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“Your pretty waxen hide,” she said, unlatching it and showing me my Diviner dress, covered in wax. The one she’d cut off me—my precise measurements for armor.
Maude gestured at the mold. “I’ll sleep better knowing the next time you face down a mountain sprite, you’ll be dressed for it. I’ll send this to Petula Hall at the outpost ahead. The more time my blacksmith has with it, the better. You have impressive measurements.”
My head snapped her way. “For a Diviner, you mean?”
She fixed me with a reproving glace. “There aren’t ghosts in my words, Six. No rot hiding behind the scent of flowers. When I insult you, you’ll know it.” She nodded at the box. “You have a strong body to match a valiant spirit. That was all I meant.”
Her honesty, bereft of cruelty, shamed me. “I can’t pay your armorer.”
“Don’t lose your tail feathers—we’ll work something out. Unless you find your Diviners before it’s finished.”
“I’m sure another knight could make use of it if I don’t.”
There was something in her eyes I couldn’t read. Not derision or hunger or pity… “It’s not like your gossamer, shapeless enough to fit anyone. No one’s going to wear this armor as well as you.”
I realized what it was after she’d walked away. Kindness.
There’d been kindness in her eyes.