Live to Venture (#0)

25 | The Disorder of Adventure

Her boots clicked on the cobblestones as she came down the main street. She was used to Myrian ports, not ones in the Cobalts. She was obviously Myrian, and people loved to stare at Myrians. That, and the crest of the Avourienne was clear on her chest.

So she didn't plan this quite right. She couldn't wear this shirt, and she couldn't get into the event unless she was wearing something proper. Okay, so she'd improvise.

She didn't know this port, but it wasn't hard to find the General's building. It was massive, and everything in the town was centered around it. If the King was somewhere in this port, it would be in there. Upon finding the entrance, she took a step back and formed a plan. No one would recognize her face—probably not even the King, so she just needed to change her clothes. She glanced down the street, where the shop owners were selling things to the passing guests. Too bad she didn't have any money.

So she'd improvise a little more. She searched the crowd, looking through the guests to find a woman her size, which proved a difficult task. Finally, she found one a few inches shorter than her, which would have to do. She wore a simple, silky black gown that would blend Novari in as best as a Myrian woman could. She pushed through the crowd, coming up behind the woman, whose face was downcast as she dragged behind her husband. The man was checking his watch, a frown on his face, and Novari doubted he'd notice his wife missing until it was too late. Slipping through the crowd with as much nonchalance as possible, Novari reached up behind the woman's ears, as if she were just adjusting a friend's hair. When she pressed her fingers into that soft area of skin, the woman went limp, leaving Novari to take her weight and shuffle her into the nearest alleyway. When she looked back, no one even seemed to notice, the husband included.

Settling the woman down against the stone, Novari tried to find the best way to do this. Luckily, the woman was wearing a slip under, which kept her modesty as Novari took her gown off. After buttoning the dress up as well as she could without help, Novari put her crew shirt and pants on the woman. She wouldn't remember, but if she were wealthy enough to attend a sponsor event like this, someone would look for her.

Novari smoothed out the gown. It was tight over her hips and there was a bit of extra material on the waist, but it worked just fine. She spun around, catching her reflection in the closed shop's window, dark hair cascading over the thick straps of the dress. She really was far too pretty to be wearing men's clothes so often. Running her fingers through her hair, she twisted back the sections in front of her face so she could fight her way out of something if she needed to. Her boots had enough heel to show out from under the dress, so she kicked them off and left them in the alleyway. Barefoot, she came back out to the street, where the night was getting even darker.

Stealing a glance behind her, she caught sight of a man taller than the rest, but she spun back around before he could see her. Miller was dressed in an ethereal white getup, which should've been Novari's. Picking up the skirt of her gown and gently pushing her way through the crowd, she ducked as she made her way to the front of the line. She had to beat them in at the very least. When a man huffed at her cutting his position, she just gave him a quick glance, and he let her by.

She glanced back one more time, but her gaze snapped forward when she caught Bardarian's eye. Had he seen her? She was a little hard to miss. Trying to balance hiding her feet and not tripping on her skirt, she padded up the stairs as quick as she could without looking rushed, warm air smooth on her bare collarbones. Golden light spilled from the entranceway, glinting off the marble steps. She reached the platform, cutting in front of another man who didn't protest as she slipped by.

When the man at the door saw her, he lowered his chin, then his eyes. "My, my," he said. "You're quite the looker."

Novari ignored his hand, waiting outstretched for her invitation. "My, my, love," she said back. "What would my husband think of you?"