“Sorry,” the earth elven woman said as she herded people out the door and onto the busy street, “Got a big order in. This is a one woman operation. I’ll open back up as soon as I’m done.”

She was easily as old as Agalon, and Xaxac wondered why every shop in the town seemed to be run by the elderly. She did, however, take much better care of herself than Jerry, but there was something about her that Xaxac found fascinating. Sakala was the first elf Xaxac had ever seen whom he did not think was painfully skinny. She didn’t have the same ethereal air about her as the others; she seemed solid and well built, even in her advanced age. She also didn’t dress like them; for the rest of the elves the fashionable color of choice seemed to be green in a million different shades, but Sakala was dressed head to toe in black from her knee-high work boots to her tights and dress shirt. She wore a vest over this shirt that seemed to perform the same sort of function as Helen’s corset, and Xaxac found himself thinking that without this garment her breasts would likely sag to her waistband, then chastised himself because he was, for whatever reason, not supposed to think things like that. About her waist she had tied an apron, the pockets of which were loaded down with various tools of her trade, and she wore a pincushion strapped to one wrist.

The holistic aesthetic of the outfit made her seem intimidating, primarily because of the color choice, but Xaxac didn’t think she was. He could see that people would think as much, just by looking at her, but the way she spoke, moved, and acted made him think of his mother. She gave off an older, wise, matronly air that he found he quite enjoyed, and she seemed to have absolutely no interest in flirting with Agalon as she led them to an area near the back of her shop.

There was a couch there, but the primary focus was on a raised platform surrounded on three sides by mirrors. Because of the mirrors’ arrangement they reflected and rebounded the ambient light until Xaxac felt it was much too bright, and a bit too hot. He liked the mirrors but thought that since he was roasting she had to be dying in all that thick, black fabric.

“Mrs Sambrees, why on Xren don’t you get yourself a few humans to watch the shop when you take custom orders?” Agalon asked, “You’re the best seamstress in the Agricultural District; this has got to be a common occurrence.”

“I don’t want nobody else up in my business,” she said in the no-nonsense way she had, “this place… this wouldn’t just my dream, it was my darlin Solo’s. I ain’t bringin nobody into her house, folks she don’t know, might not approve of.”

“Saka,” Agalon said kindly, “It’s been nearly two centuries. It ain’t healthy to… be alone… all the time like that.”

“Mind your business, Kai,” she said and he sighed.

“You’re a high-class merchant,” he said, “You oughta come to the ball. I’m throwin another one for the mask festival here in a few months, after the harvest.”

“I ain’t fit for no balls,” she said as if the idea was ridiculous.

“There’s a few nobles it sure wouldn’t hurt you to talk to-” Agalon began, but Sakala had the audacity to cut him off.

“I ain’t goin to no balls,” she snarled, “She ain’t dead! Y’all talk about her like she’s dead.”

Agalon frowned and exchanged a knowing glance with Lee that told Xaxac that whoever Solo was, she certainly was dead, and likely had been dead for some time.

So that explained a lot. Ms Sambress was crazy.

But she was apparently good at what she did, so no one was going to say anything to her. There is power in being very, very good at something useful and necessary. If you’re the best at something, people will allow you to go as mad as you want as long as you keep it up.

“I’m sure,” Agalon said, speaking quietly and trying his best to fake sincerity, “that she’s fine. She was always a fighter. I served with her, on the Fire Continent. She was- err, is, an amazin fighter.”

There was a lot under these words that he did not say, and Xaxac wondered what it was.

“I wouldn’t tryin to upset you,” Agalon said with real sincerity. “I’m sorry. I would never hurt a lady like that.”

“You gonna have to learn to watch your mouth,” Sakala said, “You can’t get a big head just cause you’re kin to Xandra.”

“You’re right,” Agalon agreed.

Xaxac didn’t like the somber mood so he tried to brighten it.

“I love your shop, Mrs Sambrees!” he said chipperly, “My mama taught me to knit when I was a boy! Everythin’ here’s so beautiful!”

“Thank ya kindly,” she said, “it’s took me more than a century to get it how I want it, but I’m plum fond of it now.”

She smiled at him and Xaxac smiled back.

“This is my new pleasure slave, Xaxac,” Agalon said, “The one I scried about. I need a whole new wardrobe for him. Ain’t he cute?”

“This as big as you gonna get?” She asked Xaxac.

“I reckon?” Xaxac said, “I don’t rightly know. I don’t think I’ll get much bigger?”

“How old are ya?” She asked, and Xaxac thought it was strange that she was directing these questions to him instead of Agalon. He had thought, for whatever reason, that he wouldn’t really talk to many people. He had expected Agalon would do his talking for him.

“I don’t rightly know?” Xaxac said, “I know some folks do, but I don’t.”

“Do you?” She asked Agalon.

“Ain’t no tellin,” Agalon said, looking down at Xaxac, “I reckon he’s grown though. If he ain’t he’s close to it.”

“He’s real short for a grown man,” Sakala argued and asked Xaxac, “You grow a beard yet?”

Xaxac shook his head.

“I’m gonna leave a couple inches ease on everything and use tear-away hems,” she decided. “Kai, this boy’s gonna get bigger than you, once he’s done. You might wanna look into them warrior wedges, like the fire elves used to wear? Fire elf chique is comin back in next season. I done called it. Mark my words.” She turned back to Xaxac and said, “get up on this platform let me get a good look at you. Some of the stuff he’s ordered is underthings, so you want um to fit right you might wanna strip.”

Though she,herself had given this instruction, she seemed confused when he obeyed her. She arched one eyebrow and watched him remove and neatly fold his clothes, then hand them to Lee item-by-item while Agalon took a seat on the sofa.

“I don’t really like that foreign nonsense,” Agalon said with a smirk as Xaxac stepped onto the platform. He said it in a strange way; it may have been a joke, or he may have been serious, and Xaxac did not like the ambiguity.

“I guess you don’t,” Sakala said, “You been wearin the same tired look for damn near two hundred years.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Agalon shrugged. “It’s a classic.”

Sakala pulled a notebook, pencil, and long string from her various pockets and somehow held all of them at once as she held the string up to Xaxac in various places. It had a series of numbers on it, in the right order this time, and he figured out almost instantly what she was doing. Xaxac did it himself with his gauge swatches. She was seeing how many stitches she needed to cover him- or, more likely in her case, how much fabric.

“Long-ass legs,” she said, “lord honey. You can’t have no torso.”

“I reckon I got enough to keep my organs in?” Xaxac asked, because he was confused by the accusation, and she laughed though he had not meant it as a joke.

“You got them long spindly limbs,” she said, “You’ll fill out once your body catches up with you.”

“Ain’t nothin wrong with his proportions,” Agalon argued.

“I didn’t say they was nothin wrong with it,” Sakala said as she knelt to use the platform to write. “Just makin notes. You sure you wanna put a corset on him? They already ain’t nothin there.”

“I think he’ll like it,” Agalon said and Xaxac stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what they were talking about, but he did want the new clothes. If they were anything like his work uniform he would love them, and even if they weren’t he would probably find something to like. He hadn’t even known that some types of clothes existed, like the robe Alex had worn. It was possible that pleasure slaves had their own uniforms, different from the other house slaves, that he just hadn’t known about. He thought he would like to have a robe like that…

“Alright, darlin, put your arms down, you’re done,” Sakala said as she stuck her pencil behind her ear. “I like this one. He don’t squirm. Quiet, though. I never trust the quiet ones.”