The High King's Tomb
Page 8
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
What was her father thinking by sending her a dress like this? Well, obviously he wanted to impress Braymer Coyle with her, um, feminine wiles. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see her as a little girl anymore.
Encased in the dress and its various trappings, Karigan found she could not breathe or bend, and that the layers of skirts felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. Her shoes, comprised of silk brocade dyed to match the dress with narrow wooden soles, were clasped to her feet with silver buckles. The contraptions produced dainty-looking feet but pinched her toes and made walking a treacherous endeavor. She glanced with longing at her supple leather riding boots standing at attention next to her wardrobe and hoped she’d survive the day without breaking any bones.
As the daughter of a merchant, she had always worn all the finest, latest fashions, but throughout her childhood she had admired the sophisticated women attired in their elegant dresses as they paraded about Corsa’s most exclusive shopping district and attended socials. At the time, she could hardly wait to be of an age to join them, and she had fantasized about dresses just like the one that now held her captive. What had she been thinking?
“I feel like a puffy blue blob,” Karigan said, stroking the patterned velvet with a gloved hand. Even her head felt funny with her hair piled up on it and held in place with an armory of pins, combs, and ribbons. She figured the hardware equaled the weight of her saber.
“The blue is wonderful.” Tegan’s eyes feasted on Karigan’s dress. She came from a clan of dyers and knew quality when she saw it. It was even possible the dye had come from her clan. “Oh, we must not forget your necklace,” she said. She opened the ornate porcelain box it came in and drew out the silver chain with a crescent moon pendant hanging from it.
Karigan was surprised a Rhovan would choose the symbol of the god most Sacoridians worshipped, Aeryc, as a gift. Rhovans preferred to worship the goddess of the sun, Aeryon. Perhaps Braymer’s father thought she was of a religious disposition and that this would please her. Or maybe the Coyles were religious and her father had exaggerated some facts about Clan G’ladheon to impress them. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he had.
Tegan clasped the chain around Karigan’s neck. The only other piece of “jewelry” she wore was her Rider brooch. It had been something of a challenge to figure out where to pin it. Ordinarily it was attached to her uniform above her heart, but presently there was not enough cloth in that region to hold it, so she had clasped it close to her shoulder. It was an awkward placement, but by the brooch’s special nature, its true form would remain invisible to everyone except other Riders.
Tegan helped wrap a matching shawl around Karigan’s shoulders and handed her a little drawstring purse. She then made Karigan turn all the way around.
Tegan clapped her hands together. “You are…” she paused, as if words failed her. “You are utterly transformed. You…you outshine even Lady Estora.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Tegan.”
“Truly, you are stunning, my dear. A noble lady.”
“Oh, my.” Karigan smiled faintly, knowing how her father would react to that comment. Stevic G’ladheon was not fond of aristocrats.
“It’s getting late,” Tegan said. “You should probably head for the castle entrance.”
Karigan grimaced. “I’m not sure I can move.” The walk to the castle entrance suddenly seemed daunting though normally she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She sucked in a breath and wobbled out into the corridor.
Everything in the corridor stopped. Riders who had been chatting fell silent. Others striding by halted. Anyone going about their business came to a standstill and gawked. Particularly the males.
Tegan squeezed through the doorway around Karigan’s skirts. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Her Ridership, Lady Karigan.”
The Riders hooted and clapped, some of the females oohing and aahing over the dress. Karigan, taken aback, did not know what to say or do besides blush profusely.
Yates pushed his way forward and bowed with a mischievous grin, then offered her his arm. “Might I have the honor of escorting Her Ridership to the castle entrance?”
Ordinarily Yates might receive a sarcastic retort for such an offer, but this time Karigan was actually relieved, and she took his proffered arm. The challenge of walking in the blasted shoes would be easier now that she had someone to lean on.
How does Estora manage this every day? Actually, this was beyond an everyday dressing affair for most anyone, even Estora, who could make rags look elegant.
Yates was the perfect gentleman as he escorted her through the castle corridors. There were many rumors about Yates and his exploits with women, and while their veracity was uncertain, she was sure having half the castle population observe them together would send tongues wagging, something that would not displease Yates in the least.
During the seemingly endless journey to the castle entrance, men—soldiers and courtiers alike—bowed out of her way. She felt their lingering looks on her long after she had passed them by, and warmth blossomed in her cheeks. The glances she received from women were more critical and appraising. Some of these people had seen her a hundred times before as she went about her regular duties, but now they seemed not to recognize her. Maybe it was because when uniformed, she was just another servant, insignificant and common and easily overlooked. She bit her bottom lip in discomfort, suddenly feeling like she was trying to masquerade as someone she wasn’t.
