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"Your chamber is up ahead," said the dark-haired elf, motioning toward a wide, curving stairwell. "Maewyn will take you there once you've been bathed."
"And the high lord?" Cera found herself whispering his title, as if speaking it too loudly would summon him. "Will he come to greet me?"
"I would not presume to know the aesolin's plans," she said coolly. "Nor should you."
Maewyn added, "It should not matter when he comes to you. It is your duty to be prepared to serve him at all times."
Under different circumstances, Cera might have found these responses annoying. However, being that she was in a foreign land, surrounded by strange peoples and customs, and unsure of her place in it all, she had no choice but to accept what she was told.
The bath was nothing like what she'd anticipated. Her baths had always taken place in a tin tub that had been hauled into her privy chamber and filled with tepid water. This castle had a dedicated bathing chamber, most of the room taken up by a massive bathing pool. Cera had nothing to compare it to, and wasn't sure if it had been constructed or if it had been a pond that was integrated into the room.
Several women had been kneeling in prayer by the water, but promptly stood and came to Cera's side as she entered. She noted that the women looked different from her companions, less angular and more moon-faced. She tucked away the observation and surrendered to them, allowing them to undress her and guide her into the water.
The dark-haired elf departed while Maewyn undressed herself and joined Cera in the bath. None of the women attended Maewyn, instead focusing all of their quiet attention on Cera. They put particular focus on her hair, which they repeatedly lathered and rinsed with various floral concoctions.
Nary a woman wore a scrap of clothing and Cera couldn't help but gaze surreptitiously at their strange bodies. Like all elves, they were tall, with long torsos and willowy limbs. Only one of them had breasts that Cera would consider womanly, with Maewyn's high and nearly flat chest being the most dramatic of them all. She'd always been told that men valued a woman's curves, but seeing the sylph-like bodies of the elven women made her feel self-conscious about her own plump breasts and wide hips.
The more she looked at them, the more she began to understand why the high lord had found her so repulsive. If these women represented an elven man's feminine ideal, she must have looked like a cow.
She found a small measure of comfort in the robes that she was dressed in following her bath. It was not the first time she'd felt elven tailoring, her father had been fond of their soft, intricately woven fabrics. Still, she'd never worn one of the outfits herself. Hers was comprised of two layers, a plain inner robe that was as light as spider's silk and a modestly embellished outer robe. Both were white, but there were green and silver vines stitched into the fringes of the heavier top robe.
As the robes were being knotted in place, Cera spared a glance down at the dress she'd arrived in. It had fallen into an unceremonious cerulean heap on the floor. She felt a pang of sadness, but not because she had been particularly attached to the dress. It had been given to her on the day that she'd left her father's castle, and it was the finest garment she'd ever owned. For all her father's great wealth, the loveliest dress she'd ever received may as well have been stitched of rags compared to the plain elven robes both she and Maewyn were now wearing.
She wasn't offered slippers before departing the washroom. After the time spent in the warm waters of the bathing pool, the marble floors felt colder than ever. She trailed behind Maewyn, her hands wrapped around her middle in an effort to keep from trembling.
"There will be food waiting for you in your chamber," Maewyn said, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Heed my advice and do not overeat. Your stomach is accustomed to the bland foods of travel."
Cera wasn't sure if she was hungry. Aside from the cold and her general fatigue, her stomach was twisting itself in knots at the prospect of seeing the high lord again. She knew that the moment was coming, she just hoped it arrived sooner, rather than later. In her mind, meeting him was akin to setting a bone. She wanted it over and done with as soon as possible. The sooner she saw him and spent time in his presence, the sooner she could make her peace with her new reality.
Once up the stairs, they went down a smaller hall with murals that were interspersed with doors. There were two guards stationed at the entrance to the hall, both of whom stood stoic as the women passed. Cera waited until she hoped they were out of earshot, and then blurted out her observation.
"They werewomen!The guards! I'm certain of it."
Maewyn cast her a backwards glance, hawkish eyes regarding Cera in the manner one might regard an overly excited dog.
"And what of it?"
Shoulders lifting, Cera said, "I've never seen such a thing. Women, in armor. They can fight?"
"They are not dressed as such for your entertainment," she replied, though her tone had softened. "We are not like your women, bound to our men for protection and subjugated by the rearing of children. We are free to pursue whatever path is within our caste."
Cera was about to inquire about the elven caste system, but then one side of the hall opened up, revealing the night sky. Below was a vast garden, and she could hear the evening croons of songbirds floating up from the treetops. It stretched on for what must have been miles, such that the walls of the citadel were only faintly visible in the distance.
The hallway soon closed off again, and a moment later they arrived at her chambers. There were two more guards posted outside, also both women. Cera didn't think she'd ever get over her amazement at such a thing as a female warrior.
Entering her chamber was a surreal experience. Maewyn said it was hers, but it didn't seem possible that it could be. It was far too lavish, to the extent that Cera found it more intimidating than welcoming. The walls were composed of white panels, framed by braided wood. Each panel contained an understated mural of elves in various forest settings.
There was a sitting area by an unlit fireplace, as well as several bare shelves. Across from the fireplace was what appeared to be a balcony, though the doors were closed and shrouded in gauze-like curtains. The same curtains made up the canopy of her bed, which was large enough to fit ten women. The blankets looked to be made of the same silken material of her gown and she ached to crawl beneath them and disappear until sunrise.
Maewyn gave her a brief tour of the room, showing Cera the door to the closet, the privy chamber, and the door which adjoined their rooms. Before she departed, it dawned on Cera that Maewyn might be more than a person tasked with escorting her to her new home. From the way the woman spoke, she got the sense that Maewyn was to become a regular fixture in her life.
"Should you have need of anything, the guards will assist you. But do not trouble them unless it is urgent. I'll return in the morning, at sunrise," she said as she slipped through the door and into her own room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Cera made her way to the sitting area. She lifted the lid covering the tray on the table. Beneath it was an array of different breads, jams, cheeses, and fruits. No meat, of course. Elves did not entirely abstain from eating meat, but did so only under ritualistic circumstances. Even many of the half-elves held with this tradition, as much as they could.
She picked at a bit of everything, knowing that she should be hungry, but still feeling too tense to overindulge. As she ate, she kept glancing back at the balcony, half-expecting to see a shadow watching her from beyond the glass. In the end, she'd been focusing on the wrong door.
When the knock came, the sound was so foreign to her that Cera didn't immediately know what to make of it. She stared at the door to her room, eyes fixed on it intensely. The second knocking came a short while later, three soft raps that were even in tempo.
