Chapter 6

P ain racks my skull and I try not to wince. Who knew that getting dressed up would be so painful? Another tug at my dark strands and I grimace. Jayne mutters under her breath again, making me smile. Apparently, it's a moment of pride when a maid's charge attends the ceremony, and she seems to have adopted me. Thus, being given so little time to get me ready is something she begrudges. I've learned in the short time I've been with her that Jayne is very proud of the work she does for Grayson. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, but a small part of me is starting to care for the loud, bossy maid who doesn't give a damn that her master is a high magician.

Sitting in front of the large mirror in the bathroom, I obediently remain still as Jayne continues to yank on my hair. In this position, with my head bowed, I keep looking at my now painted nails. Jayne had muttered a curse when she saw them chipped and dirty, but had them clipped, filed, and buffed until they looked neat in no time. She then applied a liquid that stained them a rich dark blue that matches the dress I'm currently wearing. The magicians' colour. Grayson's colour.

"How did you meet Grayson?" I inquire, but bite my lip as soon as I say it, convinced I'm asking too much. To my surprise she makes an approving noise.

"Huh. I was there when he was born," she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Tiny little thing, but as I held him in my arms that day, I knew he would do great things."

"His parents?"

"Died in the war. Magicians too, but much weaker, barely enough magic between them to light a fire. Grayson was Goddess blessed." Again, her pride shines through in her voice, her fingers still flying across my scalp as she styles my hair.

"You raised him?" I press, nodding as she makes a noise of confirmation. This makes much more sense—how she can get away with scolding him and talking to him like she's his parent—because she is like a mother to him. If his parents were both magicians, they would have been on the front line where they were desperately needed. Children are only a hindrance on the war front, so they stay behind in the family home until their fates are decided at the choosing ceremony.

"Are you from Arhaven originally?" I question. I've noticed her accent is slightly different than the other maids and servants who work here. Grayson has the smooth, cultured accent the magicians and priests seem to gain through their training.

"Oh no." She spins me on the chair so my back faces the mirror and guides my head up to look at me. Her eyes assess her work before she nods and reaches for a brush and tray covered with various tools.

"I'm from a small village far in the north, close to the mountains," she explains, as she searches for the tools she's looking for. "That's where I started working for Grayson's family many, many years ago." Raising a tiny brush, she reaches for my face. As I start to pull away, she gives me a warning look which is enough to make me sit still as she reaches for my face again. Brushing the tool across my eyelashes, she continues her story and I let her distract me. "My family are millers, and that's what I was destined for, but I've always been fascinated with magic. After my choosing ceremony, I went up to Grayson's family estate and demanded they give me a job." Laughing, she reaches for a second, smaller brush that she dips into a black liquid. Gesturing for me to close my eyes, she continues her story. "I should've been flogged, but the master of the household took pity on me."

Raising a bronze disk up against my face, she mutters, "You're so pale, I don't have a powder pale enough." She frowns and puts it down with a shake of her head. "Hmm, your skin is remarkably unblemished for a slave, I think you can get away without it."

"The slave masters always made sure my punishments didn't damage my face." I'm sure I was destined for the whore house, and every time the guards visited the slave quarters at night, I would dread that they were coming for me.

"Mighty considerate of them." Her tone is careful, and I'm reminded of what happened to Mary when she spoke against the royal family. I get the feeling she disapproves of how the slaves are treated, even though she hasn't said as much, and I know there's a story there, but she doesn't know me well enough to share it.

We sit in silence as Jayne continues to apply the makeup to my face. It's quite a nice feeling to have someone else attending to you and I find myself getting sleepy. My eyelids are heavy and I have to force them to stay open.

"All done," she announces, and I turn to look in the mirror but she jumps in front of it, blocking my view. "No, wait until you have your dress on."

Tilting my head in confusion, I look down at my new, freshly pressed outfit that she helped me into less than two hours ago. "But I'm already dressed." Making a rude noise, she gestures for me to leave the room and follows behind me, guiding me through Grayson's quarters and towards a dressing room.

