Chapter 12
Durvla
My hands tremble as I begin removing my prison clothing. At least this time, I’m only wearing trousers and a top, so undressing is less prolonged, less painful.
The redhead’s olive green eyes survey my appearance, and she reaches for my left hand, her face dropping. She holds my arm up, scrutinizing my branding, then gently lowers my arm to my side. “Those brig guards are monsters. We are not. Alright?”
I nod.
“I’m Ellynne.” She makes an aloof gesture over her shoulder. “And that’s my sister, Lowri.”
Lowri smiles coyly at me and waves before turning back to her task of dumping something from a vial into the tub.
“Come, let’s get you in the water,” says Ellynne.
I nod and follow her toward the tub, one arm across my breasts, the other hand in front of my crotch.
“Relax, I’ve seen my fair share of tits and cunts,” says Ellynne.
Well, that’s blunt. Warmth floods my cheeks.
“Don’t be … ; you have a lovely figure. You’re going to look stunning in the dress … for you.”
My lips part, but no words come to mind.
I climb the marble steps to the tub and dip my toe into the water.
It’s bordering on too hot, forcing me to grit my teeth as my injured arm submerges for a moment.
But as my body sinks beneath the surface—my left arm exempt—the tension in my muscles melts away.
I sigh blissfully and close my eyes, reveling in the warmth that I’ve been denied for the past couple of days. Then someone touches my arm.
I open my eyes, and Ellynne holds up a damp washcloth. “We’re going to lather you now.”
Water sloshes from the abrupt shift as my body tenses again. “I can do it myself.”
Both women laugh. “Don’t be …” says Ellynne as she passes the cloth to Lowri.
I sigh. It takes me a moment to decipher her words.
Apparently, modesty and privacy are preposterous in Mainland.
Understood. I pretend that I’m anywhere but here as Lowri scrubs me clean.
Ellynne disappears behind me and tugs on the ribbon and pins lost in my hair.
Frizzy curls tumble down onto my shoulders before hot, fragrant water flows into my face, forcing my eyes closed.
I hold my breath as a fresh stream pours over my head.
Ellynne works her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp in a way that almost makes me purr like a house cat.
My body sinks further into the water and I almost—almost—forget that I’m naked in front of strangers.
When Ellynne and Lowri help me out of the tub.
I’m not sure what to do with myself as they walk around me, drying my skin with a large towel and bandaging my left forearm before applying fragrant oils and creams to my skin.
They dress me with practiced efficiency, donning me in a chemise and petticoat to begin.
Lowri lifts my arms to press a corset against my torso. She holds it in place while Ellynne laces up the front with impressive speed. This thing is squeezing the air out of my lungs. “It’s kind of hard to breathe,” I say.
Ellynne smiles warmly. “You get used to it.”
At last, a mauve gown with loose, long sleeves tapered and ruffled at the wrist covers the layers beneath. The gown is simple in design, but the quality of the fabric is beyond anything I’ve ever dreamt of wearing. I run my hands over the lower portion of the dress, in awe of its softness.
“Come. Let’s see what we can do with these glorious curls.” Ellynne takes me by my unbranded right arm and leads me to a chair. I sit gingerly.
“My mum had curls like yours,” Ellynne says. “She hated them, but I always found them so beautiful.”
She probably hated them because they’re a pain in the rear to manage. I smile at Ellynne regardless. “Thank you.”
Ellynne stands behind me and pours oil into her hand before running her fingers through my ringlets from roots to tips.
She adeptly works through the knots while I grit my teeth against the tugging.
She steps back and Lowri slips a pair of knee-high stockings, and the finest ankle boots I’ve ever worn, onto my feet.
“Alright,” says Ellynne, appearing in front of me again.
She takes my hands and pulls me to my feet.
“Have a look.” She gestures toward a full-length mirror against the wall.
I approach the mirror and gawk at the stranger in the reflection.
There’s no sign of the botanist from Cluain Baile.
A crown of curls rests atop my head and the stay beneath my dress cinches my waist, the silken fabric embracing the full curve of my hips, my breasts appearing deceptively larger.
My cheek is still slightly swollen and discolored from Cadet Bronn’s assault, but surprisingly it barely hurts now.
Ellynne and Lowri stand on either side of me, grinning. “You look like you belong here now,” Ellynne says.
