am I, but that’s never stopped me from imagining it.” She stepped closer and fussed with his tie. “My lady mistress fostered ties with a nearby harem. Lord Yonkeep was generosity itself both to us and to his ladies.”

What that had to do with anything was a mystery.

She went right on. “Red would be striking, but gold is more traditional for the dragon lord in Bethiel’s story.”

“These are for me?” Ambrose reconsidered both the buttons and his wording. “For my costume?”

Holding first one card, then the other up to his chest, she studied the effect. “Blue would be a departure, but you’d be stunning in the right shade. And your eyes! Well!”

Ambrose rather wished she’d go on.

Instead, she reached up to touch his dark brown braid. “Have I ever seen your true colors?”

“That is a very personal question.”

Greta’s brows arched. “Is it?”

“Intensely.” He looked away but answered, “Glimpses, perhaps. Since my soul has been laid bare before you.”

She actually pouted. “That’s not the same as running my fingers through your hair and matching a hatband to its hue.”

He could feel color creeping into his cheeks. Returning to her earlier question, he stiffly said, “Silver, gold, or white are traditional, perhaps because the winds are differentiated by the colors of the seasons they represent.”

Her eyes widened, and she dove toward one of the displays.

Glass buttons that rivaled the wares of Murano glittered temptingly. Nothing he owned would have made sense with such vibrant colors. Yet they appealed.

Greta rushed back to him, triumph putting a shine in her eyes. “You will shine like a star!”

She’d gathered buttons and beads, sequins and stones, all intended to catch and scatter light. “So many?”

“And more,” she assured. “You’ll catch every eye and command every scene, win every heart and woo the very winds to your side.”

“Not me,” he whispered. “That isn’t me.”

“But it is.” Greta spoke with such conviction. “These become you, and you’ll become him, and it will be … rapturous!”

He wanted to see the vision she saw.

He wanted to drape himself in starlight.

But he didn’t want to disappoint Canary.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Allow me to pay for these.”

She seemed confused. “There’s an expense account or something …?”

Which she’d no doubt decimated. Ambrose couldn’t allow her to add to the Leclerc Company’s deficit, but neither could he let go of the vision she’d cast.

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