Page 67 of Under Restless Skies

I haven’t been undressed in front of any woman since I was a child and my mother helped me bathe. At first, I feel ashamed, wondering if I should ask for some privacy, but then I relent, take off that ugly gray uniform, hide the chain with the key near it, and enter the bath. The water is surprisingly warm, but not too hot, and smells like jasmine. In truth, other than when I was small and took “baths” in basins, I never had a bath like this.

I’d go to the ocean from time to time to feel water all over my body. Nothing compares with the feel of the strong waves crashing against my skin, but this is nice too. Warm. Relaxing.

The women put a scented concoction on my hair, and I feel more at ease to talk to them. The shorter one is called Julia, the taller Mariana, and they’ve been servants in the castle for some time. I learn that servants live in a different area, downstairs too, but not in the academy, and that the cleaning crew isn’t really considered part of the servants’ wing, but a part of the academy, used for correction.

They use warm water from a bucket to rinse my hair, then apply a cream so rich and fragrant that I close my eyes, enveloped by the wonderful scents of flowers and citrus and seaweed that shouldn’t go well together, but do.

Finally, they give me face and body creams, some undergarments, then walk out to give me privacy. I get out of the bath slowly and wrap myself in the softest towel I’ve ever touched. Once my body is dry, I put on the clothes they gave me: soft underpants, a new brassiere, and a linen robe. I hide the master key in the brassiere so as not to draw attention.

When I step outside the partition, they lead me to another part of the room with a dressing table.

“How would you like your hair?” Julia asks.

“Down, with a headband.”

Mariana leaves, while Julia brushes my hair slowly, applying small drops of a special oil. When she’s done, my hair looks like black silk, so brilliant that it’s almost silver.

“This is beautiful.” I turn and smile at Julia. “My hair never looked like this before.”

She nods. “We’ll ask our supervisor if we can bring you some of this oil. You’ll need to apply just a drop each time.”

“That would be very kind,” I say.

A few moments later, Mariana walks in, carrying a bundle and what must be a dress on a hanger, covered with a black fabric. “We might have to adjust it,” she says. “Usually we do it in advance, but we got it at the last minute.”

I wonder why at the last minute, but then I remember that the ball was only announced yesterday, and it makes sense. Nobles probably have a bunch of outfits set aside and ready for special occasions.

Alayel probably received a collection of suits when he was recognized as a prince. I glance at the dress Mariana’s holding, wondering if it’s worth it to owe a favor to the bastard prince. Then I recall the way he acted last night; calm, friendly, not at all lewd or pushy. Maybe he’s right that I helped him earn his title and deserve whatever dress they’re about to lend me.

When Mariana removes the black cover, my breath halts. I didn’t even know that a dress could be so enchanting. It’s like looking at the bay as it reflects the moonlight. It’s dark blue, with a bodice covered in dark rhinestones. The fabric of the skirt is so light that it looks like it’s floating.

“Oh.” That’s all I can manage in my stupefaction.

Mariana’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “Next time, you might want to come to the dressmaker a few days beforehand. Pick a fabric, choose your color.”

Did she misunderstand my reaction? “No,” I say quickly. “I love it. I love it so much that I don’t have words. Were you the one who chose it?”

She nods. “Based on the description of your physique, yes. I thought it would fit.”

“It’s… magnificent.” I chuckle. “There. A word came to me. Who made this work of art?”

“Kasilia Atelier. High Dracolius City.”

I make a mental note of the name, then say, “Let’s put it on.”

It’s more work than I imagined, as they have to tie the dress in the back, and then Julia makes some stitches in parts that are slightly loose. The whole thing is heavy, but the weight comforts me like a fluffy blanket on a cool day.

In the end, they give me dark blue shoes with flat soles in such soft leather that it feels like fabric.

“I could sleep in these.” I laugh again.

When I think it’s over, Julia picks up a case, applies a cream to my face, then uses some brushes with colored powder. I’m afraid I’ll look ridiculous, but when I open my eyes and stare in the mirror, the result looks natural, as if I was slightly flushed.

It’s been so long since someone took care of me or did my hair. It’s odd to think I miss it, and yet it feels so good to have someone looking after me. Even if it’s their job, they’re clearly committed to doing it well.

“Thank you,” I say. “You are both so talented! Thank you.”

They dip their heads, but I sense no false modesty. These are women who know their work is good, know their value, and there’s something beautiful about that.