The Ritual by H. Anthe Davis, Erica Dakin

can find a copy of the invite somewhere? I’ll go shopping for dresses.”
    “Do you need us to come along?” I asked. “I’d like everything to fit.”
    He raised an eyebrow at me. “And how would I explain to the vendor that my lady owner, for whom I am buying these dresses, is the half-elf accompanying me? You know they won’t sell to me unless I say it’s for an elf.” He picked up his backpack, rummaged around and produced first a plain slave-choker, then a tape measure. “Come, I’ll take your measurements.”
    I felt a blush creep up and fixed my eyes on a crack in the wall as he casually wrapped the tape measure around my hips, waist and breasts, and hoped he didn’t notice how my nipples puckered up when his hand brushed against them. He scribbled down the figures on a scrap of paper, then fixed the choker around his neck with an expression of distaste. Normally the chokers were warded against removal, and included a spell that limited movement to a certain range, and although this one was clearly deactivated, I shared his aversion to the thing. It always rankled that humans could be and do anything they wanted, provided they didn’t challenge the supremacy of elves, yet that half-breeds like us were considered only a step above vermin.
    Mior left shortly after him, and with a sigh I began to experiment with Shani’s hair, trying to think of what I could do to it that would make it look intricate and elvish.
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    In all, our preparations took up nearly every measure of our time right up to the fete, with barely enough left for us to catch enough sleep to be rested and alert. Mior had managed to get an example of the duke’s invitation, and he had forged a copy to allow access to Lady Aylin Sha’anar and her sister Roniel. By the time we left the inn Shani and I were still bickering over which of us was who.
    I felt awkward and irritable. The dress Zashter had returned with was predictably elaborate, with a full skirt which constricted my movements and kept tangling around my legs. I wasn’t used to skirts in the first place, and this one had about four layers of fabric to get caught in, yet still didn’t manage to keep out the draught that blew up underneath it and chilled my skin. The bodice was tight and pushed up my breasts, and even though mine weren’t very big, the cleavage was so low that I nearly spilled out of it, to the point that I hardly dared to bend over. To top it all off, the colour was such a vivid emerald green that it almost stung my eyes. It was trimmed with cream lace and gold ribbons, and we had sorted through our stolen jewellery to find a matching necklace and some bracelets. In all, the dress was the most sumptuous garment I had ever seen – never mind owned – but I felt like a fraud and was convinced I looked like one.
    The headdress didn’t help either – it was a monstrous, turban-like contraption that covered my ears and included a double tassel which hung along my left temple and tickled my jaw annoyingly, and I was trying to forget about the three enormous emerald-green feathers that crowned its summit.
    Shani was similarly attired, except her dress was sapphire blue and trimmed in silver and grey, and her hair was elaborate enough on its own to preclude a headpiece, although Zashter had still insisted on adding a few feathers. We both looked ridiculous, and I missed the easy movement that my normal tunic and trousers would have allowed.
    In contrast, Zashter looked immaculate in close-fitting black velvet trousers, a velvet sleeveless doublet with green embroidery that emphasised his luscious physique, and a dark moss-green shirt with billowing sleeves. His hair was neatly brushed and arranged with care, and the total effect was so dashing that I could barely keep my eyes off him.
    We had to walk to the elvish part of the city, from where we hailed a two-seater carriage, since no elves would ever arrive on foot. Zashter hopped onto