Encased in the dress and its various trappings, Karigan found she could not breathe or bend, and that the layers of skirts felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. Her shoes, comprised of silk brocade dyed to match the dress with narrow wooden soles, were clasped to her feet with silver buckles. The contraptions produced dainty-looking feet but pinched her toes and made walking a treacherous endeavor. She glanced with longing at her supple leather riding boots standing at attention next to her wardrobe and hoped she’d survive the day without breaking any bones.
As the daughter of a merchant, she had always worn all the finest, latest fashions, but throughout her childhood she had admired the sophisticated women attired in their elegant dresses as they paraded about Corsa’s most exclusive shopping district and attended socials. At the time, she could hardly wait to be of an age to join them, and she had fantasized about dresses just like the one that now held her captive. What had she been thinking?
“I feel like a puffy blue blob,” Karigan said, stroking the patterned velvet with a gloved hand. Even her head felt funny with her hair piled up on it and held in place with an armory of pins, combs, and ribbons. She figured the hardware equaled the weight of her saber.
“The blue is wonderful.” Tegan’s eyes feasted on Karigan’s dress. She came from a clan of dyers and knew quality when she saw it. It was even possible the dye had come from her clan. “Oh, we must not forget your necklace,” she said. She opened the ornate porcelain box it came in and drew out the silver chain with a crescent moon pendant hanging from it.
Karigan was surprised a Rhovan would choose the symbol of the god most Sacoridians worshipped, Aeryc, as a gift. Rhovans preferred to worship the goddess of the sun, Aeryon. Perhaps Braymer’s father thought she was of a religious disposition and that this would please her. Or maybe the Coyles were religious and her father had exaggerated some facts about Clan G’ladheon to impress them. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he had.
Tegan clasped the chain around Karigan’s neck. The only other piece of “jewelry” she wore was her Rider brooch. It had been something of a challenge to figure out where to pin it. Ordinarily it was attached to her uniform above her heart, but presently there was not enough cloth in that region to hold it, so she had clasped it close to her shoulder. It was an awkward placement, but by the brooch’s special nature, its true form would remain invisible to everyone except other Riders.
Tegan helped wrap a matching shawl around Karigan’s shoulders and handed her a little drawstring purse. She then made Karigan turn all the way around.
Tegan clapped her hands together. “You are…” she paused, as if words failed her. “You are utterly transformed. You…you outshine even Lady Estora.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Tegan.”
“Truly, you are stunning, my dear. A noble lady.”
“Oh, my.” Karigan smiled faintly, knowing how her father would react to that comment. Stevic G’ladheon was not fond of aristocrats.
“It’s getting late,” Tegan said. “You should probably head for the castle entrance.”
Karigan grimaced. “I’m not sure I can move.” The walk to the castle entrance suddenly seemed daunting though normally she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She sucked in a breath and wobbled out into the corridor.
Everything in the corridor stopped. Riders who had been chatting fell silent. Others striding by halted. Anyone going about their business came to a standstill and gawked. Particularly the males.
Tegan squeezed through the doorway around Karigan’s skirts. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Her Ridership, Lady Karigan.”
The Riders hooted and clapped, some of the females oohing and aahing over the dress. Karigan, taken aback, did not know what to say or do besides blush profusely.
Yates pushed his way forward and bowed with a mischievous grin, then offered her his arm. “Might I have the honor of escorting Her Ridership to the castle entrance?”
Ordinarily Yates might receive a sarcastic retort for such an offer, but this time Karigan was actually relieved, and she took his proffered arm. The challenge of walking in the blasted shoes would be easier now that she had someone to lean on.
How does Estora manage this every day? Actually, this was beyond an everyday dressing affair for most anyone, even Estora, who could make rags look elegant.
Yates was the perfect gentleman as he escorted her through the castle corridors. There were many rumors about Yates and his exploits with women, and while their veracity was uncertain, she was sure having half the castle population observe them together would send tongues wagging, something that would not displease Yates in the least.
During the seemingly endless journey to the castle entrance, men—soldiers and courtiers alike—bowed out of her way. She felt their lingering looks on her long after she had passed them by, and warmth blossomed in her cheeks. The glances she received from women were more critical and appraising. Some of these people had seen her a hundred times before as she went about her regular duties, but now they seemed not to recognize her. Maybe it was because when uniformed, she was just another servant, insignificant and common and easily overlooked. She bit her bottom lip in discomfort, suddenly feeling like she was trying to masquerade as someone she wasn’t.
