I tear my clothing off and jump under the cold water. It’s refreshing, and the dirt drips from my pores onto the white floor and disappears down a hole. Ingenious. You aren’t soaking in your own filth. There’s a trio of glass jars on the shelf. I untwist the lid off the first one and lift it to my nose. It smells citrusy, like the cakes my mother baked when I was a child. I wonder what it tastes like.
I scoop a dollop up with my finger and pop it in my mouth. “What are you doing?” Gwyneth asks. I stick my tongue out and spit the nasty tasting stuff onto the floor.
“It smells good, like cake.” My thoughts skitter to the good natured twin, who smelled like yummy cake that would make your belly round.
“It’s for washing yourself,” she says. “Why would they have cake in a bathing chamber?” And now my thoughts imagine Malachi naked, in the bathing chamber, feeding me cake. A Burgher could dream.
I shrug. “I’m not wise to the ways of The Hallowed. Perhaps they enjoy a snack while bathing?”
She rolls her eyes and points at the offending jar. “Hair,” she states, before pointing to the pot of violet cream. “Body.”
“What’s the third one for?”
Gwyneth picks up the minty colored glass container and spins it around. “I’m uncertain, but it could be teeth?”
“So that one I can eat?”
“Don’t eat it,” Gwyneth says, as muffled voices drift from the bedchamber. She jerks the handle down and peers into the chamber. I begin massaging the hair cleaner into my scalp. It tingles and makes me moan. “Who are you?” she asks. I peek open one eye and watch her nod before she closes the door. She turns to me with a frown. “There are some maids here to help us dress.”
“The Hallowed are so blessed they can’t dress themselves?” I ask as I put my head under the stream of water and let the suds drain away.
“Not just dress, they are armed with boxes of lotions and brushes. They are here to make us look appealing. This is impossible.”
Gwyneth’s lips twist to the side as she considers how to stash the powder while under the watchful eye of the maids. I finish up washing and swallow a tiny amount of the tasty green paste. Gwyneth hands me a towel which I wrap myself in and she trades places with me. The wheels in my head begin to turn and formulate a strategy.
“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” I whisper.
“No, your plans are never a good idea. They never end well.”
I scowl at her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gwyneth. All eyes will be on you. This is something I need to do.” I hand her a towel and grip the door handle. “I will save you, Gwyneth. No man is playing with your floof without your permission. It’s not acceptable.”
ChapterFive
There’s a secret army of Burghers whose sole purpose is to pamper, preen, and pose The Hallowed because Idol forbid they brush their own hair or hold their own gowns open. Admittedly, a laced-up corset needs an extra person, but that shouldn’t be part of the job description. Everyone needed a Gwyneth, someone to tell you what’s edible and what’s not. But they can’t have mine. She’s taken.
“Did you hear about the damsels?” the tiny Burgher from Duskwell, the third district of Far, Far Away, whispers to her friend as she yanks on the ribbons of my corset and gives me a waist that any princess would kill for.
“They are protesting the next knight mission,” the other Burgher answers as she grabs a brush and eyeballs Gwyneth’s hair. “They refuse to be rescued.” Good for them. No female should be defined by her victim role in life. Being saved should be a choice.
“But the dragon,” my Burgher says.
“Would eat them,” the girl finishes.
“Wait, what?” I snap, trying to spin to face her. “Dragon?” She holds those corset ribbons tight, freezing me in place. What is it with tiny Burghers and their impossible strength?
She meets my eyes in the mirror. “What else would she be rescued from? It’s not a threat if there’s a puppy snapping at her ankles. A knight needs to defeat a mighty foe to come into his destiny.” Her face relaxes into a dreamy dazed expression. She’s imagining herself tied to a post as a sacrifice and now Charming’s foot fetish no longer seems the worst fairy tale to become caught up in. I’ve never seen a dragon. There were illustrations of them in the facts section of the library at Strongfair. Enormous, powerful, scaly, winged creatures that breathe fire and eat damsels, not to be confused with maidens.
“They are eaten if the knight fails?” Gwyneth checks.
“That’s right,” the female who is dragging a brush through Gwyneth’s long hair says. “But if they succeed, the damsel becomes his lady.”
“And they share a true love’s first kiss,” my Burgher declares as she knots the ribbons of my dress into place. My hands grip my creaky ribs as I contemplate my need to breathe.
“She becomes stuck with a random knight?” I check.
“No, it’s destiny if the knight saves a damsel from the ferocious dragon.”
Oh Holy Idols, the blessed Hallowed have brainwashed these idiots into thinking being served up to a dragon is an honor. The belief system in our realm is seriously flawed, and that way of thinking will have me sacrificed to a lesser-known witch by the end of the diurnal. No famous farewell for Daphne Stone. My bones will be ground for fertility blessings and my eyeballs boiled for curses. I’m not going down that way.
