Satisfied, I open the other door in the room.
A bathroom? I’d imagined myself sharing with others, but I guess goddesses don’t lower themselves to that. Small bottles rest on the side of the tub and I remove a lid to smell one. Lavender. With a wry smile, I test the knobs, only slightly jumping when water rushes from the spout. Warm—then hot—water gushes out and I can’t hide my glee. Warm water and not from a spring!
I miss my waterhole and falls, but this is a level of luxury I can’t dismiss. I guess when a goddess attends a dinner, she needs to be clean. Apart from that, I’ve no clue what else I ‘should’ be tonight.
The warm bath is strange but definitely something I’m happy to get used to. Water drips from my long hair and down the curves of my body as I wander back into the bedroom. I don’t have much choice what to wear, the clothes in my pack are identical—tunics and pants, some with holes, others not. There’s no need for anything but practicality in my old world.
At least I have a hairbrush.
I stand at the mirror and wince as I drag the brush through my tangled hair. Somebody knocks on the door. Instantly my heartrate skyrockets, and I close my eyes to take a calming breath.
“Artemis?” calls a girl’s voice. “Thor asked me to check on you.”
I open the door a crack and peek out. A girl. I size her up: around my age, pale and blonde like Thor, with her hair plaited across her head. She smiles and moves her head to see me more clearly.
“I’m Fulla. Thor wanted me to introduce myself.”
All these people wanting to introduce themselves is overwhelming. I’d rather watch from afar and decide who I’d like to speak to.
Perhaps she’s friendlier than Thor is. They certainly look like they may be related. More so than his claimed step-brother with dark hair and different eyes. I open the door wider and step back so she can walk into my room.
“Oh.”
Fulla’s pale blue eyes widen and her gaze travels the length of me.
“What?” I ask.
“I thought you were attending the dinner tonight.” She points at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Confused, I take the edge of the gray tunic I’m dressed in and examine the cloth. No holes. Clean. I check my pants too, and I don’t understand what she means. These are my most intact clothes.
Then I take a closer look at Fulla. Her figure is swathed in a blue dress, cinched at the waist, and the full skirts touch her feet. I marvel at how the material shines and the color shifts in tone as it catches the light. The dress has long sleeves but is low-cut at the front, and a necklace with a blue pendant hangs between her ample breasts.
Our eyes meet in understanding. “You don’t have a dress, do you?” she asks.
“I have a longer tunic.” I indicate below my knees. “I could wear that? It could be a dress.”
She wrinkles her nose. “The same material?”
“Yes.”
Fulla places her fingertips on her lips and her scrutiny annoys me. “You’re a similar size to me. A little taller but I think I have something that could suit you. Would you like to borrow one of my dresses? Wait there!”
I open my mouth to respond but she’s out the door before I can say anything.
The strange girl returns holding a green dress over her arm, the length of which almost touches the floor. She hands it to me with an encouraging smile and I hold the dress against myself. How does anybody run when wearing this? Concealing a weapon amongst the voluminous material would work, but apart from that, this clothing is completely impractical.
“Do you like it? I wore this to the summer ball last year and everybody remarked how beautiful it was! I think the color would match your hair.”
I run my hands over the material; the soft silky cloth feels unusual compared to the rough my usual clothes are cut from.
Fulla claps her hands together. “Try it on! I swear you’ll look amazing. I can braid your hair and we could smudge some rouge on your face. We can show the Academy the beautiful Artemis.”
“And you think this would be the best clothing for me to wear?” I turn to the mirror.
She gives a vigorous nod.
“Okay.” I place the dress on my bed and tug my tunic over my head. Fulla blinks at me as my hands go to my pants, ready to pull them off.
“I’ll…uh, wait outside the door,” she says and averts her eyes. “Call for me when you’re ready.”
Again, she scoots out of the door before I can say anything. I look down at my half-naked body. What’s wrong with me?
I wish she’d stayed, because the dress is a struggle to put on. After a few minutes tussling with the laces, I stare back at myself in the mirror. My red hair has tangled in the exercise and I feel as if someone has trussed me up. The sleeves annoy me and the skirt length is ridiculous.
“Can I keep this dress?” I call.
Fulla’s voice replies from outside the door, “Of course! It’s yours! I never wear the same one twice.”
“Thanks.” I grip the seam at my shoulder and rip one sleeve from the dress, followed by the second.
Better.
Next, I lift the skirts and hold them against my knees, judging a better length that won’t constrain my movements. My skinning knife is in my pack, so I kneel down and pull it out.
“Are you okay?” asks Fulla. “Do you need help?”
“I’m okay.” The fabric tears as I slice into the skirt, pushing the knife around in an attempt to cut straight. Halfway through the job, I realize I should’ve taken the dress off first, but I don’t want to spend another five minutes lacing and unlacing the damn thing.
I look back to the mirror at where the torn fabric hangs at an uneven length above and below the knee. I sigh. Too late now, and my seamstress skills suck anyway. My soft leather boots will have to complete the outfit; I don’t want to ask for anything else.
“Are you okay?” calls Fulla. “Didn’t the dress fit? I heard tearing.” As I open the door, Fulla fights a gasp, and fails. “Oh my goddess, Artemis. What have you done?”
Pink spots appear on her cheeks, and her appraisal tells me one thing: I should’ve insisted I wore my usual clothes, because I’ve really screwed up. I hear chattering and giggling girls’ voices, distant along the hallway as they assemble for the night, and Fulla looks around then back to me.
“We don’t have time to do anything about this.” She bites her lip. What Fulla means is she won’t give me any more of her dresses to ruin. “Let me braid your hair quick. We can tame it a little.”
I laugh to myself. Tame the wild girl they’re all expecting to meet.
“Who are you?” I ask as her deft fingers thread into my hair.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve said. I’m Thor’s cousin. Well, second cousin. I guess.” She concentrates on reining in my tresses. “We’re related, somehow. Things can be confusing amongst all our families.”
I nod. “Gods have many lovers, knowing who your father is must be difficult. Do you?”
“I think I know who my father is.” She laughs, but the sound is forced.
“No. I meant, do you have many lovers?”
Her cheeks flush again. “Goddesses aren’t allowed to behave in that way.”
“Why? Dion pretty much told me he has multiple lovers in the school.” Apollo’s journal inferred the same. “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”
Fulla grimaces. “Legally, females aren’t allowed more than one partner.”
I scratch my arm where the rough sleeve edge irritates me. “But gods can? That makes no sense and is unfair.”
“There’s a lot unfair for goddesses; taking more than one lover is only part of it.” She lowers her voice. “The consequences of breaking gender laws are severe. Few are willing to take the risk.”
Consequences? I look back at her as she meets my eyes in the mirror. “If I’m forced into this school and into this dress to meet their society standards, then I intend to do everything a god can. The world needs to change. Apollo thought so.”
Dropping her gaze, Fulla smooths the braid, lips pursed. “Don’t underestimate the resistance to your brother’s plans.”