Page 82 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

He chuckled, striding by the dwarf princess with another peck on her cheek, his boots fading as he rounded the bend and disappeared from view. Enya pasted a pained smile on her face and followed the Princess of Dwarves up.

Alsbet stopped at the second door after the first turn of the staircase. “These will be your rooms, dear.”

Enya blinked at the finely appointed private sitting room.

Layered rugs and hairy pelts covered the polished mountain floor and tapestries of miners and hunters covered the walls.

A fire crackled merrily in the hearth beyond a sofa and a pair of armchairs and a little table sat laden with platters of fruits and nuts.

Two doors led off to what she presumed to be the bedroom and bathing chamber, but it was the bookshelf that drew her attention.

She traced a finger across a row of leather spines .

“You can have anything you like brought up from the library, dear,” Alsbet said.

Enya whirled. “Library?”

The princess drew herself up proudly. “Second only to Oyamor.” A dwarven woman with rosy cheeks and long gray hair woven into a pile of braids atop her head bustled in with a tea tray. “Ah, here’s Harshilda. She’ll be yours while you’re with us. Lady Enya is a dear friend of Oryn’s, Hilda.”

Enya stared as the woman dropped a practiced curtsy. Hers? “Pleasure to meet you, my lady. Anything you need, you need only ask.”

Alsbet tsked, her gaze sweeping Enya from head to toe. “Oryn really should have written ahead. How am I to find something that fits you on such short notice?”

“Oh, please-”

“I suppose we’ll have to make do for dinner. I’ll leave you to it.” The Princess of Dwarves swept out abruptly, leaving Enya to gape at the serving woman.

Harshilda strode into the bathing chamber and the sound of splashing water drew Enya to the doorway.

A soaking tub big enough for three sat under a large window overlooking sweeping vistas of the mountain passes.

Harshilda was turning knobs that sent water gushing from taps in the wall.

Enya stared as steam curled up from the basin.

The serving woman gave her a knowing smile. “Simdeni is generous with his gifts,” she said. “The mountain provides all.” She showed Enya the workings of the tub, toilet, and sink and opened a cabinet to reveal shelves packed with soaps, scrubs, and oils.

“May I unpack your saddlebags, my lady?”

Enya nodded, still transfixed by the water gushing into the tub.

When it steamed almost to the brim, she shed her travel stained clothes and sank into its depths, gazing out at the snow capped peaks in the distance.

Pink crept into her cheeks as Harshilda bundled her discarded clothes into a basket and left her a silk robe.

Enya stayed in the bath until she had washed every inch of herself at least three times.

When she finally emerged, she found Harshilda had made off with every scrap of clothing save for the fur lined cloak that now hung in the wardrobe in the bedchamber.

The space was even more splendid than the sitting room.

A four poster bed big enough to sleep an entire family was made up in silk sheets, knitted blankets, and a pile of furs.

She smiled as she plumped a feather pillow and took in the dizzying, sundrenched view.

Unsure what to do with herself after so long on the road, Enya settled at the table, nibbling at the contents of the trays. She wondered if she might end up wearing the scandalously short silk robe to dinner when a knock came at the door. She glanced down, tightened the sash and called, “Come in!”

Alsbet swept in with what appeared to be an army of serving women carrying a massive trunk. She planted fists on broad hips. Enya gulped and straightened under her sharp gaze.

“Rags,” she said flatly. “Nothing but rags in that pile Harshilda tried to call laundry. Is that really how my brother-in-law travels?” Alsbet beckoned a dwarven woman with a beak of a nose into the room, her long black robes trailing over the floor.

“I’ve brought the seamstress. We can’t have you trouncing about in that robe.

” A smile flitted across her face. “Or perhaps we could, if you want to be wed before Alloralla’s sentence is up. ”

“I don’t particularly find myself in need of a husband,” Enya answered, setting down her teacup. “But please, Your Highness, this is far too much trouble.”

The princess glowered at her. “It’s only Alsbet, dear. And it’s no trouble at all. Did Oryn tell you nothing?”

Enya blinked at her, not understanding.

“It’s been many years since we’ve had an Estryian lady as a guest, even more since we’ve had a Silverbow. My court is buzzing with excitement. We have to find you something suitable to wear. Oh, here’s my Gitaela.”

A young dwarven woman poked her head into Enya’s room, a wide grin splitting her pretty face. “Mother.”

“Meet Lady Enya,” Alsbet said warmly. “My Gitaela is apprenticing with the seamstress.”

