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"I have a gown in the speeder. I planned on getting changed closer to the time."
My summons is over twelve hours away. Sweating in my clothes all day hadn’t seemed like the best course of action.
"Oh, very well. It just dawned on me, I hadn't had anything sent to you for tonight. I'm pleased you thought to order a gown.” She sighs in visible relief.
I perversely wonder what she’d say if I let her know that said gown came from the lanes. She’d be horrified. Even I hadn’t truly trusted Johel to deliver, right up until the moment I unpacked her work.
I might have been right not to, anyway. I have no idea what one wears to any court. All I know is that I love every single piece she sent, tonight’s gown most of all.
I hesitated to bring it, lest my experience in Ravelyn ruins the garment for me, but I opted to all the same. At least I can walk in there with a degree of confidence, if only on the surface.
“We'll arrive too close to tonight's celebration to have time for more than a touchup when we get to the Whyte Fort. Why don't I have your gown sent up? My maid can dress you and see to you while we wait for the duke."
She doesn't trust me to know what to do with my face or my hair, and she's not wrong.
Neleda is always put together in a way I could never be, but today, she's a vision, her skin glowing and her hair braided in complex waves around her pretty face.
I nod, willing to take the aid of whichever maid is responsible for her transformation.
If I manage to look the part, the ordeal that tonight is likely to be might be a little less mortifying.
I tell myself that much, though I know Zale Devar will do whatever is in his power to ensure I don’t come out of his realm unscathed.
I’m walking into a lion’s den and I have no idea what to expect.
My mother leads us out of the parlor and into a bedroom that blends her style preference—exuberance and rich color—with the dark wood and leather look the duke favors.
I glance at the enormous bed, still unmade, and grimace in distaste.
We thankfully don’t linger, moving on to a well-appointed dressing room, larger than my crew’s underground den.
She rings a bell, and a coldblood woman soon appears. Shorter than most of her race, she distinguishes herself by having dark hair and a discreet layer of blush applied to her cheeks.
“Your Grace.” She bows low to my mother, and if she thinks herself above serving a common, she hides it well.
“Triffa, this my daughter Helyn. You wouldn’t mind working your magic on her, would you? She’s to be presented at court tonight.”
“How wonderful!” She beams at me, and rushes to my side. “And on Lughnasadh, too. Sit, sit!”
She leads me to a low, pink velvet stool in front of an ornate standing mirror taller than me.
“You’ve been before?” I ask. “To court.”
“Oh, no, not me, my lady.” Without further ceremony, Triffa undertakes the momentous task of untangling my hair, using her fingers, first. “I’m a maid.”
I’ve seen the servants in this household, and they don’t behave or dress like her.
Triffa’s gown is made with a simpler material, but it’s nigh on as well-cut as my mother’s.
“Well, we’ll remedy that, won’t we, Triffa?” my mother offers. “You can come with us to Whyte Fort tonight, and attend us before we greet the king.”
The maid gasps happily. “You’re too good to me!”
“Nonsense.” Neleda waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll have a footman carry your gown if your speeder’s unlocked?”
I don’t remember whether it is, so I hand my mother the plastic key card, glad to watch her leave.
Once Triffa’s satisfied most of my knots are gone, she switches to a brush. “What luxurious tresses, my lady. I know ladies who’d kill for such a vibrant color.”