"You can't go to the ceremony dressed like that." Her flippant tone makes me freeze, but she doesn't seem to notice as she walks into the room and straight up to a huge rail of clothing bags. Pulling one of them to her, she unzips it, peeks into the bag, shakes her head, and pushes it back, reaching for the next one.

"This is the finest thing I've ever worn." My voice is cold and she glances over her shoulder as she hears my tone, her face softening as she explains.

"You're going to the ceremony as a family friend of Grayson's, who has come to Arhaven to serve him and learn more about court, you need to wear something of that stature."

Frustrated, I gesture to the dress I'm wearing. It's smart and well made, and I don't understand why this isn't good enough. I've never had anything this nice and it seems like such a waste that I'm having to change out of it. "If I'm posing as a servant, shouldn't this be appropriate?"

"No, girl. Most servants save up for years to earn enough to pay for their ceremony dress. If you wore this, you would stand out, and that's exactly what you don't want to do."

I understand what she's saying, and if that's the role I'm going to be playing then what she says makes sense. But I can't help feeling uncomfortable. Here I am, being pampered and dressed up like a doll, when my fellow slaves have nothing.

"Found it!" Jayne calls out, dragging me from my thoughts as she carries a mass of dark fabric over to the centre of the room. I don't look at the dress as she hangs it up, I simply turn my back to Jayne so she can undo my zip. Silently, I climb out of my clothing and stand still as she lifts the dark blue fabric over my head, pulling it down over my hips and guiding my arms through the sleeves. I stay still as she fusses around me, fixing the dress and pulling it into place. Eventually she guides me to a large mirror that takes up nearly the whole wall.

Lifting my head, I gasp at what I see before me. I don't recognise my own reflection. My hair hangs in dark waves with a braid circling the top of my head like a crown. My cheeks have been brushed with a slight blush, which makes them look chiselled rather than gaunt from lack of food. My eyelashes are long and my almond-shaped eyes are rimmed with a dark kohl. Light pink gloss colours my lips, which part in shock as I see the garment I've been dressed in.

The gown is dark blue like my previous outfit, but it's so dark that in some lights it looks black. Sleeves made of lace cover my arms, the dark flowered pattern concealing the scars that litter the skin there, and the neckline dips low enough to hint at the lack of cleavage malnutrition has robbed me of. The bodice is tight around my waist, cinching in before flowing out at my hips, the large, expansive skirts surrounding me with the same lace flowers decorating the hem. Jayne appears at my side and looks at me with such pride in her eyes that it turns my stomach.

"Wear these, they will cover those awful marks on your arms." Pressing two large metal cuffs into my hand, she takes a step back. Looking down at the jewellery, I carefully slide them onto my wrists, realising that they cover my slave marks completely.

It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, which makes me wearing it all the more outrageous. "I can't wear this." My breath hitches, part of me screaming in protest for saying these words. I should keep quiet, enjoy wearing it until they realise their mistake.

"Don't be silly. It fits like it was made for you," Jayne says as she circles me, gently pulling and repositioning the fabric. Reaching out a hand, I grab her softly as she walks around me, pulling her to face me.

"Jayne, they will stone me alive if they realise I'm a slave." Fear makes my voice tight, but something else is awakening within me, something I fear far more than them realising I'm a slave.

"Was." Frowning, I stare at the maid questioningly. "You were a slave, not anymore," she corrects tenderly, patting my hand in reassurance. This is by far the most frightening thing she has said to me yet.

"I don't know how to be anything but a slave," I whisper back.

"I know. It will be a hard adjustment, but we will help you. Plus, I think the Mother has great plans for you," the maid coos with a knowing smile.

"Jayne, why does Grayson have dresses in his room?" This dress was obviously made for someone, and the thought that I'm wearing his mistress's dress makes me uncomfortable.

