Corset of Thorns

The socks were gone.

I stood in the curtained alcove of the Magnolia public bathhouse with my hands buried in a bag that definitely contained no socks, and the strapless bodice of the royal blue dress gaped away from my chest like an open mouth. Behind me, the outer room hummed with the low chatter of women finishing up, wooden buckets clacking against stone, water sluicing down drains. Steam curled under the curtain hem and fogged my ankles.

I checked the bag again. Same result. No socks.

Of course. Of course the one night it mattered.

I'd bought the dress three weeks ago from a stall in the east market, secondhand but well-kept, the kind of blue that made people look twice without knowing why. The vendor had eyed me up and down and said, "You'll want to fill that out," in a tone that wasn't cruel, just honest, the way market vendors are when they've already decided you're not going to buy anything expensive. I'd handed over the jewels anyway. The dress was worth it. The dress was worth almost anything.

Now it hung off me like a deflated sail.

"Hey. You alive in there?"

Mira's voice, pitched low and amused, came from just outside the curtain. I could picture her leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, hair still damp and dark at the ends, that particular smile she wore when she knew something you didn't.

"Fine," I said. "Just finishing up."

"You've been finishing up for twenty minutes."

"I'm thorough."

A pause. Then the curtain twitched, and Mira poked her head through without waiting for an invitation, which was exactly like her. She took one look at me, one look at the dress, and her expression did something complicated that she tried to hide and failed.

"The shoulders worked," she said.

"The shoulders worked."

"They're perfect, actually. You look like a completely different person."

"That's the idea." I turned back to the mirror, tugging uselessly at the bodice. "I just need to figure out the top half."

Mira stepped into the alcove, pulling the curtain shut behind her. She was already dressed for the evening, a deep red number that clung in all the places mine didn't, and she moved with the easy confidence of someone who'd never once worried about whether her body was the right shape for her clothes. I'd known her for six years, since we were both fourteen and stupid and convinced we'd be S-Class by twenty. She'd made it. I hadn't. That was a thing we didn't talk about.

"Here," she said, and pulled a folded square of fabric from her own bag. "I brought these. Figured you might need them."

I unfolded what turned out to be a pair of proper inserts, soft and shaped and exactly the sort of thing I'd never owned because I'd never needed to own them before. My throat did something tight.

"Mira."

"Don't." She waved a hand. "Just put them in. We're going to be late."

I put them in. They fit perfectly. The dress settled against me the way it was supposed to, and when I looked in the mirror again, the person looking back was someone I could actually recognize. Narrow shoulders. Soft collarbones. A silhouette that finally matched the one I'd been carrying around in my head for as long as I could remember.

"Better," Mira said.

"Better."

"Now stop staring at yourself. You're beautiful. Let's go."

She was already moving, pulling the curtain back and stepping into the outer room. I grabbed my bag and followed, and the bathhouse attendant gave us both a nod as we passed, and then we were out in the cool evening air of Magnolia, and the sky was that deep bruised purple that only happened in late spring, and somewhere down the street a lamplighter was making his rounds.

"Where are we meeting them?" I asked.

"Blue Pegasus," Mira said. "Apparently they've got a whole thing planned. Master bobandi's orders."

I stopped walking.

"Blue Pegasus."

"Don't start."

"Mira, they're the worst."

"They're allies," she said, without slowing down. "And Master wants us to play nice. Apparently there's been some tension lately. Something about a job in the north that went sideways. I don't know the details."

I jogged a few steps to catch up. "So we're what, a peace offering?"

"We're representatives of Fairy Tail. Which means we drink their wine, smile at their jokes, and don't start any fights."

"I never start fights."

Mira glanced at me sideways. "You literally started a fight last week."

"That was different. He insulted the guild."

"He insulted the guild's choice of wallpaper."

"It was a valid criticism delivered in an invalid way."

Mira laughed, short and bright, and for a second it was like being fourteen again, walking home from a job gone wrong, both of us covered in soot and laughing about it because what else were we going to do. Then a carriage rattled past and the moment was gone, and we were just two women in nice dresses walking toward a party neither of us wanted to attend.

The Blue Pegasus guildhall was technically in a different part of town, but they'd rented out a banquet space near the canal for the evening, some old merchant's house with tall windows and a garden that spilled down to the water. Lanterns hung from the trees. Music drifted out through the open doors. It looked, I had to admit, exactly like the sort of thing Blue Pegasus would throw. Elegant and expensive and just slightly too much.

Mira paused at the gate and looked at me.

"You ready?"

"Not even a little."

"Good. That's the correct attitude."

We went in.

The room was full of people I mostly didn't know, men in tailored coats and women in dresses that cost more than my rent, and the whole place smelled like wine and jasmine and something roasting in the kitchens. A server appeared with a tray of glasses, and Mira took two, handing me one.

"Rule one," she murmured. "Hold the glass. Don't drink the glass."

"I know how parties work."

"You know how Fairy Tail parties work. This is different."

She drifted off toward a cluster of people she apparently knew, leaving me alone near the edge of the room with a glass of wine I didn't want and a dress that finally fit and absolutely no idea what to do with either of them.

I found a window overlooking the garden and stood there, watching the lanterns sway in the breeze, and tried to look like someone who belonged. It was a skill I'd been practicing for years. Stand still. Smile vaguely. Don't let anyone see you counting the exits.

"You're doing it wrong."

The voice came from my left, low and dry and amused. I turned.

He was tall, taller than me by a head at least, with dark hair swept back from his face and a coat that had probably been tailored specifically for him. Blue Pegasus colors. Blue Pegasus smirk. I'd seen him before, at one of the inter-guild events, though I couldn't remember his name. One of their S-Class, I thought. The kind who showed up to things like this because he was expected to, not because he wanted to be there.

"Doing what wrong?" I asked.

"Standing by the window like you're planning an escape route." He took a sip of his wine. "It's very obvious."

"Maybe I am planning an escape route."

"Then you're doing that wrong too. The kitchen door's the better option. Less traffic."

I stared at him. He stared back, unbothered, and something about his expression made me want to either laugh or throw my wine in his face. I wasn't sure which.

"You're Fairy Tail," he said. Not a question.

"What gave it away?"

"The dress is nice, but you're standing like you expect someone to hit you."

"I'm standing like I expect someone to bore me."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

"Fair enough," he said, and held out his hand. "I'm Kaito."

I looked at his hand for a moment. Then I took it.

"Aya."

His grip was firm, brief, and entirely proper. When he let go, I noticed the way his eyes flicked to my shoulders, just for a second, and then away. Not in a leering way. More like he was cataloging something. Filing it away.

"First time at one of these?" he asked.

"First time at one of yours."

"Then let me give you some advice." He leaned in slightly, close enough that I could smell cedar and something sharper underneath. "Don't trust anyone who offers to show you the garden. It's where they take people they want to embarrass."

"And where do they take people they want to impress?"

His eyes met mine. Dark, steady, unreadable.

"The balcony," he said. "But you didn't hear that from me."

He straightened, nodded once, and walked away, disappearing into the crowd with the easy stride of someone who'd never had to wonder whether he belonged in a room.

I stood there for a long moment, wine untouched, heart beating a little faster than it had any right to.

Then I looked toward the balcony doors, and I made a decision.