Steelhands - Jaida Jones [35]
I couldn’t smell anything from where I was standing, but I kept that to myself, shutting the door and giving it a firm nudge on top of that, since the wood of the frame was a little warped. I could’ve shaved it down with my da’s plane in no time, but I hadn’t brought that with me.
Then I turned my attention to … well, I supposed I’d have to think of it as a present even though it wasn’t my birthday and it certainly wasn’t Toverre’s. If this was some city holiday he’d learned about and hadn’t given me fair warning of in advance, I was going to clout him a good one.
“Hurry up,” Toverre said crossly, which was his way of being shy and nervous. “It’s not going to snap at your fingers, and it’s getting late.”
I supposed I was being silly. Da never savored the moment just before opening a present, and neither did Connor, who worked with the horses.
Without any further ado, I plucked the all-purpose knife from my boot and cut through the knot in the twine. I saw Toverre wince out of the corner of my eye at the idea of a lady carrying a knife in her footwear like a common highwayman, but what else was I supposed to do? He was the one who wanted to roam the city late at night to take in the pretty lights and enjoy the ambiance, and after what’d nearly happened to us on our first day, I wasn’t going to let myself be caught off guard again. I had my virtue to protect, not to mention Toverre’s.
I tore through the stiff paper without bothering to try to save it—though I would be able use it to get the fire started in my room again later, after we got back and we were both freezing cold. Sitting in the center of the package, neatly arranged, of course, was a pair of black boots with shiny silver buttons all up the sides. They looked sturdy as well as fashionable, and when I picked them up I felt something soft folded beneath them.
“The boots are from my mother,” Toverre explained, spitting the words out quickly. “Well, from me, but I sent home to get them from Mother. After what happened to your last pair, I remembered you were the same size. And also, these will go much better with your clothes than those old brown ones. It’s a pity the buttons aren’t gold, since they’d match your hair better, but mother has different coloring and I didn’t want to seem too demanding. I’m sure there’s a button shop somewhere. We’ll find it, and, no worries, I’ll put them on.”
“And what’s this?” I asked, indicating the fabric swaddled up beneath. There were three different colors in all—black, white, and green—and they looked suspiciously like women’s undergarments.
After all this time, was Toverre finally taking an interest in what was underneath my clothing?
Not likely, I told myself, fingering the soft cotton, feeling fond despite myself.
“Ah, well,” Toverre said, clearing his throat. “Those are … not my mother’s. I didn’t think you’d approve of that; it’s hardly proper. But I simply couldn’t have you tramping around Thremedon with trousers under your skirts, Laure; it’s beastly. I gather these are what the women use here—woolen stockings and extra petticoats and the like. They’ll be serviceable and they won’t make your legs look like tree trunks, which is a great disservice to your legs, considering what a fine shape they are.” On that last note, he almost sounded jealous, I thought. I shook out the green pair of stockings, their empty feet dangling with a knot of thread at each toe.
“Nice save,” I told him, not really annoyed. I knew already I’d be heading into the city with him even in spite of the way he’d asked me. It was hard to be angry with someone who’d just given you a nice, thoughtful gift, and maybe he’d planned it that way, but that didn’t really seem like Toverre. The present itself was Toverre all over, though, finding a way to insult me just before he made me realize he’d been thinking this whole time about my problem and what might make me