Page 38 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

“ I ’m glad you asked me.” Bess’s fingers brushed against the dress laid out on the bed. “Oil first, then the petticoats and corset, then the rest?”

“That is the usual order, yes.” Hereswith’s voice quivered, just once, and Bess turned to look at her better. Or rather, to look at her reflection in the mirror. They were in Hereswith’s bedroom, and Hereswith was standing a few feet from her dressing table.

“Ah, love.” The word slipped out before Bess entirely thought better of it, but Hereswith’s eyes widened.

“I am glad you asked me to help you dress. I am glad you have asked me to be there.” In an hour, there would be a grand procession to the portal.

It would include Hereswith’s father in a basket chair and two hired men to help get it and him to the portal safely.

They’d be accompanied by Hereswith’s brothers, their wives, a niece and nephew, and Marcus and William.

Now, though, was for the dressing and the preparation.

Bess silently went to the dressing table, picking up the lotion Hereswith had acquired.

A particular arrangement with an alchemist Magistra Ventry had recommended, apparently, not the usual sort of thing at all.

It had a scent to it not like Hereswith’s usual herbal one.

“What’s in this? It smells good, but not what I’m used to. ”

It was apparently exactly the right distraction.

Hereswith answered by launching into what was obviously an extended passage in Anglo-Saxon.

It was something Hereswith obviously knew by heart, but that did not actually narrow down the source a great deal.

It might have been some bit from Beowulf, it might have been some poem.

This was a new intimacy, but a particular one.

Hereswith had, she said, applied a layer of lotion to herself after bathing.

But a second layer, on any bit of skin that wouldn’t have three layers of clothing over it, would also be a good idea.

Bess began at her face, smoothing the lotion over her cheeks, her ears, the nape of her neck, up into her hairline, then slowly working down.

The chemise was loose enough she could smooth the scented ointment easily.

Any other time, she might have dared letting her hand slip down, to the curve of the breast, but not today.

Hereswith held still, as Bess continued, down her arms, attentively tending to each finger. Then she bent to do the same to each foot, up each ankle, to above the knee and the edge of the drawers. When Bess emerged again, Hereswith held out a hand to help her up. “You’re thorough.”

“Always, for you. You get my best. Stockings and then the corset.” That was the usual way of things, and even if Bess wasn’t ordinarily the one helping Hereswith dress, she’d helped her undress enough.

The silk slid smoothly up her legs, feeling a hair like armour.

The dressmaker had been precise about the lacing of the corset, a fan method.

Each pair of holes, left and right, had its own lace, and each lace was apparently imbued with different enchantments and charms. They crossed at the back and then were pulled together around at the front.

Bess preferred fan lacing herself. It made it much easier to get a corset on and off on her own.

This was an application she had not previously considered.

Now, she made sure all the laces were lying neatly, bringing them to Hereswith’s front, for her to tighten as she wished.

“What was that you were reciting? You know my Anglo-Saxon’s not good enough yet. ”

“The Nine Herbs charm. That’s what’s in the lotion. Nine herbs, bound together for protection. I really don’t think that venom is the greatest of the risks tonight, but I am particularly well protected against that.”

“It seems a curiously specific worry for the Anglo-Saxons, as well.” Bess admitted that, while she waited for Hereswith to adjust the corset. Once that was done, Bess reached to tuck the ends of the laces so they’d lie neatly, then brought the first of the petticoats.

“Blanch suggested it, as she said, an idiom I am familiar with.” Hereswith shrugged, as the second petticoat went on.

Only two today, but with a charm to help keep the skirts full instead of adding more weight.

Then came the corset cover, and then the pockets around the waist. Hereswith glanced at herself in the mirror, then said, “The gown?”

“The gown.” This was larger, and Bess took a moment to figure out how to arrange it.

It was partly a vast sweep of silk, with a luminous green like the sheen of a peacock, or the glimmer on a raven’s black.

The bodice had a base of the same, but with a triangular yoke, dipping down to below the waist, of black velvet embroidered in the green.

As Bess worked, settling the dress and doing up the fastenings, she began murmuring to herself, though hers was in English.

“And, thus her deathless head adorn’d, a heav’nly veil she hurls on her white shoulders, wrought by Her that rules in housewif’ries, who wove it full of antique works, of most divine device; And this with goodly clasps of gold she fasten’d to her breast.”

“Am I Hera, then?” Hereswith’s voice was amused, and Bess circled back to the front to smile at her. “Chapman’s translation of the Iliad , yes?”

“Hera, arming herself for seduction.” Bess shrugged once. “There are not so many things to quote about a woman going to a challenge of this kind. I did actually check at the library a fortnight ago.”

That made Hereswith laugh, and relax a little more.

“We should have talked about it then. I had too. There’s rather little.

Or to be precise, there’s a great deal of vague nonsense about the process of a Challenge.

The papers usually have a report of what everyone is wearing, and I do not think I will cause a scandal there.