Enya blinked, trying to keep her face impassive. A princess apprenticing with a seamstress? She wasn’t sure she understood. She wasn’t sure she understood Drozia at all. Curse you, Oryn.

The dwarf girl seemed to read something of her confusion. “It’s an honored place in Droiza, my lady. What’s worn in Drozia is coveted in all the courts.”

“Of course,” Enya said into her cup, trying to hide her bewilderment.

The royal seamstress, Mistress Ironcloak, measured every bit of Enya from her head to her toes as Alsbet tittered away with Harshilda and Gitaela over the trunk.

The woman asked her about Estryian fashions and what Enya liked, furrowing her brow but acquiescing when she said she preferred britches to skirts.

But there were no britches or divided skirts to be found in the trunk, so Enya found herself swathed in blue silk and left to wait to be summoned for dinner.

The waiting was a problem. The things she had packed away for later seemed to be peering out at her from the dark recesses of her mind.

She wasn’t certain she was prepared to deal with any of them yet.

A few of Hylee’s visions had already come to pass.

Each one meant one fewer between her and her end.

Searching for a distraction, she skimmed the titles on the bookshelf and picked up The Wanderer’s Guide to Drozia, settling on her sofa. She was still turning the pages, looking for something that might be useful, when another knock sounded on her door.

“Come in!”

Oryn’s silver head craned around the door and Enya snapped the book shut.

He wore a fine blue tunic that made his eyes look even more depthless than usual.

She didn’t miss the way they widened slightly as they roved over her unbound hair and the silk that was slightly too small in the bust and too big in the waist.

“The gargoyle knocks.”

His brow crinkled.

“What?”

Oryn huffed and tilted his head. “I’ve never seen you in a dress, is all.”

Enya scowled. “You could have warned me.”

A knowing smile played across the hard planes of his face. “I’ve come to escort you to dinner.”

“I think I can find my way to the dining room,” she hissed.

“Your questionable sense of direction aside, I believe it was you who suggested I try manners.”

Enya stared at the arm he offered. “Not all of us have had centuries of navigation experience.”

“Then it’s good I came for you.” His grin set her heart fluttering.

She managed a resigned sigh as she accepted his arm. If the way to the dining room wasn’t obvious enough, one only would have to follow the shouting and giggling that now filled the apartment.

Giggling, because Colm was tossing one of the youngest royal children into the air.

The shouting primarily stemmed from Aiden arm wrestling one of the older boys at the table while his brothers drummed fists on the stone.

He made a show of losing, much to the delight of Leon and Alsbet’s children.

Liam sat mid-bench, his knees brushing the underside of the stone.

He too had been scrubbed and shoved in a black tunic embroidered with red thread that was slightly too big in the shoulders.

It was Aiden’s tunic, if Enya had to hazard a guess, but she was glad to see him. She settled on the bench opposite.

“Did you know about the gnomes?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“What gnomes?” She asked, but Leon and Alsbet swept in.

Liam mouthed later.

Enya sighed. It seemed that mountain of laters was content to just keep growing.

The Prince and Princess of Dwarves settled into the high backed chairs at either end of the table as the children shoved and elbowed for the rights to sit beside their guests.

The girls, Gitaela, Bargitelin, and Gargitrud, all of dark brown hair and eyes filled the bench around her.

Dothebelle, the youngest and fairest with big blue eyes and blonde hair, climbed onto the bench to squeeze between Bargitelin and Enya, much to the elder’s dismay.

With one look at her mother, the girl thought better of making trouble with the youngest.

Enya blinked at the dark haired twins that flanked Liam. It was uncannily like seeing double as Orhuck and Orobryn peppered him with questions about the knights of Estryia. The older boys, Dozmac and Dezamri, were quietly fawning over stone-faced Bade, while the eldest turned his attention to her.

Orimum was dark of hair like Leon and all courtly manners as he planted a kiss on the back of Enya’s hand that made her grin. All around the table, she saw brows flick up in surprise. Alsbet buried a smile in her wine cup.

“Orimum, lead the prayer,” she ordered.

The young dwarf cleared his throat and bowed his head. Enya looked around wildly at the demi-elves and saw they sat with their eyes downcast.

“We thank Simdeni for the mountain, Solignis for the forge fires, Mosphaera and Sakaala for the food on our table, and Nimala for old friends and new.”

“Here here,” Leon boomed, raising his glass.