about other options besides leather, none of which interested Claire. She did her best to make appropriate sounds at pauses to avoid being rude.
“These are the leather models. Each one comes in a variety of colors, of course. What size of couch are you looking for?”
“Um, is it okay if I just kind of look around and try them out?”
“Sure.” Isabella released Claire’s arm and stepped back, watching.
Her attempt to shake this woman having failed, Claire decided her only option involved pretending Isabella didn’t exist. She took a deep breath and wandered through the couches, stopping when she found a brown one with three cushions, like a new version of Justin’s. He’d said any couch should work. He wouldn’t lie to her about something like this.
She sat on the springy, squishy couch and remembered the nice stuff her parents had, once upon a time. They had favored velvety fabrics over leather. If only Justin and Marie could afford nice things like this.
“It is nice, isn’t it?”
Claire turned around to find Isabella standing behind her. “Yes.” She had to ignore the woman and hope nothing bad happened. Shutting her eyes, she focused on her desire to go to the Palace.
“That particular one has a matching loveseat, armchair, ottoman, and sectional.” Isabella’s voice moved like she’d decided to come around and face Claire to talk her into this couch.
At home, doing this still took effort. Claire hadn’t done it very many times yet, and she had to concentrate. In this strange place, she needed to focus even more. Isabella clearly didn’t want to let that happen. Claire stifled the urge to jump up and punch Isabella to shut her up. She knew nothing good would come of that.
“Are you all right?”
Claire said nothing. With her eyes still shut and trying to imagine her room in the Palace, she hoped Isabella would take a hint. She forced herself to think about stone floors and walls.
“Are you having a seizure?”
“What?” Unable to ignore the question, Claire snapped her eyes open and found Isabella giving her the most sincere look of concern imaginable. “No. I’m just— Can I have a minute, please?”
“Oh. Of course.” Finally, Isabella turned and walked away.
Claire shut her eyes and demanded the Palace let her in. In her head, she begged, she shouted, she raged. When nothing happened after several minutes, she opened her eyes and stood, still in the furniture store. She’d failed at the most basic part of being a Knight and had no idea why. Shoulders slumped, she ignored Isabella’s annoyingly cheerful entreaties and shuffled outside.
Light rain had begun while she’d sat inside the store. She stopped herself from being too relieved about the lack of wind, in case the universe heard her and decided to fix it.
Enion climbed up her shirt and draped his body around her neck. He reached up and touched her cheek. “Try again.”
“What for?” She kicked a rock on the sidewalk and watched it bounce into the gutter.
“The man in the Palace.”
“What? Which one? Am I supposed to be showing Djembe how much I deserve to be a Knight?”
“The Heart!”
Claire squinted at the ground, trying to figure out why that guy would matter. Nothing came to mind. “What about him?”
Enion modulated his voice so it approximated that man’s, only high-pitched, as if he’d sucked on helium. “Tenacity. Strength of will. Courage.”
Had he only wanted to see if she stood up again after being knocked down? Claire tugged the blade out of her waistband. Raindrops bounced off the gleaming silver blade. That man had granted her this weapon as a badge of proof. She deserved to be a Knight.
“Over there. Try that one!” Enion pushed her face until she saw a dumpster. Beside it sat a decrepit old cloth couch with fraying upholstery in faded blue and green.
Claire squared her shoulders, tucked her dagger back into her waistband, and marched to the couch. It reminded her more of
“These are the leather models. Each one comes in a variety of colors, of course. What size of couch are you looking for?”
“Um, is it okay if I just kind of look around and try them out?”
“Sure.” Isabella released Claire’s arm and stepped back, watching.
Her attempt to shake this woman having failed, Claire decided her only option involved pretending Isabella didn’t exist. She took a deep breath and wandered through the couches, stopping when she found a brown one with three cushions, like a new version of Justin’s. He’d said any couch should work. He wouldn’t lie to her about something like this.
She sat on the springy, squishy couch and remembered the nice stuff her parents had, once upon a time. They had favored velvety fabrics over leather. If only Justin and Marie could afford nice things like this.
“It is nice, isn’t it?”
Claire turned around to find Isabella standing behind her. “Yes.” She had to ignore the woman and hope nothing bad happened. Shutting her eyes, she focused on her desire to go to the Palace.
“That particular one has a matching loveseat, armchair, ottoman, and sectional.” Isabella’s voice moved like she’d decided to come around and face Claire to talk her into this couch.
At home, doing this still took effort. Claire hadn’t done it very many times yet, and she had to concentrate. In this strange place, she needed to focus even more. Isabella clearly didn’t want to let that happen. Claire stifled the urge to jump up and punch Isabella to shut her up. She knew nothing good would come of that.
“Are you all right?”
Claire said nothing. With her eyes still shut and trying to imagine her room in the Palace, she hoped Isabella would take a hint. She forced herself to think about stone floors and walls.
“Are you having a seizure?”
“What?” Unable to ignore the question, Claire snapped her eyes open and found Isabella giving her the most sincere look of concern imaginable. “No. I’m just— Can I have a minute, please?”
“Oh. Of course.” Finally, Isabella turned and walked away.
Claire shut her eyes and demanded the Palace let her in. In her head, she begged, she shouted, she raged. When nothing happened after several minutes, she opened her eyes and stood, still in the furniture store. She’d failed at the most basic part of being a Knight and had no idea why. Shoulders slumped, she ignored Isabella’s annoyingly cheerful entreaties and shuffled outside.
Light rain had begun while she’d sat inside the store. She stopped herself from being too relieved about the lack of wind, in case the universe heard her and decided to fix it.
Enion climbed up her shirt and draped his body around her neck. He reached up and touched her cheek. “Try again.”
“What for?” She kicked a rock on the sidewalk and watched it bounce into the gutter.
“The man in the Palace.”
“What? Which one? Am I supposed to be showing Djembe how much I deserve to be a Knight?”
“The Heart!”
Claire squinted at the ground, trying to figure out why that guy would matter. Nothing came to mind. “What about him?”
Enion modulated his voice so it approximated that man’s, only high-pitched, as if he’d sucked on helium. “Tenacity. Strength of will. Courage.”
Had he only wanted to see if she stood up again after being knocked down? Claire tugged the blade out of her waistband. Raindrops bounced off the gleaming silver blade. That man had granted her this weapon as a badge of proof. She deserved to be a Knight.
“Over there. Try that one!” Enion pushed her face until she saw a dumpster. Beside it sat a decrepit old cloth couch with fraying upholstery in faded blue and green.
Claire squared her shoulders, tucked her dagger back into her waistband, and marched to the couch. It reminded her more of
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