Bloodforged Read Free

do we unite.’ She paused at that, smiling wryly. ‘And sometimes not even then.’
    She patted Ulrika’s knee. ‘Our position will not always be so precarious, dearest,’ she said. ‘There will be a time when I will be able to allow you to find true companionship outside my house, but until then, I will do my best to be the friend you require.’
    Ulrika turned back to the window, unconsoled. ‘A friend I must call “mistress”,’ she said.
    They made the rest of the trip in silence.
    Gabriella’s temporary home was in the Kaufman District, a quiet neighbourhood of rich merchants south of the noble Aldig Quarter. It was an unassuming little half-timbered row house, maintained by Hermione for just such situations as this – as a residence for visiting sisters who could not be seen staying at her own house. It had two floors, two bedrooms, a butler, a coachman and a maid – all blood-swains, of course.
    Gabriella and Ulrika had lived there since they had crept back into Nuln after leaving the artful carnage to be found at Mondthaus, and to Ulrika it felt more like a prison – a well-furnished prison, to be sure, with heavy oak furniture and coloured glass in the windows and carved and painted ceiling beams, but a prison nonetheless. While Gabriella, Hermione and all her minions were busy arranging new identities and hiding old ones, Ulrika had more often than not been left to cool her heels there with nothing to do except read and pace and brood about the turn her life had taken since she had died.
    The maid let them in from the small yard at the back, and Ulrika made to go directly to her room, but Gabriella laughed and caught her hand, holding her back.
    ‘No no, beloved,’ she said. ‘I will not have you sulking. Come to the parlour. I must go in a moment, but have a surprise for you, remember?’
    Ulrika curtseyed but kept her eyes on the floor. ‘As you wish, mistress .’
    Gabriella sighed and smiled sadly. ‘I know you are chafing against the edges of our life just now, but it will get better, I promise you.’
    ‘How will it get better?’ asked Ulrika, looking at her at last. ‘We will change this coffin for a bigger one, with whores in it. It will still be a coffin.’
    Gabriella frowned. ‘You are determined to be offensive, but you will not bait me. Come.’
    She led Ulrika into the tidy little parlour. On the Araby rug in the middle was a great trunk, stood on one end, with brass fittings at the corners, and a key sticking out of the lock.
    Gabriella gestured to it. ‘Open it.’
    Ulrika hesitated, then stepped forwards and turned the key. The lid swung out, almost of its own accord, revealing that the trunk was a neatly constructed miniature armoire, with a rail to hang clothes on, and little compartments for accessories, shoes and toiletries – and it was packed with male clothing.
    Ulrika struggled hard to remain unimpressed, and to cling to her anger, but she couldn’t resist taking one of the doublets off the rail and holding it up. It was beautiful – black velvet embroidered with grey thread – and with slashed breeches and hose to match. There were three more doublets on the rail, in deep shades of burgundy, green and grey, as well as a black cape, a few lace-trimmed white shirts, and tucked below them, a pair of thigh-high black riding boots made of supple Estalian leather, and an exquisite Tilean-made matched rapier and dagger set, complete with sword belt and sheaths.
    ‘I took the measurements from your ruined riding gear,’ said Gabriella. ‘I know you are more comfortable dressed so, and since you did me such great service as my “drake”, I decided you must be rewarded.’
    Ulrika turned to Gabriella, holding the black velvet doublet to her breast. She wanted to shuck her dresses and wig right then and there and try it on. ‘Thank you, mistress. This… this is a great gift.’
    Gabriella smiled. ‘I hoped you would like it. You will of course still wear your skirts