Or much comment, actually, which was more or less my goal. ”

“You look stunning,” Bess said firmly. “On the other hand, I suppose I should find you stunning, and hope you are not going off to use your more physical charms on someone else. Not before I can enjoy them with you, at least.”

Bess was about to turn away, but Hereswith lifted her fingers. “Would that make you jealous, then? Not that I have any desire to do such a thing.”

“Tonight, do what you think needs to be done. I am not, I cannot place a limit on that. I don’t even know what limit would make sense. It is a mystery, in the religious sense, it cannot be known. Certainly not by me. But yes, it feels a little odd to dress you for everyone else’s gaze.”

“Later, then, you may look forward to undressing me, mm?” Hereswith offered it as a gift.

“And you’ll likely be exhausted. Not the best moment for new intimacies. I would like you to stay awake to appreciate them properly when we have some.” Bess was rewarded with a laugh. “Now, sit, please, so I can do your hair. You wanted to do the cosmetic charms, yes?”

“Yes. And I can do that while you work on my hair.” They settled into that companionably enough.

The charms were not extravagant ones, more an enhancement of her lashes, roses in her cheeks, a salve for her lips.

Bess worked to brush out Hereswith’s curls again, then braiding and coiling, before taking the step of sewing the braided coils in place for stability.

Hereswith held still patiently through it all, even that.

It was only when Bess was done that she spoke again. “It does feel like armour. A helmet, at least. But a secure one. I did not want to risk my hair coming down in my face at the worst moment.”

“So many things that men do not need to consider. All right. Shoes, and then jewellery?” Hereswith nodded and stood, as Bess bent to do the last few things.

The shoes were easy enough. Then the last touches were a necklace with a single emerald and smaller protective stones, a family piece, apparently, earbobs to match, and a bracelet on her off-hand.

The whole effect was stately, the look of a woman who did not need to complicate the eye to rule the room.

At last, Hereswith moved to what she’d set out on the table by the window.

There were a series of small items going into each pocket, deliberately, along with a golden chatelaine that attached to a hidden ring beneath the yoke of the dress.

Only then did she draw on the gloves. “There.”

“And perfectly on time, of course.” Or rather, five minutes early.

“Let me get my own gloves, and we can go down.” Bess got them and her reticule from her room, and then they made a slow procession downstairs.

The men did not fully appreciate the details of the ensemble, of course, but they made appropriate noises, and the women definitely thought it was the right mode.

The group came out of the portal at Dinas Emrys, the Council Keep, to find the weather still pleasant.

The change in the altitude and the angle of the sun dazzled Bess for just a moment.

Hereswith was quiet, but pleasant, when one of the staff met their party and escorted them in.

Two of the other Challengers had already arrived— Edric Fitzroy and Antinous Groves.

They were both dressed in duelling gear, as Bess had expected.

Basileus Martin had apparently withdrawn his intent to Challenge, for reasons unexplained.

It was a far easier choice for men, tight breeches and jackets over free-moving shirts.

If Hereswith had dressed for the same, there would have been no small amount of scandal.

Instead, she had trusted to Magistra Ventry’s advice that presuming it would be a physical challenge was small-minded.

Hereswith knew how to use clothing, the dance of manners and protocol, to her advantage, and she had dressed with that in mind.

Their party was seated in a circle of chairs, with Hereswith’s father’s basket chair tucked in beside Bess, with his sons nearby. Marcus had taken the seat next to Bess, and he and Hereswith made a few comments to each other in a comfortable shorthand. Bess would ask about that later, perhaps.

Five minutes later, a hair late, Euphremia Sibley swept in. She was in a rather overdone gown of Council purple. That was an assumption that required a great deal of confidence to carry off. Bess thought from the reactions around her that everyone else in the room considered it was overstepping.

It was, however, the cue for the four Challengers to proceed to the front of the room.

Hereswith stood, forming up last in the small processional line.

She let the others jostle for status. That was a thing Bess had long since noticed.

The Challengers all lined up, one of the Council members behind each one.

Magistra Ventry was in black, as she always was, but she spoke softly to Hereswith.

Bess noticed that the others gave her something of a cautious distance.

The actual ritual of it was reserved. Gervase Merriweather, the current Head of the Council, had the lead role in that, of course.

That was right and proper. Merriweather was not a particularly prepossessing ritualist, but he spoke clearly and didn’t fuss about with his hands, keeping the focus on his words.

He was an alchemist, with a cautious set of movements, though of Owl House, rather than the Fox House that was true of many of the Council.

He made a brief speech of welcome, then explained the drawing of lots for the order of the entrances to the Challenge.

Hereswith was first, it turned out, and Bess caught the look of surprise on her face.

But then, all four of them were led away through doors at the centre back of the hall, and to some secret stair that climbed the tower.

The last Bess saw of Hereswith was the flash of the green skirt, as Hereswith went resolutely ahead into whatever waited for her.