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“You mean the cellar?” Cait asked.
Zenitha laughed again. “I have a spare room, and it’s gorgeous. I wasn’t serious about putting you in the cellar, but Iamserious about staying only one night, so I didn’t want to make it sound too appealing.”
She led us through the back door of the shop and upstairs into a lavishly decorated sitting room, then down a wide hallway into a bedroom. It was entirely royal blue, with the fabric of the bedding, curtains, rug, and settee all the same vivid color.
“It really is gorgeous,” said Cait.
I stared, almost teary-eyed at the welcome sight. “It’s a real bed.”
We soon learned that Zenitha was as talented at hosting as she was at wig-making. We dined well, bathed, and even borrowed silk nightgowns to sleep in.
However, as I lay in the blue four-post bed with Cait asleep beside me, my mind reviewed the hellish past twenty-four hours. My thoughts haunted me with visions of the man lying dead in the aqueducts, interspersed with fears for Graham and myfather, but the bed was irresistibly comfortable, and sleep soon captured me in its merciful grasp.
If I hadn’t already believedthat Zenitha was Cambria’s best host, her morning tea and breakfast would’ve convinced me. Cait and I sat with her in an emerald green dining room above the shop, morning light streaming through the gauze curtains.
Despite growing up in a noble house, this lifestyle was new to me. My father lived and ate more like the Tramorian he was. He couldn’t be bothered to do something as extravagant as pouring boiling water over herbs and leaves when plain old water would do. Zenitha’s cook should’ve been credited with the quality of the meal, but they never actually made an appearance, and I was glad. As much as I liked Zenitha, I hadn’t liked the fact that she recognized me, and I didn’t want to take my chances with someone else seeing me up close, not until I had a makeover.
Zenitha sipped her creamy tea with red lips, holding the vine-patterned china delicately in her fingertips. Her makeup had already been flawlessly applied before Cait and I woke up, and she wore a glamorous satin robe.
I’d been catching her up on our story, as promised. When I told her about the aqueducts, I hesitated, cautiously explaining the accident that led to my stolen uniform without telling her the Enforcer had died. The way I told it left room for ambiguity and she didn’t ask questions. Maybe she preferred not to know.
“And now,” I continued, “I need to look like a man so I can keep wearing this uniform and be unrecognizable. I don’t have much to offer in exchange, but?—“
“Your hair will be more than sufficient,” said Zenitha. “That gorgeous, cornsilk blonde is practically unheard of, and yourimpeccable fashion at your coronation may have inspired a new craze. You weren’t queen for long, but it was long enough to make an impact—for more reasons than hair, of course, but I’d be happy to take it off your hands . . . or head, as the case may be.” She laughed.
“You’d cut it for me?” I asked. “And is there a chance I could have one of those beards?”
“Certainly,” she said. “Haircut, false beard, binder, a bit of makeup. I can show you how to emphasize your masculinity.”
“Binder?” Cait asked.
“For the breasts,” Zenitha answered. “Flattens them out and gives the illusion of a straighter waist and narrower hips.”
“I want that!” said Cait. “Is it comfortable?”
“Not at all.” Zenitha laughed. “About as bad as a corset.”
I groaned.
“Never mind,” said Cait with a frown. “I’ll keep the breasts.”
“Be grateful for them,” said Zenitha. “Not all of us are naturally gifted in the bosom.”
I didn’t mean to stare, but I was confused by the comment. As far as I could tell through her high-necked dress, Zenitha was very gifted in the bosom. I could only assume she was talking about other women.
“Well,” Zenitha set down her empty teacup. “Ready for your transformation?”
I bit my lip, troubled by the thought of losing my hair, but I wasn’t safe to be myself in this world. There would be no authenticity for me. “Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s make you the sharpest Enforcer in Cambria,” said Zenitha without a hint of sarcasm.
Cait snickered.
“Don’t get too smug,” said Zenitha. “You’ll leave here in a gown only a noble could love.”
Her smile fell. “Oh. Damn.”
“Watch your mouth,” said Zenitha with a smile. “You’ll need to get used to sounding like a noble. I’d hate to see you end up in prison again.”
