Zaketa presents a carefully crafted mask to the world; one of sharp edges, privilege, and bravado. Only those closest to her, her most loyal guards, know the real Zaketa. And she is so much more than what her warlord father has crafted her to be.
In...
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In her study, Zaketa curled up on the plush, well-worn chair she adored. She half sprawled across her desk, turning carefully through the delicate pages of one of her books. There wasn't a single one of these treasures she hadn't read through. Though Ismay would occasionally come across a book Zaketa didn't already own on her trips to the market, few and far between were such finds. Even then, she couldn't always justify the cost.
It wasn't that the technology to print books had been lost as much as the fact that so few people had the leisure time to dedicate to learning to read and write. Woodblock presses were a fairly common means of creating art prints, fliers, pamphlets, and announcements. Nothing they produced now came close to the intricate details of the printed color on the brittle, fading pages of the most prized books in her collection.
Zaketa sighed heavily, unable to fully immerse herself in the book she now held. There were only so many times she could re-read even her favorites. And this one was not one of her favorites.
Her new guard stood by, and Zaketa couldn't help but flick a sideways glance at her from time to time. She was quite the distraction. Perhaps it wasn't the book that failed to keep her interest as much as the fact that there were more interesting things to occupy her.
Rhys was tall, with a solid, yet lithe form that had little in the way of feminine curves. Her face was all edges and angles, high cheekbones, long straight nose, and sharp eyes; eyes that, Zaketa had noticed, were an unusual pale grey against her coppery complexion. Though these were the features that Zaketa noticed and admired in her new guard, the scars along the young woman's face and neck were considered her defining features by most. Three lines scored her cheek and jaw, one curving up her cheekbone and cutting through her eyebrow. They were ragged, though old and faded with time, there was no missing that this young woman had been through much in her life.
There was a light rap on the door. Rhys' eyes flicked to hers, and Zaketa startled, realizing she'd been staring. "Come in," Zaketa called, wondering if the heat she felt rise in her cheeks was visible as she straightened in her chair.
Master Fleur pushed the door open, eyes rimmed dark with exhaustion, papers clutched to her chest. She waited trembling and leaflike in the doorway.
Zaketa sighed, doing nothing to mask the irritation in her tone. "I take it you have my new designs?"
Fleur nodded, holding a bundle of papers to her chest.
"Well, why are you standing there? Bring them here." Zaketa gestured to the desk, still strewn with the disastrous designs from the previous day. The book, though, had been returned to the shelf. Fleur had taken utmost care with the treasured item. Zaketa climbed out of her overstuffed chair with a leisurely air, giving the timid woman a chance to lay out her work.
The drawings were a significant improvement. Gone were dresses overflowing with blossoms. Now, she found ruffles, jewels, and only a few flowers — most importantly, as she'd requested — various masks of skulls and bones. Zaketa smiled, and this time, it wasn't a sinister flash of teeth. No, these designs were a marked improvement. She studied them, considering how to alter and combine them, imagining how they would look translated to fabric, paints, and jewels.
