‘No. I did not wish to offend him as I offended you.’

‘There was no offence. I just have zero interest in what he has to say.’

Her tone was not convincing, but before I could reply her gaze fell to the bundle of orange fabric folded on the bed.

‘This is what you are wearing?’

I could not deny it was an audacious piece. The silken robe was spun of auburn threads extracted from indigenous arachnids that weave their webs between the gnarl-vines. It was vast, the sleeves draping to the floor, and came with a headdress wider than my shoulders and primarily comprised of preserved insect parts.

Then there was the bodice. It was a well-crafted piece, the shaped carapace studded with gold and inlaid with jade. But having briefly tried it on I had to conclude its primary function was restructuring internal organs. Either that, or the original inhabitants of the planet who inspired the fashion were eight feet tall and possessed no ribs.

‘It is what they provided,’ I said. ‘I assume military exemption is the reason you are not clad similarly?’

‘Naturally,’ she replied. ‘A soldier does not have time to prettify themselves. I would make a start if I were you, though.’

‘I’m not even sure how to,’ I said. ‘I hope Stylee will be willing to assist when the time comes.’

‘The time came and went.’

There was something in her tone. She sounded amused, but I detected no note of insincerity.

‘My invitation says eight,’ I said, reaching for the parchment.

‘Which means you must be there by five,’ she said. ‘It’s called etiquette.’

‘How can it be etiquette to provide an incorrect time on an invitation?’

‘Because only the noble classes with an appreciation of social mores would know the distinction between when something starts and when one must attend.’

‘That seems needlessly confusing.’

‘It’s entirely necessary. Without established codes of conduct, how would nobles separate themselves from the common citizenry? Besides their money and life expectancy of course.’

She glanced to the pile of cast-offs Stylee had provided.

‘Well? Put them on.’

I hesitated. She sighed.

‘I have zero interest in seeing beneath your robes,’ she said. ‘But very well – I will preserve your modesty.’

She turned, presenting her back to me and the stain the bird had left on her cape.

The robes were nonsensical to me, containing at least six armholes and assorted ties. I spent an age struggling with them, and kept expecting her to spin around just to provoke me. But she kept her word, remaining a statue, even when I pulled the last tie and found my legs abruptly bound together, the floor rushing up to meet me. I would have put my arms out to protect me, but they seemed caught in the silken folds.

The subsequent impact could best be described as bone-shaking, mitigated only by the padding provided by my robes. To her credit, Shard did not react.