"It was his sister's. She died before she could ever wear it." Grief lines her voice, and I know now is not the right time to ask about the woman this dress was made for. "I never understood why he kept it, but I think I know why now," she replies cryptically. I examine the maid, and under my stare she seems to shake her thoughts off before casting a critical eye over me, circling around me, straightening the fabric of the dress, and picking off an invisible piece of lint. "Right, you're ready. Let's go."

Shooing me out the door, she shushes me as I try to stall, leaving unasked questions on the tip of my tongue. I'm not ready for this. I'm a slave, not someone to be dressed up and paraded in front of the whole kingdom. Wringing my hands, I fiddle with the cuff covering my slave marks. They are going to know. They will see past the pretty dress and recognise me for the imposter I am.

As if she can read my mind, a hand slips into mine and I look up sharply at the maid by my side. Her usual careful expression has softened, and she offers me a gentle smile. "Stop. Trust in Grayson. Trust in the Mother."

There are a hundred things I could say to her, like the fact I had believed the Mother had abandoned me long ago, or cynical questions like why would Grayson risk his neck for me? But someone makes a noise of surprise which distracts me from my queries. In my haze of confusion, I hadn't realised that Jayne had led me back into the reception room where I'd seen Grayson with the book in his hands earlier. Scanning the room, I see it was Grayson who made the noise. His eyes are locked on me, his intense gaze making me shift uncomfortably, but I can't seem to look away from him. He's imposing and impressive in his ceremonial uniform. The tailored, double-breasted jacket emphasises his impressive physique, the golden buttons with the king's symbol gleaming for all to see. A half cloak is over his left shoulder, the leather strap coming around under his right arm to keep his sword arm free. It's all symbolic, this uniform is never meant to be worn in battle, but it looks extraordinary all the same. Rich, golden embroidery of the king's symbol, a swirling sun, runs along the bottom of the cloak, a constant reminder of who he works for. The dark blue fabric is striking against his tanned skin and blond hair, which has been combed into place.

I prefer him with his hair messy. The thought flits through my head and I quickly push it away as a blush stains my cheeks. I shouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts about the protector of our realm! Almost as if he can read my mind, the corner of his lip twitches up and horror runs through me. Can he read my mind? Before I have a complete meltdown, he takes a step forward, breaking our locked stare.

"You look —" He stops abruptly when he realises Jayne is also in the room, coughing awkwardly before straightening his back and nodding at the dress. "Good work, Jayne."

"Smooth," she mutters quietly under her breath, but not quiet enough for him not to hear it, which is clear from his raised eyebrow. "Grayson, I taught you better than this, compliment the lady!" she chides, and I don't miss the slight flush of his cheeks before he nods and walks straight up to me.

"You look so much better now," he murmurs, his blue eyes sparkling as he stops a step away from me. I try to bury the amusement that comes from his awful compliment, but when Jayne snorts I can't hide it anymore, and a startled laugh escapes me.

"Oh, Mother. I give up," the maid grouses with a huff, throwing her hands up in exasperation, but there's affection in her tone.

"Sorry." He winces, and his apology leaves me dumbfounded, the absurdity of the situation shocking me yet again.

"I shouldn't be doing this." Pulling at the metal cuffs on my wrists, I twist them off, the scars and tattoos marking me for what I am on full display. A hand reaches out and captures my wrist, and I turn my head away, not wanting to see the magician's expression.

"I thought we'd spoken about this. You're not doing anything wrong," he assures me, and again it's like he can read my thoughts. This entire situation feels wrong. It's like I'm in a dream being pampered while the other slaves continue to suffer. My traitorous heart so desperately wants this to be real, but my brain has learned not to believe things that are too good to be true. "The Goddess has blessed you. She stopped your death by sending me the vision of you." Grayson lets go of my wrist and reaches for my chin, gently guiding my face towards him, not stopping when I flinch from the contact. "You need to believe this. Your old life is gone, you're no longer Slave 625."

"Then who am I?" The words sound weak and lost. I wish I sounded more confident, but that's exactly how I feel—lost.

