She stared at the heap of ceremonial robes before dropping her gaze to her legs, hidden beneath the folds of her skirt.
At dawn, as soon as she opened her eyes, Nanny had washed her, and a physician had been summoned to rewind her bandages. She had no intention of letting these strangers see her scars.
Biting her lip, Talia gave a curt nod.
“Do as you like.”
With permission granted, the maids set up a folding screen in the center of the room. Talia stood behind it like a beast led to slaughter. A young maid approached, slipped off her thin robe, and began undoing the buttons of her summer dress one by one. The shapeless gown that had draped her body slid to the floor.
The maid caught her breath. Talia reflexively looked down at her chemise. Through the sheer fabric, the outline of her twisted leg showed faintly. Humiliation burned hot in her ears, and she snapped at the girl.
“Don’t just stand there staring! Get it over with!”
The frozen maid scrambled to bring over the new garments. Unable to watch the fumbling any longer, the head maid shoved the girl aside and personally helped Talia into a milky-white silk dress.
The thin, finely pleated cloth fell over her body like mist. Over it, the head maid layered a translucent, grayish-blue robe and bound a lavishly embroidered sash around her waist.
The belt, woven from double-layered silk, was adorned with jade, topaz, and small animal pendants. After cinching it tight to define her waist, the head maid draped braided cords strung with metal bells and tassels over her hips.
The adornments did not end there. Gems strung on fine gold wire were layered around her neck and wrists, and heavy earrings engraved with a golden bird hung from her lobes.
She felt like a jeweler’s display stand. Was this gaudy costume truly the traditional dress of the East? As her brow knit with suspicion, the maid helping her into a deep blue silk coat with wide sleeves let out a breathy gasp.
“You look just like the legendary Tiramer.”
“Tiramer?”
When Talia narrowed her eyes at the unfamiliar name, the maid blanched and clamped a hand over her mouth. The suspicious reaction curdled Talia’s mood. Was she being made a fool of?
Perhaps they were mocking her, taking advantage of her ignorance of their customs.
She pressed for an answer.
“What is that? Why did you stop talking?”
“Tiramer is, well…”
“Tiramer is the spirit of the earth who governs the seasons.”
The head maid spoke as she drew the front of the silk coat across Talia’s chest, pinning the voluminous fabric with a brooch.
“The ancients of the East believed they were her descendants. She is held to be the loveliest and most noble of all the spirits of this land.”
Talia eyed the woman’s composed face with suspicion.
“Then you could have just said so. Why did she go pale?”
“Brisa likely feared Your Highness would misunderstand and think we take such legends for truth,” the head maid replied, straightening after smoothing the drape of the coat. “The tales of Tiramer are mere folklore passed down through generations. I hope Your Highness does not doubt our devotion.”
Talia scrutinized the head maid’s rigid expression. A faint tautness lingered over that long, horse-like face. There was no telling whether she was lying, or genuinely frightened of being branded a heretic.
Talia turned toward the mirror she had been avoiding. In the smooth glass framed by deep shadow, a face bearing a haunting likeness to her mother’s looked back.
Yet across those exquisite features lay a gloomy, ashen cast, devoid of the vibrant life Senevier possessed. Hollow, ravenous eyes, gaunt cheeks, and a frail frame that fell far short of Senevier’s lush, flawless symmetry…
Suddenly, Gareth’s sneer rang in her ears.
‘A woman’s face grafted onto a monster’s body…’
The reflection, a clumsy parody of her mother, twisted miserably. Looking at her broken, unfinished self turned her stomach.
She jerked away.
“If you’re done, get out of the way! How much longer do you plan to fuss over me?”
She roughly struck away the hands styling her hair, and the maid behind her flinched and fell back.
The head maid let out a quiet sigh.
“We must place the coronet. Please bear with us a moment longer.”
A waiting maid brought forward the Gold Coronet. Setting it upon her head, the head maid coiled Talia’s long tresses upward, fixing them with a jade-studded pin.
When the dressing was finally complete, the maids stepped back and bowed low.
“We will now escort you to the Grand Duke’s chambers.”
The head maid turned toward the door. Talia watched her back with anxious eyes before following.
Dozens of soldiers stood waiting in the corridor. As she stepped between their ranks, the uneven rhythm of her limp echoed against the stone.
She did everything she could to walk naturally, but her stiff leg refused her will as always.
She lifted her chin, struggling not to let her shame bleed onto her face.
After a short walk, the head maid stopped.
“It is this room,” she said, gesturing toward a large set of doors opposite the stairs.
The Grand Duke’s quarters were on the same floor. Relieved that she would not have to negotiate the stairs, Talia approached the heavy mahogany doors.
“I have brought Her Imperial Highness,” the head maid announced.
A solemn voice replied from within.
“Enter.”
The head maid obeyed at once. The maids drew both doors open wide, revealing a spacious chamber crowded with retainers.
Talia braced her spine under the weight of dozens of staring eyes. Men in formal dress looked upon her as though struck dumb.
A chill crept down her neck.
Was something wrong with her appearance? She glanced down. Perhaps they had dressed her deliberately to make her an object of ridicule—lying that this was Eastern tradition while dressing her like a court fool.
She glared at the head maid as if to tear her apart, then dropped her gaze again, terrified her leg might show through the silk.
All she could see were the folds of the pleated dress. But from the front, the shape of her ruined leg might well be outlined.
Cold sweat dampened her back. Her eyes darted about, frantic for an escape.
Heavy footsteps drew near. Talia jerked her head up, her eyes widening as Varkas stopped before her.
He wore robes of a cut similar to hers. A black silk tunic with a quiet sheen, a belt stitched with dense gold embroidery, and a wide-sleeved coat draped diagonally across the broad lines of his chest.
Talia stared, mesmerized, until the warmth of his fingers touching her chin made her look up.
The large earrings set with blue gems and a necklace heavy with topaz caught the daylight.
Her breath caught.
She had never seen him in so much jewelry. Was this not a man whose usual habits were harsher than an ascetic monk’s?
Clad in such opulence, Varkas looked less like a knight of the Roem Empire and more like the sovereign of some ancient, untamed land.
“Do your legs hurt?” he asked, his voice low and heavy as his eyes lingered on her.
Snapping back to herself, Talia slapped his hand away and took a step back, terrified he might hear the thudding of her heart.
“I—I am perfectly fine.”
She tried to affect indifference, but heat scorched her cheeks. His blue eyes rested on her flushed skin.
Varkas frowned, raising a hand toward her forehead.
“Has your fever returned…?”
“I said I’m fine!”
END