Looks can be deceiving.
My chest constricts and the corset does nothing to help me draw a full breath again. If anyone finds out that I’m an Undesirable, I’m certain I’ll be skipping the Veilguards and going straight to the gallows this time.
“Ready?” Ellynne asks, arching a brow at me.
I can do this; I can play the role of the perfect … dressmaker. I force a smile onto my face and nod before following the ladies out of the bath chamber and into the corridor again.
The plain hallways grow brighter, more sconces with candles lining the walls. We step out of the building and walk across a covered bridge overlooking a garden toward—Holy Rhianu, that’s the Fortress on the Mount.
The Castle of Erleya.
My heart picks up speed, surpassing my quick footsteps as I follow Lowri and Ellynne. A mammoth of a door looms ahead of us, a guard standing on each side with a spear in hand.
Ellynne doesn’t even say anything, but the guards step forward and turn in unison to push the doors open.
My knees turn to water as an enormous room stretches out in front of us.
The ceiling must be touching the sky. Elaborate chandeliers hang down from the sky-ceiling, crystals iridescent in the candlelight.
Someone nudges me and I flinch. A young woman glides toward me, resplendent in a silken emerald gown that drags slightly on the floor behind her.
A golden circlet adorns her head and ink black hair cascades down well below her tiny waist, strands of gold shining through.
For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the stark contrast of the golden strands against her dark tresses.
Then she levels her piercing amber eyes on me, and I reflexively step back.
My knees lock as my gaze snags on a dark-haired guard beside her. His obsidian eyes glare daggers at me, icy ruthlessness radiating off his body. As if my very existence is offensive.
Then again, isn’t that what Mainlanders think of Grounders?
The blood rushes from my face, but I can’t convince myself to stop staring back at him—at his high cheekbones, the upward sweep of his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.
He doesn’t appear much older than me and his fair skin is free of wrinkles.
But there are silver streaks on the right side of his head that disappear into a bun at the back.
At my side, Ellynne nudges me and I’m almost certain that she whispers something. I tear my focus away from the guard and end up gawking openly at the princess’s freckled face. It’s like I’ve lost all sense of decorum and logic. I cannot stop myself from staring at these stunning people.
The princess lifts her chin haughtily, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. She steps closer to me, and I straighten, my skin prickling with unease.
Breathe.
I subtly suck in a breath.
“You’re Durvla Garrick?” the princess asks at last.
I nod, before realizing it must be rude. “Yes, Your Highness.” I should curtsy, but my knees are still locked and I’m afraid to fall if I try to move.
“Welcome to the Fortress on the Mount, Durvla. I’ve asked Ellynne to be your guide. She’s been in my service for years now, so you’re in excellent hands.” She turns abruptly before I can respond and waltzes off, her intimidating guard beside her and Lowri in their shadow.
I release my breath, the tension flowing out of my shoulders. The return of my aching head and ringing ears wrap me in familiarity, reminding me that even though I’m on the other side of the bridge and dressed as a Mainlander, I’m still me.
“Come.” Ellynne smiles reassuringly. “You must be hungry.”
I nod. I’m not, in fact, hungry, but I don’t argue.
“Alright,” she says. “Let’s head to the dining room first, then I’ll give you a proper tour.”
My appetite eventually resurfaces as I munch on fresh bread, cheese, and apples.
“You must have a thousand questions,” Ellynne says as we set off on a tour of the castle. “I promise that after I give you the grand tour, I’ll answer them all.”
I nod and keep up with her rapid pace. Ellynne shows me the concourse, the infirmary, and we pause at a door with library etched in gold against the dark wood.
Ellynne pushes it open, revealing a grand room with a high ceiling.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of leather-bound books line the solid wall-to-wall shelves.
A round table with a lavish wooden pedestal and tripod base fills the empty space at the center of the library, two ivory-colored velvet armchairs on either side.
There are even ladders to reach the upper shelves that tower above the room.
The shelves are almost ominously dark, contrasted by the textured painting of green and gold foliage on an ivory background that fills the spaces between the shelves and extends across the ceiling.
Straight toward the back of the main room is an archway leading to another room filled with books.
I stare in wonder. I want to get my hands on them all. Every. Single. Book.
Ellynne smiles as I turn to her again. “In awe?”