"She's right, Grayson, she needs a name," Jayne speaks up, and I don't miss the concerned frown she tries to hide as I meet her gaze.

"Do you remember your old name?" Voice soft, Grayson brings my attention back to him. I shake my head and he looks thoughtful, pacing the silent room as he thinks. He'd called me Opal earlier, will this be what he calls me now?

Suddenly coming to a stop, he spins and runs his eyes over me before nodding to himself. "You are Clarissa, a family friend who I've known for years. You've come to the capital to learn more about court and the kingdom. You will be staying here and attending events with me, and during the day you'll be working with the maids." He frowns at this part and sighs with resignation. "I need to keep you close, and the only way the priest will allow this is if you're still working."

He can't be serious. "Won't people think it's strange that a lady is working as a maid during the day?" There is no way they will buy this whole act if I'm seen mopping floors, and I'm not surprised the priest wants to keep me working. This will go against everything he preaches, that the only mercy for a slave, an enemy of the kingdom, is death.

"They won't notice. The upper class rarely pays attention to anyone but themselves or those they're trying to impress." That I can believe, but I'm not so sure the other maids and servants will be the same. I've seen how quick they are to gossip and speculate.

"The maids will notice," Jayne comments, and as I glance over, I know she's thinking the same thing I am.

"Hmm, you might be right. Besides, that hair is pretty different…" As he trails off, I self-consciously raise my hand to my dark hair. It's always made me stand out. One year, when the beatings had become too much, I tried to hack it off with a broken piece of glass, desperate to be rid of it. It hadn't worked, I was stopped before I could do much more than the first few cuts, but when I saw my reflection in a pool of water, I sobbed. It had felt like I was losing a part of myself, my heritage that I knew nothing about. I haven't touched it again since, so it hangs halfway down my back.

The thick, syrupy feeling of magic fills the air again and pulls me out of my deep thoughts. Glancing up, I look straight to the source of the magic, seeing a smug expression on Grayson's face as he finishes a complex gesture with his hands. Opening my mouth to ask what he just did, I stop at Jayne's shocked gasp, and I whirl around to see what caused her reaction when golden curls fly into my vision.

Wait. Reaching up and grabbing a handful of my hair, I see it's no longer the dark and wavy locks I'm used to, but bright, golden ringlets. It's my turn to gasp as I look over at Grayson, trying to hide the shock and outrage that's running through my bloodstream. I don't know why I'm so angry that he's changed my hair, but it feels wrong on a soul deep level.

"What?" he asks, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself, but he's not looking at me, he's looking at Jayne who's giving him a death glare.

"Will you stop throwing that stuff around? It's a Goddess given gift and you use it like it's going out of fashion. Besides, you should ask a lady before you change her hair, it's rude. I've taught you better than that," she admonishes, and I can't help the small smile that pulls up my lips despite my outrage.

"She's Goddess blessed! That's why we're having this whole conversation!" he argues, frustrated, and I realise that although they may not be related by blood, Jayne is a mother to Grayson is every way that's important. "Besides, it's not permanent. It will only be blonde for events where you're acting as a lady, when you're a maid it will be back to normal."

Frowning, I reach up to touch the unfamiliar curls. They even feel different, the sticky, heavy presence of magic coating my hair. "You think this will be enough?"

"I have to admit, I wouldn't recognise you. Take a look yourself," Jayne professes, and guides me towards a wall mirror by the doorway. A shocked gasp escapes me as I see the elegant woman before me. I'm taken aback by the dress again as it frames my body, accentuating what shape I have and hiding what years of living on scraps has done to my body. Although it's my hair that shocks me the most. I hadn't been prepared for what I saw before me. Light blonde curls, similar to Grayson's, frame my face in a way that makes me look so different.

I look like a lady . I must say this out loud, since Jayne snorts at the same time Grayson steps up behind me, a half a smile pulling at his lips.

"Well, that was the point," he says, before offering me his arm. "Right, Lady Clarissa, we have a ceremony to attend and we're running late."