Chapter 52 #2
“That’s because you can hear everything!” She starts rummaging through a closet, the whispery sound of rustling fabrics proving her point.
Thalric turns to me while she’s gone. “There’s a fine line between distraction and catastrophe. Let’s avoid the latter, shall we?”
I hold my hands up in the air, in a sign of surrender. “I will cause no trouble. Not even a slight mishap.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I doubt that.” But Elowen emerges before he can say anything else. She’s holding a gown made of the finest silk, with a delicate weave of gossamer threads that glints between an emerald green and deep gold as the fabric shifts.
“I’m much taller than you, so you need one of my mid-thigh lengths, which doesn’t leave us with a lot of options. But I think this one might work.”
I reach hesitant fingers forward and brush them against the cool fabric. It’s so fine it’s almost intangible. I’ve never seen or felt anything so slippery soft. I gulp a little. “I couldn’t borrow something so … so expensive. Could I wear one of your day dresses? Maybe the blue one?”
She shakes her head, her long blonde hair falling into her face as she does.
“You won’t want to wear a day dress to the Crimson Feather.
Besides, this shade of green doesn’t work well for me, and it’s been years since I’ve even had a need for it.
I don’t know why I keep all these dresses—I don’t go anywhere anymore. ”
She presses it into my hands. “Go change,” she commands, regally. “Use the bathing chamber through there.” She wrinkles her nose. “Bathe first. You stink.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I agree. I clasp her hands. “Thank you.”
I slip into her dressing room in a bit of a daze.
I’m impressed by the expansive nature of her suite.
The bathing chamber is immense, much larger than one person needs.
I lay the stunning gown on a bench, and then undress before sinking into the warm, spring-fed bathing pool with a groan.
Elowen walks in with tentative steps, her eyes closed, and sets a bar of soap on the edge.
I cup the little bar of soap, and tears spring to my eyes when I smell the lavender. But of course, she knows it’s my favorite. I get the lavender from her garden, after all.
When I’m done, I slip my arms into each sleeve of Elowen’s gown.
It’s a wrap dress, so I pull one end fully around, then the other, before tying the golden silk belt around my waist so the skirt falls into place.
The dress is nothing but a cool whisper against my skin, and drapes down my chest in a perfect V.
It leaves me feeling naked, even more bare than my robe.
I finger the material, standing in front of Elowen’s full-length mirror.
I don’t even recognize myself. I trace the scar on my temple that glitters a soft gold.
If it weren’t for the still-raised edges, it could pass for a tattoo. I twirl a finger in my still-wet curls.
I haven’t cut my hair since I came here.
It’s well past my ears now, curling down along the edges of my nape.
I run my fingers through it, the corkscrew curls pulling down and then bouncing back into place.
I reach for a pair of scissors Elowen has on her vanity, to shear the curls off again.
Not because Altor wards keep their hair short, though they do, but because it’s a symbol of mourning in Selencia.
I’ve kept it short ever since Alden died—a symbol of grief and a sign to other men to stay away .
I fist a section of my hair, but my hand hovers there, my fingers frozen on the grip, with the hair between the blades.
Exhaling on a whoosh, I drop my hand. It’s time.
Ryot or no Ryot, it’s time to let Alden go.
He’s gone. Long gone. And I’m not the same girl who loved him so fiercely and so innocently. I can’t ever be that girl again.
I put the scissors back down on the table and use a towel to smush some of the water out of my longish hair before I open the door to the chamber and step out into the room.
Both Thalric’s and Elowen’s eyes go round. Thalric drops his booted foot from where he’s got it propped up on a table. It lands with a thump.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
“What?” I ask, running my fingers down on the dress, twirling in a little circle so I can try to see what’s wrong with it. The end trails behind me. “What’s the matter? Did I already rip it or something?”
He just gets to his feet, a resigned look on his face. “Come on, Catastrophe. We’ve places to be, mobs to incite, and rebellions to start.”
I smile at his dramatic compliment. Only Thalric would tell me I’m pretty in such a surly, grumpy way.
“The dress is divine,” Elowen says, but she purses her lips into a frown. “And I don’t think you need any jewelry, not with the scars. But I don’t have any slippers that will fit you.”
“That’s alright,” I say, slipping my feet back into my combat boots, lacing the straps up all the way to my knees. “Even wearing boots, this still is the most stunning thing I’ve ever worn! Thank you, Elowen.”
Thalric is shaking his head at me. “Sweet Amarielle, how did the combat boots make it even hotter?” He rips the door open with more force than necessary. “Silent skies upon us.”
Elowen laughs.
“Aren’t we just going to a brothel?” I ask him.
“There’s no just about any of this,” he replies ominously. “We’re all in for a very interesting evening, veilstrider.”