Chapter 43 Chapter 42: The Identity Kit
In the quiet lull after the lunch rush, the deli was still, the only sound the hum of the refrigeration unit. I excused myself to Lilli, who gave me a knowing nod, and slipped out the back into the narrow alleyway. The air was cool, smelling of damp brick and discarded herbs. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs as I leaned against the wall, pulled out my com, and tapped Silver’s name.
It rang. Once, twice, three times. Each tone felt like an eternity. I was just sure it would go to message when I heard the soft click of the connection.
There was only silence, but I could hear her breathing, a shallow, hesitant sound.
“Silver… Silver, are you there?” My voice was tight with anxiety.
“Yes, I’m here.” Her voice was small, meek, a shadow of its usual confident tone. It shattered me.
The words came out in a rush, propelled by a truth I could no longer contain. “Silver, I love you.” There. I said it. It was out in the world now, and as the words left my lips, I felt the absolute, terrifying rightness of them. “I really do. And I’m not… I’m not making my changing your fault. It’s just that I don’t trust my own body. And until I know the trigger, then… well, I have to look at the facts. Silver, I can’t go to Sylva as a Nate. Lord Vincent is expecting me as a Polli. My entire chance depends on it.”
There was a long pause, and then her voice broke. “I know, Nanda. I just felt so betrayed… you ran from me. And now I’m scared. I’m so scared that something will happen to you while you’re away, and I’ll never see you again, and I’ll never have said that I love you, too.” She started sobbing, deep, ragged cries that made the last few words almost unintelligible, but I felt them more than heard them, a confession reflected my own.
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” I said, pouring every ounce of conviction I possessed into the words. “It’s a peaceful mission. I will call you. Every single day.”
“You better,” she managed to say, the words thick with tears but laced with a returning spark of her old self.
A wave of relief and fierce longing washed over me. “Silver, I will be safe. And I will call you every day. And as soon as I get home, I will come straight to yours, and we will have the best make-up sex ever known to Polli or Nate.” Just the thought of it, of her skin against mine without the shadow of fear, sent a jolt of pure lust through me.
“You promise?” Her voice was a whisper, a plea for certainty.
“I promise. I love you, Silver.”
“I love you, too, Nanda.” The words were clear now, solid. “But I have to go now, work.”
“I understand.”
There was a final, breathless moment. “Promise you’ll ring every day.”
“I promise.”
The com went dead. I slid down the wall to sit on the cold concrete; the com still clutched in my hand. The alley was still grimy, the air still cold, but the world felt entirely new. We were in love. And we had a plan. For the first time in weeks, the future didn't feel like a threat; it felt like a destination.
Oceans of tears, I thought to myself wearily as I approached our dwelling. It felt like the theme of the day. But I wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted me. The door swung inward before my key even touched the lock. My mother stood there, her face a mask of fresh grief, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming.
“Nanda… your things have come,” she managed between wet, hitching sobs. She gestured vaguely towards the living room as if pointing out a terminal diagnosis. “It… it makes it all so real.”
I couldn't handle any more tears. My emotional reserves were completely depleted, first by Lilli's breakdown, then by the intensity of the call with Silver. “It’s okay, Mum. Stop being so silly,” I said, my voice perhaps sharper than I intended as I stepped past her into the hallway. “It’s not a funeral, it’s an adventure. Now, where are my things?” I was dying to see what Marcel had put together, a spark of genuine excitement cutting through the emotional fatigue.
She sniffled, following me. “I got the delivery Nate to put it all in the living room. You should have seen the porty it came in… looked like it cost more than our whole house.” That was Marcel's style, all right. Unapologetic, undeniable luxury.
And there they were. Three large, impeccably crafted suitcases, made of a sleek, dark material that seemed to absorb the light. They looked less like luggage and more like artifacts from a more elegant future. A thick, cream-colored brown envelope was tied with a string to the handle of the largest one.
I snatched it up, tearing it open, to find a single sheet of heavy, embossed paper. Marcel's elegant, spidery script covered the page.
Dearest Nanda,
It is essential that you follow these instructions to the letter. No deviating. No mixing. You are a fine Polli, but let us be honest, you have the aesthetic sensibilities of a stunned gnat. I have rectified this.
Your trip is a four-day affair. I have labelled the clothes and accessories accordingly. Each set must be worn together.
• Day One: Travel Set 1, then Evening Wear, Night Wear.
• Day Two: Morning Wear, Day Wear, Ball Gown 1, Night Wear.
• Day Three: Light Travel Wear 2, Business Suit, Ball Gown 2, Night Wear.
• Day Four: Travel Set 2.
I have your full itinerary. This should suffice. Do not embarrass me.
