8. The Dress and the Collar
The Dress and the Collar
I t was only a little later that morning when Jezebel and two guards escorted Mila into a carriage outside. Once in, they left the high, black walls of the palace and went into the whitewashed city of Jeralusah. The city was remarkably clean, but felt uncomfortably so, in the way a child’s room is clean after they hurriedly sweep their toys under the bed. The streets were pristine, with evidence of the daily morning rinsing now rising from the cobblestones in a glistening mist, but many windows remained shuttered, and for a city in the peak of its midmorning bustle, it seemed awfully quiet.
The few people moving about on the streets were striding with purpose, not dallying to mingle in the new sweet, spring sunshine. They bowed respectfully when Jezebel’s carriage passed, but averted their eyes, and collectively, their energy seemed to exude frustration with the interruption, rather than excitement at seeing their princess. Mila surmised that Jezebel must venture out often, and her presence was probably more of an inconvenience for the city folk than a novelty.
When they stopped out in front of a seamstress’s shop, Jezebel gestured to the guards to haul Mila out of the carriage, saying nothing by way of explanation until they met the demure, young seamstress. The plump woman would not look directly at Jezebel, and visibly shrank back from Mila when she saw her horns.
Jezebel delighted in her reaction. “Yes. Now capture whatever it is you are feeling in a dress, Lorelai. I want all who see her to revile, desire, pity and fear her, in a single moment. And, most of all, I want them to know that I own her.”
“Of course,” the trembling woman said quickly, but Mila also felt her energy rise at the idea of the interesting challenge. There must be a reason that this seamstress was Jezebel’s one of choice.
* * *
It was late into the afternoon when the outfit was finally finished. Lorelai had long overcome her fear and aversion of Mila. She now looked over the new attire she’d created with pride.
Mila was exhausted. She hadn’t eaten in nearly three days, and the symptoms from the rubane withdrawals were now hitting her like a flu, causing her to tremble and ache as she’d stood for hours under Lorelai’s administrations. Jezebel either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.
“It’s perfect!” She clapped as Lorelai stepped back for the final time. The princess had supervised the entire project from a deep green ottoman in the corner, barking out suggestions and corrections as Lorelai worked.
“And her hair?” the seamstress asked, inspecting Mila with a critical eye. “Are you happy with how it is, or do you wish it styled somehow?”
“Leave it,” Jezebel replied. “It’s not important to me that she’s pretty. It’s important that she makes an impact. ”
The outfit achieved exactly that.
In the mirror, Mila could see that the floor-length, sweeping black dress was designed to appear unfinished in parts, making it difficult to tell if she was wearing something magnificent or tattered rags. For the bodice, she’d been stuffed into a corset that laced up the front rather than the back. The crisscrossed lace tie had been deliberately left loose enough so that Mila’s skin was exposed all the way from the top of her breastbone to the top of her pubic bone. If she’d had more of a bust, it would have been utterly scandalous. From her hips downward, the fabric of the dress was a mix of black layers and green velvet strands that had been clipped and hung in awkward places to look like strands of algae and riverweed. This, together with her short, brutally cut hair stabbing out awkwardly from her head made her unrecognisable. She truly looked like a creature that had crawled out of a swamp, a demon of the Muds.
Terrifying and seductive all at once.
Thankfully, she’d been permitted to keep the small gold hoops in her ears and nose. She stared hungrily at these in her reflection, trying to use the familiarity of them to find her old self.
Home, they reminded her, and for a moment she was enveloped by a crushing wave of sadness and despair. Would she ever see it again? Did Cari know what had happened to her? Was it Cari who had betrayed her?
Summoning her inner strength, she shoved the thought away. Letting that pain in would not help keep her alive today. She needed to focus. The small brown eyes that stared back from her reflection were hollow and pinched with stress and fatigue but remained determined.
There came a knock on the seamstress’s door and another guard entered. He walked straight to Jezebel and presented her with something Mila could not see, but she clearly felt the princess’s second-hand delight.
Jezebel turned to Mila and held out the item. It was a golden collar and matching lead.
Mila shrank back from them in horror as Jezebel approached. The guard was anticipating this and moved to block the exit.
Mila could do nothing but clench her eyes shut in misery as Jezebel leaned forward and clasped the golden collar tight around Mila’s neck, clipping it together and locking it securely.
“Made from the melted gold of all those who’ve failed me,” Jezebel whispered in Mila’s ear.
As she drew back, Mila shuddered in horror but filled with morbid curiosity, she turned back towards the mirror. Unwilling to look, but unable not to.
The golden collar stood out brightly against her tanned skin and her dark new apparel. The long lead held in Jezebel’s tight grip seemed to twinkle in the candlelight. The energy of the thing was like a perpetual death knell. Sheer sadness and pain made into an object that was now latched permanently to Mila’s throat. Her knees trembled under its force.
