Last night had been rowdy at the Beast Hunters’ party. Volf had outdrank Randolph, an impressive showing by the sea serpent. He had even managed to take Dahlia back to the Green Tower with not a single stumbled step. On the other hand, Randolph had been laid out on a bench to sleep off his drunkenness, and Dorino and some of the more senior knights had promised they’d carry him to the barracks. It would have made sense to take a carriage back—so Dahlia had suggested—but apparently, “that was what body strengthening is for”; their smiles had implied they were both willing and used to it.
So Volf had escorted her back home, and at the door, they had bidden each other “good night and pleasant dreams.” Then, in the quietest voice, he had said, “I’m looking forward to the back-embroidery.” That moonlit face belonged to the man they called the capital’s prettiest boy, and Dahlia had figured they were onto something.
She had tried to take off her coat, only for a sleeve to get caught on her golden bracelet. It was for protection, and perhaps because she had been wearing it, she had been spared from total intoxication. She had realized her cheeks were hot, and to sober up a little, she had begun to think about what to do about the back-embroidery.
Dahlia retrieved her stationery set and began peeling the paper around the charcoal core, her fingers brushing against the coarse notepaper. “The Scalfarotto name itself? Their family crest? Since I’m making it, maybe ‘Rossetti’ or ‘Dahlia’? Hmm, what else...”
Volf—that would kinda feel like putting a child’s name on their shirt. Denied.
Scalfarotto—Guido’s face came to mind, and that didn’t feel right. Denied.
The Scalfarotto crest—the ice crystal was too intricate and, well, too chilly. Denied.
Dahlia—way too embarrassing. It wasn’t as though Volf was part of her family or anything. Denied.
Rossetti—Carlo’s smile came to mind, and that didn’t feel right either. Denied.
Was she doomed to never hold a needle here? Was she just going to groan on and on without ever coming up with a pattern? Dahlia took off her glasses and did a big stretch, and when her arms came down, her pendant—the one to prevent stiff shoulders—danced on her chest. The obverse was cragsnake fang, the reverse, unicorn horn. The latter had a depiction of a small flower, while the former had a nightdog. Nightdogs were a breed prized for their ability as guards. Traveling from town to town called for bodyguards or sleipnir-drawn carriages, but many also brought those hounds as companions. Dahlia got the brilliant idea to embroider that very nightdog on Volf’s shirt—a prayer for his safety during his expeditions and to ward off any dangerous monsters.
She didn’t have any of his undershirts with her at the moment, but she did have a supply of black men’s tees that she kept for sleepwear; Dahlia brought out the one that Volf had used before to try her hand at it. The tools for this project were monster silk thread and a hardened mythril needle, a combination that made for very smooth handling, perfect for needlework. As one might’ve expected, these top-of-the-line items were courtesy of Lucia, who had lent them to Dahlia after they’d chatted about how a lot of sewing was done with magical tools. If the embroidery was to wish for Volf’s safety, then she had to do her best with the best, after all.
Hmm, a black dog on a black shirt? Dahlia encountered another roadblock; she hadn’t thought of asking Volf what color his undershirts were. She remembered Dorino saying that back-embroidery was often done in red, and if black on black was too subtle, she could add a red flower behind the dog to make it pop. Under the magical lantern’s glow, she stitched single-mindedly until her vision became bleary.
“Ah...” Back-embroideries were supposed to be these little needlepoint designs—who the heck stitched this fist-sized patch on here? This had got to tickle the back. As she went to take out the thread, she paused. Wait, this is a prototype. Yeah, just a test run. She convinced herself that everything was fine; when she did his shirts, she would make sure to make the embroidery a lot smaller.
Dahlia put the black T-shirt on the torso she had received from Lucia for test-fitting raincoats and came up with more excuses. The back-embroidery did in fact stand out due to its size, but it wasn’t a bad look at all. It wouldn’t be visible with a layer on top, and this was just a test product. Then, she got another bright idea: as a magical toolmaker, she ought to give the shirt an enchantment. The Beast Hunters’ expeditions were rigorous, so it might be good to make it more durable. Hardening would make it too, well, hard to wear, but what if she tried to strengthen the fibers instead? With that in mind, Dahlia checked the shelf to see what she had on hand.
The first material she grabbed was powdered kingsnake shed. The kingsnake was a fearsome monster that slithered through the desert, gobbling up any travelers who stepped foot into its territory. Capturing one was surprisingly easy, however—fill a large pot with alcohol, and it’d drink until it fell, making it a breeze to capture dead or alive. Really, that should be a cautionary tale. Humans generally avoided slaying it, though; the kingsnake ate the eggs and larvae of the desert worm, keeping their population in control—Dahlia had learned this, and the fact that maintaining ecological balance was a delicate thing, in college biology. As an aside, shed kingsnake skin was used to strengthen lantern wicks. Guards in the capital also used portable lanterns with these enhanced wicks for resistance against both heat and water.