Chapter 13
Carys
Tired of pacing my room for the morning, and overwhelmed with curiosity and impatience, I make my way to the dressmaker’s bedchamber. “Are you certain you don’t want to summon her to your chamber?” Tiernan asks as he walks beside me.
“We’re already heading there,” I counter.
He tucks the silver strands within his dark hair behind his ear and turns forward again without any further inquiry. I can almost feel his disapproval. Tiernan Kilkenny is a stickler for rules and regulations, protocol and order, but he’s certainly relaxed over the years.
We step up to Durvla’s door and as I lift my hand to knock, it flies open. Ellynne nearly barrels right into me. “Carys! My apologies!” she says.
I respond with a nonchalant wave of my hand. “It’s fine, Ellynne. I just came to see how our new resident is settling in.”
“We’ve only just gotten back from the tour. She’s all yours.” She smiles and curtsies before walking away.
As I face the new Grounder woman, she hastily dips into a godsawful curtsy, and I can’t help but laugh. She straightens, an awkward smile replacing the brief embarrassment that flooded her features a second ago.
“How do you like your chamber?” I ask.
“It’s incredible.” Her brown eyes light up, a more genuine smile on her face.
“Is it a suitable environment for creating?”
“Yes.” Then she quickly adds, “Your Highness.”
“Good, because the Feast is in a month and I’m entrusting you with the task of making my dress.”
The woman sways a little on the spot. Her tawny skin blanches, and she presses her hand against one of the front posts of her bed. “One month?”
“That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, Your Highness.” She releases the post and flexes her hands at her side.
“I need to look so remarkable that my suitors take one glance at me and drop dead. Even better if that happens in a literal sense.”
A line forms between her brows.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to find a handsome suitor to bed and wed, preferably in that order, because I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into.
These noblemen and royals … they’re often older and have a great bloodline, but their personalities?
” I point my thumb down to the ground. “You know what I mean?”
Durvla nods, but she starts to fiddle with her sleeve. She focuses on my mouth often. It isn’t uncommon for people to avoid looking me in the eye, but it’s irritating all the same.
“The dress that they confiscated from your home is stunning. Can you make a similar one for me?”
She stares at me, dumfounded.
“Have I stunned you?” I snap my fingers, and she finally blinks, smoothing her hands over the sides of her dress.
“Sorry, Your Highness,” she says. “I’m just trying to figure out … why me? I’m not a noble or even a Mainlander. It’s just surprising that you would choose me of all people.”
“Oh.” I wave my hand indifferently and huff out a breath. “The dressmakers of Mainland are painfully uninspired. Your dress is the most unique I’ve ever seen. The stitch, the embroidery. It’s incredible that you’re just a botanist.”
Her lips lift in a pitiful attempt at a smile.
“But if you’re a fraud, I’m sending you back to Cluain Baile.”
I expect dread, but her face shines with expectancy, her body going still.
Does she actually want to go back to the cesspool that is the Grounds?
That would be utterly absurd. I practically bite my tongue to keep from outright insulting my new dressmaker.
“You’re lucky, you know. You get to live in luxury.
Not many Grounders get to do that. And you just have one simple task: Make me a dress. ”
She purses her lips, her back rigid. Her expression goes flat.
“Do you understand a thing I’m saying?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
She starts to curtsy, but I hold out my hands to stop her. “Please, don’t. Your curtsy is atrocious, and I don’t care for it anyway. But before I go, what do you need in order to make my dress?”
“I …” It takes her a moment to find her words. “I need spun fiber, fabric, and your measurements. Your Highness.”
“Alright.” I turn to head out the door again, and Tiernan steps aside from the open doorway. “You can take my measurements tonight after supper,” I throw over my shoulder. “And in the morning, Major Kilkenny will accompany you to Barr na Cahar.”
Tiernan gives me a slow nod, but there’s no response from Durvla.
I turn to find her gawking cluelessly at me, with no acknowledgment of anything I’ve just said. Magdin’s tits, tell me I didn’t land myself yet another incompetent dressmaker. “Did you hear me?”
She blinks as if coming out of a trance. “I didn’t. My apologies.” She laces her fingers tightly together in front of her and I catch the slightest wince.
I back off. Perhaps there is more damage than just the bruises on her face.
Perhaps she’s been through enough in one day.
“I’ll arrange your transport to Barr na Cahar in the morning.
That’s the fashion district. I’m sure Ellynne has shown you the library—the last dressmaker sometimes took out books on …
well, whatever you needlewomen read.” I pause. “If you can read, that is.”
A muscle twitches in her cheek. “I can read,” she says, after a brief moment.
“Alright, well … I’d like to see your progress on my dress daily. You have today to settle in, and you can begin your work tomorrow after you return from Barr na Cahar. I’d like to meet for breakfast every day so you can show me your magic.”
Her lips press into a straight line, and she swallows visibly. Grounders are raised to believe that even the mention of magic is treasonous. Poor woman. “It’s just figurative, Durvla.” I sigh and shake my head before turning on my heel to exit her chamber.
As the door closes behind me, I turn to Tiernan. He stares back at me with respectful curiosity.
“Is it me,” I ask, “or is she a bit doltish? She can’t even look me in the eye.”
“I think she’s just nervous, Princess.”
I click my tongue. “I sure hope that’s the case.”