Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(39)
“Queen Theodosia,” one woman finally says, pausing in front of me to dip into a curtsy. Her silver hair is pulled back from her face in a severe bun that does little to soften the wrinkles around her forehead, eyes, and mouth. She has sharp, dark brown eyes that flitter from the top of my head to my boots, her nostrils narrowing more the more she looks at me. “My name is Marial and I’ll be the head of your staff while you’re with us.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marial,” I say.
Her pinched mouth and narrowed eyes don’t move and she doesn’t bother with a reply. “You’re to attend a dinner with the King and his family tonight. A bath first, then we’ll try to do something with your hair. I understand you’ve brought no suitable clothing of your own?”
I don’t let my smile waver. “I had to leave Astrea in something of a hurry to avoid my own execution,” I tell her. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to take anything more than the dress I was wearing. This one.”
Her smile is so tight-lipped that it’s hardly a smile at all. “Yes, well, we had the foresight to prepare for such an occurrence.” She gestures to the wardrobe, where the women who just took my measurements are now pulling out various draped gowns and attacking them with threaded needles, their nimble fingers moving quicker than I thought possible. “We’ll have some options ready by the time you’re out of the bath. Come.” She snaps her fingers and two women appear, one on either side of me, pulling me to my feet and helping to remove my dress, while another woman twists a knob on the bathtub. After a moment, there’s a gurgle and water begins to spew from the curved pipe into the tub.
It’s difficult not to stare at it in wonder, especially once steam begins to rise from the water. Where is the water coming from? In Astrea, boiling water was brought up a pail at a time, so that by the time it was full, the water had gone cold. The Kalovaxians used Fire Stones to keep the water warm, but the Kaiser never trusted me enough to get that close to them, not that I would have used them anyway. The thought brings back the memory of the scorch marks on my bedsheets, and I quickly push it away. It’s surprisingly easy to pretend that it never happened. Most of the time, it lingers on the outskirts of my mind like a bizarre dream that only appeared to bleed into reality. It’s impossible that it truly happened. But I know what I saw and touched with my own hands.
I want to ask what kind of magic the Sta’Criverans have to summon water out of nowhere, but I remember what Anders said earlier—what they lack in magic they make up for with science and technology. Something tells me that asking Marial questions will only earn me more pinched, impatient looks, so I swallow my curiosity and resolve to ask someone else later.
The women strip me naked, and a distant part of me knows that I should feel uncomfortable being nude in front of strangers, but I suppose my sense of modesty was broken a long time ago.
When I finally slip into the bath, the hot water envelops me and I want to just sink to the bottom and stay there forever, wrapped in warmth. The feeling doesn’t last long, though. As soon as my hair is wet, three women begin to attack it, combing through the tangles and nests that have grown during my week on the Smoke. By the time they’re finished, my scalp feels raw, but my wet hair hangs down in a heavy sheet, finally smooth. But they aren’t done with me yet. They move on to my body, scrubbing every inch of my skin with rough, wiry sponges and soap, until the water turns grimy and dark. They help me out of the bath and towel me off before rubbing on oils to soothe the skin they just abraded until I’m as smooth and shiny as a pearl and I smell like jasmine and grapefruit.
Marial flitters over from where she’s been inspecting the seamstresses’ handiwork, her hands clasped tightly in front of her and her forehead even more creased. She purses her lips and eyes me critically. My sense of modesty might be broken, but I still feel the need to pull the towel tighter around my torso under her gaze.
“Better,” she proclaims. “But there’s still much to do. Come.”
I follow her back to the wardrobe area, hurrying to keep up with her brisk pace.
“Who else will be joining me at this dinner?” I ask, trying to make my voice commanding even though Marial terrifies me.
“I already told you,” she says slowly with a belabored sigh, though she doesn’t spare me a glance. All of her attention is focused on examining one of the seamstresses’ stitches on a sapphire-blue gown with an intricately beaded bodice. After the seamstress knots and cuts the thread, Marial takes the gown and brings it to me. “The King and his family.”
“And what about my advisors?”
She gives a derisive sniff, helping me step into the heavy gown, pulling its thin straps over my shoulders. The scars on the top half of my back are on full display, spilling out from the silk of the gown like red and white snakes. No one gapes openly, but I feel their gazes on me all the same and it is somehow even worse.
“Their presence is unnecessary for such an event,” she says, each word crisp. “But an invitation has now been extended to the Kalovaxian Prinz,” she adds after a moment.
I’d feel better if Blaise, Artemisia, and Heron were there as well, but at least I’ll have S?ren.
“And my aunt?” I ask, though even as I pose the question I’m not sure which answer I prefer.
“She has made it clear that her presence is required wherever yours is,” Marial says, though she makes no effort to hide her disdain. She laces up the back of my gown tightly, and after that I can scarcely breathe, let alone keep up a conversation.