“How do you like it?” Jezebel asked.
“I’m in agony,” Mila croaked back, tears in her eyes.
“Good.”
When they left the seamstress’s townhouse, Jezebel surveyed Mila’s new attire and expression of anguish with pleasure. She clutched the lead tightly, as though feeling even more possessive now that her new pet looked so fine. It occurred to Mila then that, with this lead now around her neck, the likelihood of her slipping away in the night and escaping had all but vanished. This thought made her chest ache, and she was nearly overcome by the impulse to burst into sobs and throw herself into the path of one of the many oncoming carriages rumbling up and down the busy street.
Her soul couldn’t bear this.
As if she knew her thoughts, Jezebel smiled as stepped into the carriage, yanking on the lead as she did which caused Mila to stumble up the steps behind her.
When they were seated, Jezebel let out a sigh of pleasure and knocked on the roof of the cabin to signal to the driver that they were ready to return.
“What a fabulous day,” she said out loud to herself. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing this earlier. I’m having so much fun. Oh! And we’ll definitely be taking a trip to Lady Picory’s house soon,” she said. “Show that arrogant woman that she’s not half as interesting as she thinks she is.”
While the thought of being paraded around in this attire by Jezebel made Mila feel even more physically ill, knowing that she would be out of the palace again tomorrow shook her a little out of her depressed stupor.
It’s just a lead, she silently reminded herself. It’s not a cage. All Jezebel has to do is put it down and leave me unattended in a room for one minute. Perhaps even within reach of a dinner knife. That’s all I would need.
That tiny adjustment of perspective provided just enough hope. Mila felt the cloud of despair recede slightly, and it became a little easier to breathe again.
The sun was starting to set as the carriage returned them to the palace. As they entered the thick, black cast-iron gates, Mila made an effort to stare out the window and learn as much about her surroundings as possible. It was hard not to be distracted by the sheer beauty of it all. As the carriage trundled past the many grand buildings that lay within the palace estate, Mila took in the sight of hundreds of gold lanterns that paired beautifully with the deep orange glow of the dusk sky. Together, they lit the road up brilliantly and heralded the way to the Grand Cathedral, which now lay immediately before the carriage. Its four, tall sandstone spires and enormous stained-glass windows made it impossible to miss. It had powerful lights shining at its base, which illuminated it right up to the top of its tips of gold. Mila found herself thinking that, if she didn’t hate the structure so much, it would have taken her breath away.
Around it, Mila could see a few smaller, but equally breathtaking buildings. She wished she knew what each one was used for or who lived in them, but Jezebel did not offer an explanation, nor did she seem inclined to even acknowledge Mila’s curious stares. The only noise Mila heard in the carriage now was the omnipresent cicada symphony from outside that had commenced the moment the sun dipped below the high black walls.
The carriage continued to rumble quickly along the cobbled road, moving away from the buildings and now through a small forest of fruit trees, decorative gardens, and occasionally passing a beautiful sculpture or fountain. Once, it passed over a bridge made entirely of stone and glass. The water in the hand-cut stream below was illuminated by glowing stones, and the blue light shining back up through the glass bridge floor was one of the most spectacular things Mila had ever seen. She wondered how many commoners had ever been allowed to see any of this.
The palace was separated from the rest of the city of Jeralusah by a round, slick, towering wall of obsidian. Guard posts manned by jesu were dotted along the wall at even intervals. The palace was simultaneously a place of worship, a home to the elite, and a fortress .
Finally, just as true night fell, they arrived at Jezebel’s private apartments, which sat on the western boundary of the property.
Dinner was waiting for the princess when they arrived, and she did not hesitate, descending on the plate with a hearty appetite after issuing a brisk order to Mila to sit on a cushion by her feet.
Despite the large table, Jezebel ate alone. Mila assumed that Midas must have a similar living arrangement on the other side of the property. She wondered for the first time what their relationship was like. Did Midas ever join his daughter for meals? Did Jezebel ever invite him?
She also wondered, with increasing urgency, if she would be fed at all.
Jezebel also seemed to be considering this exact question, eyeing Mila at her feet with great pleasure as she sucked the rich skin off a chicken bone.
“It’s been a big day for you today. You must be hungry.”
Mila hadn’t risked saying much all day, but at this point, silence seemed the wrong choice.
“Yes, mistress,” she said softly, bowing her head in the picture of submission. Internally, she frantically scanned the princess with her power for any inclination of what she might expect next.
It didn’t help. Now, satiated with food, the energy radiating from Jezebel was a thick, toxic mix of callous boredom and arousal.
“Well, if you’re hungry – ” the princess spread her legs, leaned back and raised an eyebrow.
Mila complied.