Shadow Touched

51. NAIMA

The castle is bursting with energy. Maids and valets, guards and attendants bustle about, running from one end of the castle to another.

The delegations from the Six Realms have shut themselves away as they prepare for the ball. Barely a single Atheccan noble has been seen all day, or at least that's my assumption. They'll all be beautifying themselves, preparing to wear the most lavish, extravagant (and expensive) costumes money can buy. Making an entrance, after all, is key.

Because of all the bustling, it would seem, thankfully, my very existence has been forgotten. After dropping me off, even Finch failed to offer me his usual warning about staying put.

It doesn't matter anyway. I have no interest in leaving the castle. Not today. I need time to prepare myself. Tonight is arguably the most important of my life.

When I returned to my rooms, I found a letter from Keaton. He's been hanging around Varran, waiting for tonight. As our third, he'll play lookout. And because he's not bound to the rules of Ladyship like I am and is free to wander the city at will, we've had him spend a lot of time in Towil Hill, where Welland's estate, Fowlesfield Burrow, resides.

He's been casing the joint. It's not an easy task since, by Keaton's estimates, Fowlesfield is guarded with heavy-duty magics. A visager for one. It's an invisible forcefield, and this one is wrapped all around the estate, which just so happens to be the largest in Towil Hill.

Keaton's spent the past few days trying to find a weakness in the defence, but from what he says in his letter, no such weakness exists. That means we'll be forced to enter through the front gate. Lucky us.

Finch's plan is pretty straightforward. There's no room for frills and fallbacks. It's lacking in flare. I'm pretty sure it won't work. However, I've promised Grey I'd follow the Captain's lead. So I will...until I won't.

I've spent most of my morning soaking in a steaming hot tub while undoing my braids. As sad as I am to part with the beautiful—and easy to manage—cornrows, between the outfit Grey's picked out and the double we've brought in, the braids aren't feasible. I'll spend the rest of my day having Cara pull every curl from my head, straightening each beautiful ringlet until it's pin-straight. It's an arduous process and one I'm not fond of.

After my bath, I sit around in my robe, reviewing Fowlesfield's plans. It's a sprawling estate. Bigger than where I grew up. With four wings, two turrets and a vast amount of land, finding the location of the journals is bound to take time.

There is a library in the east wing, but unless Welland is well and truly an absolute prat, I can't see him leaving them there. Though, I suppose there's something to be said for hiding an item in plain sight. A book in a library, though? A little on the nose.

I've been so caught up in my own thoughts I'm shocked when a knock at my door signals the arrival of my lady maids.

Once more, they sweep into my rooms, their arms full of everything deemed necessary to make me a presentable lady.

This time, because it's a ball, the King's Jubilee, it's not just Cara and Lily who come in. No, this time they've brought assistants. More maids to do their bidding as they do mine. One, short and plump with a face full of lovely freckles—Jessalyn—carries the dress I will wear in a black bag, hiding it from view. The other, younger than the other three, probably no more than fifteen, with deep brown skin and raven-black hair—Jaya—pulls in a trolley. An actual trolley filled with makeup, lotions, oils, and more.

The women move about the room in perfect harmony. Setting up the space to better suit their work.

"Well, m'lady," Cara says, her soft voice enough to silence the other women. She extends a hand, gently fingering one of my curls. "'Tis a shame indeed to press out these ringlets. Are you certain you want your hair straightened? We could do half cornrows, perhaps? Leave a waterfall of curls down your back?"

I smile at her. I've never had a Lady's Maid who wasn't white. Cara's appreciation for my curls makes me feel beautiful. It feels silly to think such a thing, but my life at court has always been about fitting in. It was Grey who first suggested I straighten my hair years ago to better align with the fashion of the time. I know he only wanted me to feel apart of life here, but a piece of me wished he'd encouraged me to keep it in its natural state.

"Ooh, yes!" Jaya, the young one, pipes in.

"As much as I'd love to keep the curls, Prince Greyling has requested this particular look. He feels it will better suit my dress." I eye the bag it hangs in warily. Grey picked out the dress I was to wear, having a second, identical one created for the double he's brought in to replace me when Finch and I head out. I have no idea what the outfit looks like. It's a masquerade, though, so it most likely represents some sort of animal. I hope it's not something cute like a mouse...or, gods forbid, a bunny.

I shudder at the thought.

"All right then, m'lady—shall we?" Cara claps her hands together as Lily guides me to the velvet chaise in front of the cream-coloured vanity table in the bathing area. A large, oval mirror lined with rose-shaped pocket flames looms above it. The light burns brighter, illuminating the mirror and my face, making it easier for the ladies to get to work.

Lily steps behind me, a wide tooth comb in one hand and a big, smoking hot comb—enchanted with intense heat that will flatten my curls until they're pin straight—in the other. Numerous clips line her apron.

"This shouldn't take more than..." She eyes my cascade of curls. "Four...maybe five hours."

Dear gods.

~*~