Minder Finwy said, “How is it that you do not have a name?”
“I was not given one at birth,” Rezkin said. He pointed to a stained-glass door through which they could see a deep pit set in the floor surrounded by colorful bottles and stacks of drying cloths. He said, “There is a bathing chamber. We have been traveling a long while. You all should take advantage of the luxury before the feast.”
“But anyone can see in,” Frisha exclaimed.
“Journeyman Wesson, Minder Finwy, and I will remain in my bed chamber until you are finished. They will share the room with me, and the four of you can divvy up the other two.”
“I will stay in the temple,” Finwy said. “I have never visited a Temple of the Maker in Lon Lerésh, and many Leréshi are said to be highly devout.” He bowed, collected his single traveling pack, and departed.
“I can sleep in the sitting room,” Wesson said. “Actually, I would prefer it.”
Rezkin gave him a quizzical look but shrugged with indifference. “Very well, but you will come to my room while the women bathe.”
“Of course,” Wesson said as his cheeks flushed.
A few hours later, a knock sounded at the door. Doing his best to appear meek and inconsequential, Wesson answered wearing plain grey mage robes. A young woman was bent with her rump in the air picking up items that had spilled from a basket that looked rather too large for her to carry. He cleared his throat, and the woman squeaked in surprise as she jumped and spun to face him.
“Eskyeshele tua,” she babbled in a rush.
Wesson scratched his temple and looked at her curiously. She was close to his age with large, brown, doe eyes and mousy brown hair pulled back into a long braid that hung past her waist. A thinner braid, intertwined with a green ribbon, hung from her temple. Her pink silk bodice barely covered her breasts, and her filmy skirt was split up one side to her hip. Her eyes were shadowed, her lashes darkened, and her full lips painted to glossy, pink perfection.
He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting and said, “I am afraid I do not speak Leréshi.”
“Oh!” the young woman said as she blinked back at him. Slowly, with her brow furrowed in concentration, she said, “Sorry to you. My words of Ashai are not good.”
He nodded but remembered not to smile since he did not want to encourage unwanted attention.
“I … bring …dress,” she said and then frowned. “Dress-s-es. For dinner.”
“Ah,” Wesson said and then stood aside to let her enter.
As she moved to pick up the basket, he stepped forward to assist. Each of them took a handle, and they bumped and stumbled through the doorway, nearly spilling the basket’s contents again. The woman smiled and thanked him and then stared at him expectantly.
He scratched his head again. “I … ah … guess I will get the women?”
The woman smiled and nodded, so Wesson knocked on Frisha’s door. She and Mage Threll answered together, and Wesson motioned over his shoulder.
“The lady has brought you some dinner clothes.”
Both women came forward slowly, eyeing the basket as if it were a poisonous snake. Wesson next alerted Yserria and Reaylin, who looked equally skeptical of the basket’s contents. The young woman introduced herself as Celise and then began enthusiastically holding up strips of silky fabric, none of which looked large enough to cover any intimate details.
Frisha said, “Um … don’t you have anything that covers, you know, more?”
Celise looked at her in confusion and then Yserria rattled off some words in Leréshi. Celise smiled and dug through the basket to pull out a long, violet frock that would fit snuggly but would cover from the neck to the toes. Unfortunately, it was completely sheer. Frisha looked at it in horror.
Nanessy said, “Perhaps if we layer them?”
“No,” Frisha said. “Absolutely not. I will wear my own clothes.”
Celise eyed Frisha’s burgundy gown dubiously. While it would not have been appropriate court dress in Ashai, it was certainly an acceptable dinner dress.
Reaylin reached into the basket and pulled out a long, chocolate brown drape that seemed to have no shape, ties, or straps. “What do you do with this?” she asked.
Celise took the fabric and began wrapping it around Reaylin over her tunic and pants. It wrapped over one shoulder, cut across the breasts, twisted around the hips, and then tucked into itself at the hip. Wesson thought that one firm tug would pull the entire garment off. His face heated at the thought.
“I, ah, I will be in R—ah, the king’s room,” he stuttered.
When he turned to leave, he nearly ran into the man himself. Dressed as Dark Tidings, Rezkin hovered behind the Leréshi woman. She jumped back as he came around to peer into the basket. He plucked a dark green bustier from the pile and held it up to Frisha. She recoiled from the contraption, mortified. He tilted his head, and she shied away further, so he handed it to Yserria. He turned to Celise and said something in Leréshi. Celise appeared thoughtful and then bowed before running out of the room.
“What did you say to her?” Frisha said.
“I told her that you get easily chilled and asked that she bring winter gowns for you to examine. I doubt they will cover much more, but you might find something.”
Yserria held up the bustier. “You want me to wear this?”
He said, “We are in Lon Lerésh. A woman wears what she wants to wear.”
Reaylin eyed the brown wrap. She smirked and then looked at Frisha. “Come on. Don’t you want to try it? When will you ever be able to wear something like this in public again?”
“Why would I want to?” Frisha said.
Reaylin shrugged and glanced at the bustier in Yserria’s hands. “I don’t know. Rezkin seems to like it.”
Frisha and Yserria both blushed furiously and then Frisha turned on him. “What about you? You can’t wear that to dinner. Would you wear something like this?”
“Those are women’s clothes,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Uh, don’t forget he went to the Adana’Ro naked,” said Reaylin.
Wesson responded to the tapping at the door and again assisted Celise in dragging a heavy basket of clothing into the suite. The young woman held up a garment that crossed over the bosom and then draped over the hips in filmy layers of pastel petals all the way to the floor. The back was open, but it had several lacey ties to keep the dress in place. Frisha still appeared uncertain until Celise pulled out a matching shoulder wrap. She finally acquiesced, gingerly grasping the layers of fabric in shaky hands.
Celise turned to Dark Tidings and said, “Your Majesty, would you like for me to send a male with clothing for you and your son?” With this last, she nodded toward Wesson.
“That will not be necessary,” Rezkin said, “and he is not my son. This is Journeyman Mage Wesson, in service to the crown.”
Celise looked at Wesson in surprise and then back at Dark Tidings. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. He is small for a man.”
She turned back to the basket and tugged a small trunk from beneath the clothing. She set the trunk on a table beside a cushioned bench and snapped the lid open. Inside were numerous brushes of varying sizes and bottles, vials, and packets filled with colorful powders and creams. Celise waved Frisha toward the bench and said, “I do perliana for you.”
“Perliana?” Frisha said, eyeing the assortment that looked like a portable alchemy shop.
“The face paints and powders,” Yserria supplied.
“Oh, I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do,” Reaylin said as she shoved Frisha toward the bench. “We are doing this, Frisha. Stop being so boring. Remember, you insisted on coming.”