Chapter Four #3
He blinked open his eyes and startled at the face in the mirror.
Blue glittering with flecks of gold streaked across his eyelids, ending in a swoop to his hairline.
Bright orange was in the inner corner of his eyes and coloring his lower lids.
It made his eyes look larger and the greens and browns in them stand out.
Some ointment had been brushed on his lips that made them shine. He hardly looked human.
“Was this necessary?” he asked, tilting his head different ways to make sure it was really his face. He liked his bare face much better.
“Yes, Divine Ethyr. Everyone puts on cosmetics for special events like these.”
Ethyr sighed, resigned to it. “Will you be there?”
“Me?” He huffed what sounded like a laugh before he reined it in. “No, Divine Ethyr, I have no place in an event like this.”
Ethyr frowned at his knees.
Gionan took the ribbon off Ethyr and fussed with his hair a little more, picking at it with deep concentration.
Finally he shook his head. “It is too short to style, I think, but its form is not bad on its own. I suppose we can leave it as-is.” He set to work putting away everything he had taken out.
A man entered the room carrying a garment, trailed behind by a girl holding a smooth wooden box. The man laid what he carried onto the bed and turned expectantly to Ethyr.
“Can you try this on, Divine Ethyr?” Gionan prompted. Realizing that getting naked under the gaze of random strangers might just be part of his life now, he wearily stood to undress.
He was not given the choice of putting the clothes on himself, though he wouldn’t have quite known how, anyway.
It was not a simple tunic that slipped over his head and tied with a belt.
The bottom half, the “pants,” went on first. They were wide and swishy and tied around his waist and ankles with gold-silk ribbons, the fabric of it a translucent purple-y blue that shifted from one color to the other depending on how the light hit it.
Over that was a long top of similar color, though at least not see-through.
It resembled a sleeveless tunic, except it went well below his knees and was split up the sides to the top of his legs.
A belt of interlocking gold rings, each one further decorated with a dangling pearl, was draped around his hips.
It did not cinch the tunic to his body, so it seemed the only purpose for it was decoration.
A delicate ivory band slid up his left arm to rest above his bicep, and the look was completed with ivory-colored silk slippers and a gold circlet that rested over his hair.
Gionan and the other man stood back, studying Ethyr with hands to their chins in thought.
“Not ideal,” Gionan said. “But it will have to do.”
“It fits well enough,” the other man said. He stepped forward and pulled at the shoulders of the tunic, readjusting them. “With Verusias’s style, we were lucky to find loose-fitted attire at all.”
“That’s why it was left behind,” Gionan said, and the other man chuckled as though it was a funny joke.
“Who’s Verusias…us…?” Ethyr ventured.
The man looked at him like he was crazy, but Gionan was used to his questions by then.
“The previous king,” he told Ethyr. “He was taller than you.”
As though that was the information Ethyr thought important. “Why isn’t he king now?”
“The gods did not want him anymore,” Gionan answered.
“Why not?”
“We do not question the gods’ decisions.”
“How long was he king?”
"Eighteen years.”
“How long do most kings last?”
A throat cleared. They all turned to Yorith standing in the doorway and the two men quickly bowed their torsos low.
Ethyr glanced at them, wondering if he should bow too, but the priest was already walking towards him.
He’d changed into a robe that was much the same as his previous one, except red and hemmed in even more elaborate golden embroidery.
His braid was coiled on the top of his head, which made him look ridiculous.
That, plus spending the past four days with him eliminated any of the intimidation Ethyr had felt the first time he’d watched the man close in on him.
Yorith walked in a circle around Ethyr, then tucked his hands into his sleeves with an approving nod.
“You look almost cultured,” he said. Ethyr scrunched his face. “When you aren’t scowling or gaping,” he amended.
Ethyr smoothed his expression and pressed his lips together instead, narrowing his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me the gods would kill me?” he asked angrily.
Yorith blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Gionan said they would kill me if I insulted them.”
“Then don’t insult them,” the priest replied.
“But I don’t know what to do! You said yourself a year wouldn’t be long enough for me to be ready!”
“Not pleasing someone and insulting them are very different things,” Yorith told him impatiently. “Think before you act or speak and you’ll be fine. Regardless, they chose you specifically, so I’m sure your barbarity will not surprise them.”
Ethyr set his jaw.
“Now come along.” He walked out before Ethyr had any chance to protest or ask questions.