“I’ve never seen so many books in my life.” I resist the urge to continue gawking at my surroundings and focus on Ellynne’s words.
“Are there no libraries in Cluain Baile?”
I shake my head. Nor large dining halls, nor miscellaneous rooms for no purpose other than for show. “Most people in my village cannot read. The most books I’ve seen were in a wool mill in Ballybaeg. And they were all on needlework.”
“Intriguing,” says Ellynne.
We step out of the library, and I immediately miss the inviting scent of the leather.
“Well …” Ellynne pats the library door. “As someone in Princess Carys’s service, you are free to use the library. Take as many books as you want, as long as you return them. Personally, I enjoy the great romances.” She winks playfully at me and a smile tugs at my lips.
By the time we arrive at a nondescript door in a secluded hallway, I’ve forgotten where everything is. Ellynne pushes the door open with little effort and waves me in.
The room is as large as my entire house.
If not larger. There’s a bed with carved wooden posts, massive double windows, and a desk piled with crafty supplies against the far wall.
Beside the table is a small shelf neatly stocked with spools of colorful threads, stacks of fabric, and other materials that I’ve only dreamed of getting my hands on.
“Welcome to your bedchamber,” says Ellynne when I drag my attention back to her.
I blink at her. “Did you say my bedchamber?”
Ellynne nods, the skin on the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. “I did.”
I’m at a loss for words. When I do finally move, it’s the bed I make a beeline for. The mattress is like a cloud, the sheets are silk. Mother above … “This is the most comfortable thing I have ever sat on in my entire life,” I say aloud.
Ellynne chuckles. “Well, I’m glad you like it. I’m certain you’ll find clothes that fit you in the wardrobe. And …” She points to a door on the opposite side of the desk, and I miss everything she says until she angles her head to me again. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I nod and swallow, trying to tack down one of the dozens of questions flying through my mind. “What exactly is expected of me as Princess Carys’s dressmaker? Aside from … well, making her garments?” Saying that aloud is ridiculous. I am no dressmaker.
Is it common practice for dressmakers to be procured from the Grounds? I bite my lip to keep the question from leaping out.
“Princess Carys has instructed me to help you with basic etiquette. So, first things first. When you address someone of a higher station, be sure to state their title. Princess Carys or Your Highness, for example. Lord Iywan because he is the Hand of the Queen and Carys’s advisor.
Most of the noblemen and women at this court should be addressed as ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady,’ including the head healer, Lady Alys. ”
So that was the healer’s name.
“The guards are addressed as Sir, followed by their first names, except for Major Kilkenny, and on the unlikely occasion that you get to interact with the queen herself, you should address her as Your Majesty.”
The information is crammed into my head for me to pick apart later. I nod. “Understood.”
“Now,” Ellynne says with a grin, tossing her wavy red hair over her shoulder. “Show me your curtsy.”
I hesitate for a moment. The royals are the only ones who would be worthy of a curtsy, and no royal has visited the Grounds since I was a wee one.
I stand, allow my head to adjust to the change in posture, then I place one foot awkwardly behind the other and bend my knees.
Ellynne winces and I straighten up right away.
“Let’s work on that,” she says. But despite her corrections and my repeated attempts, my curtsy remains abysmal.
Ellynne smiles reassuringly. “You’ll get it.”
I sigh.
“The most important thing is that you do your job and do it well. The princess is counting on you.”
“Wonderful.”
Ellynne picks up on my sarcasm and chortles. “Just be your genuine self, work well, and stay out of things that aren’t your business.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
For a moment, we stand there wordlessly, then I walk around the room, admiring my surroundings, frequently glancing back at Ellynne to make sure she isn’t speaking to me.
Beneath the plush fur rug that extends through most of the room, the floor is tiled with a dark blue and copper motif.
The walls are covered with textured paint in burnt sienna, and on one side is a fireplace.
I imagine Taig tottering around the large room, taking it all in. He would thrive here.
My heart clenches painfully, and I have to force myself to breathe in. Then out.
I turn to Ellynne just as she says, “… be off.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home … someone will collect you … Her Highness.”
I smile uneasily, my heart hiccupping in my chest. “Thank you.”
Ellynne heads for the door but as she opens it, she jumps aside, startled.
Standing in my doorway is none other than the princess of the kingdom of Erleya.