Yours,
Marcel
I couldn't help but laugh. I loved his blunt, brutal honesty. There was no false comfort, only impeccable taste and a fierce, caring pride that shone between the lines. This was his way of armouring me for the world.
Eagerly, I reached for the first case, then noticed the small, discreet tags on each handle. They were numbered. Of course they were. I grabbed the one marked 'Case 1' and laid it flat on the living room floor. With a click of the latches, I lifted the lid.
The scent of fine worm-thread and cedar washed over me. Inside, nestled on tissue paper, was a vision. The 'Travel Set 1' was an ensemble of a deep, charcoal grey business suit, the fabric soft but structured. It was both powerful and utterly feminine. I ran my fingers over it, a slow smile spreading across my face. For the first time all day, the future didn't just feel manageable; it looked breathtaking.
I sneakily peeked into all the cases, my excitement mounting with each opened lid. It was a masterclass in curation. Each meticulously planned outfit was accompanied by its own dedicated shoes and a suite of matching accessories, a clutch bag for the evening wear, a statement necklace for one of the ball gowns, a simple, elegant scarf for the travel sets. They had even included the underwear, delicate lattices of silk and lace designed specifically to be invisible under the lines of the clothes. Every set in its own plastic bag.
But the preparation went far beyond clothing. In a separate, beautifully organized compartment of the largest case, was a trove of personal items. There were perfumes in small, crystal bottles, their scents subtle and complex. A makeup kit held powders and pigments in shades I knew would be perfect for my colouring. A leather wash bag was stocked not with generic samples, but with full-sized creams, serums, and fragrant oils.
And on every single product, from the foundation bottle to the tiny jar of night cream, was a small, handwritten label. This wasn't Marcel's sharp, dramatic script, but a more flowing, feminine hand, elegant and clear. Each label held a tiny instruction: "Apply to damp skin after cleansing," or "Use sparingly before evening events." They had forgotten nothing.
My eyes fell on one final, humble item tucked into a mesh pocket: a simple, high-quality toothbrush. I picked it up with a relieved laugh. Thankfully, it was label-free. Some things, it seemed, even Marcel's army of assistants trusted me to figure out on my own.
This wasn't just a wardrobe. It was a complete identity kit, a portable version of the confidence I felt in Marcel's boutique. Holding the toothbrush, the one normal object in a sea of exquisite instruction, I felt a strange sense of peace. They had thought of everything. All I had to do was follow the labels.
I made several trips, hauling each heavy, precious case up to my room. The familiar space was transformed into a command centre for my new life. With a sense of ceremony, I unzipped the first case and laid out the 'Travel Set 1' on my bed. The charcoal-grey trousers and matching tailored jacket looked both severe and impossibly elegant. I arranged the designated shoes neatly beside them and placed the accompanying scarf and simple leather bag on the bedside chair, creating a still life of the person I would become tomorrow.
Next, I gathered my tools: the thick folders from Lord Vincent, dense with political profiles and cultural briefings, and my own notebook, its pages filled with my messy, handwritten scrawls- theories on Sylvan etiquette, key phrases, and reminders to myself. These weren't just documents; they were my armour and my weapons. I placed them carefully into the designated compartment of the travel bag, a soldier packing their kit before dawn.
There. It was done. I stood back and surveyed the room. The clothes on the bed, the bags by the door, the notes stowed away. A strange calm settled over me. This, I felt, I could do. The preparation, the organization, these were tangible tasks with a clear end point.
But now, the doing was over. A hollow space opened up inside me. I had run out of tasks, out of distractions. There were no more lists to make, no more clothes to lay out. The flurry of activity ceased, and in its place was a silent, waiting stillness.
The heavy silence of my room was suddenly broken by a sound from the garden below: the pure, unfiltered joy of laughter. It was Lilli and Maka, their voices weaving together in a chaotic, happy chorus as they played some invented game. Their world was one of immediate concerns, who was "it," the rules of their make-believe, the urgent need for a snack before bedtime.
A wave of longing washed over me, not for my own childhood, but for that specific, uncomplicated state of mind. Their laughter was a binding to the present, a loud, vibrant distraction from the terrifying future looming just hours away. They were the perfect antidote to the silent, waiting dread.
I pushed myself away from the meticulously laid-out travel suit, a symbol of a world I still didn't feel I belonged to and went to my door. Leaning against the frame, I watched them from the upstairs window. Maka was chasing Lilli around the garden, both of them, shrieking with mock-terror and delight.
They were exactly what I needed. For the few hours until morning, I could lose myself in their world. I could be their big sibling, not a diplomat or a freak of nature, but just Nanda. I headed downstairs, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time all evening, ready to let their joyful noise drown out the quiet ticking of the clock.