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“When the king’s advisor brought me here, there was a young man who was with us. His name is Soren. I don’t suppose you would happen to have any idea where I could find him?” I asked.
“Soren. Soren,” she repeated as she worked, thinking it over. “Not that I recall, my lady, but I can inquire with some of the other servants and see if anyone else knows.”
“Thank you, Brunhilde. That would be wonderful if you could.”
I wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing Soren, but I needed to start working on getting some of my memories back.
“Of course, my lady. Alright now, arms up,” she directed.
I lifted my arms and she peeled the dress over my head. The fabric was so tight, it felt like I was being born all over again. When I was finally free of it, my respite was short-lived because Brunhilde potato-sacked me with another one.
When I made it to the other side, she said, “I am happy to hear you and His Royal Highness were finally able to spend some time together. Unfortunately, now we are behind schedule.” She gestured for me to hold on to one of the bedframe pillars.
My hands clasped the wood post and I braced myself as she laced up the corset so tight, it felt like my organs had packed their bags and taken up real estate in my throat.
“For what?” I wheezed.
“Your appointment with the dressmaker. We are almost three-quarters of an hour late.” She clicked her tongue before she added, “As she is a very busy woman, I imagine she won’t be very happy.”
“Such insolence! Such disrespect! One hour of my precious time gone. And for what?” the petite, young female hissed as she folded the fabric at my hip and shoved a pin through it. I could feel the metal slide against my skin, stirring a shiver to spider-walk down my spine.
Despite her size, the royal dressmaker was not someone you wanted to piss off, and I obviously had. Ever since we arrived in her workshop, she’d put the fear of the Creator in me every time she picked up a pin and jammed it roughly into the folded fabric.
Her workshop, stationed in the castle, was a sizable room. It was stockpiled with so many different fabrics, she could give all the fabric vendors in the city of Cent a run for their coin. Rolls of fabric were haphazardly stacked on top of one another, some piles so tall it was a wonder they didn’t topple over. Bamboo bowls, full of an array of various sewing supplies, sat on top of wood tables, no rhyme or reason to any of them. The roomwas far from tidy, but the dressmaker seemed to know where everything was regardless.
Gorgeous—that was the first word that had popped into my head when I first saw her. She had big, sweeping, dark-brown eyes paired with plush, full lips set in a long, oval face, her skin a warm, glowing copper. She wore a stroke of kohl along her eyelids that she had winged at the sides and continued past the inner corners, giving her eyes a feline effect. Her brown-black hair had tight, springy curls that she piled loosely on her head. A few untucked curls fell by her temples.
“Did you hear me?” she growled with a tug on the dress, causing the gold bangles she wore to chatter in response.
I had a clear view of her through the three-sided mirror that stood in front of me, but I glanced down, directly at her. The vantage point from the round, wood pedestal I was standing on made her look even smaller, but no less feral.
“We are very sorry for our tardiness,” Brunhilde jumped in, apologizing for the umpteenth time. We both had taken turns apologizing over the last hour. It seemed to appease the dressmaker for a few minutes, but then she would start back up again.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
“It willnothappen again,” the dressmaker snipped as she reached for another pin, moving on to a different section.
Brunhilde and I nodded quickly, agreeing with her.
There was a saying back home, and it went something likeTheSpirit Realm hath no fury like a woman scorned. I understood it now. I didn’t fear many people, but the dressmaker with the arsenal of never-ending pins?
She was definitely one.
Sage
Colorful ribbons, ornamental hair combs, and a spread of other hair items were placed in an orderly fashion, laid out across the makeup vanity I sat in front of that morning. Brunhilde hummed to herself as she brushed my hair. Occasionally, the brush would get stuck in a tangle, courtesy of my fine hair strands and a night of tossing and turning—thanks to me missing Von. Brunhilde would press her hand against the back of my head and give it a good yank, her approach to detangling knots far from gentle. At one point, I yelped, feeling half-inclined to rip the brush from her hands and bonk her on the head with it. But I refrained and played the part of the empty-headed stooge this society so clearly wished for me to be. It was a small price to pay if I was to make good on my vow to kill the king, a small price to pay if Iwere to break the deal between Arkyn and Von and be reunited with him at last. Those were my two reasons for staying in this castle, for enduring this isolating world of theirs.
I lifted my gaze, catching on the reflection in the mirror. I knew that face. The slightly upturned nose, narrow-angled jawline, and almond-shaped eyes.
And yet . . .
Did Ireallyknow her?
Sadness drifted over me, rooting itself deeply. It was quick, and it was immense—to the point where my shoulders sagged and my eyes became cloudy.
I looked down to my hands, clamped tightly together.Who was I?
The back of the brush clicked upon the wood vanity as Brunhilde set it down, and I lifted my fallen gaze. Forcefully, I pulled myself from my thoughts, watching as Brunhilde’s hand hovered over the ribbons until she finally picked one.
