The ladies went into Esofi’s room, which was furnished in a similar fashion to the outer parlor. It featured an area with a bookcase and writing desk, and a table set with a bowl of unfamiliar fruit, which Lisette ordered them all not to touch. The far wall had a large window that overlooked the dusky gardens.
Esofi’s ladies set to the task of unlacing her complicated dress and corsets. After some brief but frantic searching, Mireille found her nightgowns in the dresser.
Once in bed, Esofi tried to keep her thoughts clear of speculation, but it was easier said than done. She turned her thoughts to the gods, as she had been instructed in her childhood.
There were as many gods in Asterium as there were stars in the sky, though Esofi only really concerned herself with the Ten. She wondered if Iolar was watching her from Solarium but immediately dismissed the thought as hubris. As a princess, she knew she fell solidly into his domain, but she had never felt that deep spiritual connection with the father of all Men that she ought to.
Perhaps Talcia was watching instead from her home in Dia Asteria? Perhaps. But it seemed infinitely more likely that she was being casually observed by some extremely specific minor deity from a tiny pocket of Asterium that nobody had even heard of before.
Each god, no matter how minor, had a place in Asterium where they brought their beloved followers after their deaths. The sole exception to this was Eran, God of Dreams, who brought the living into Ivoria on an almost nightly basis.
Esofi knew that her own deceased family members were almost certainly with Talcia. She wondered where Albion was. Solarium, most likely, surrounded by some of the bravest and wisest regents that Inthya had ever known, where they would discuss and debate into eternity.
The thought made her heart ache.
Esofi was weary from the journey, and the sheets had been warmed by heated stones placed by thoughtful servants. She fell asleep quickly, and if she was invited into Ivoria that night, she did not remember it when she awoke.
THE NEXT MORNING, Esofi opened her eyes and gave a little start at the sight of the unfamiliar stone ceiling above her head. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Ieflaria. Birsgen. The castle. Queen Saski would be summoning her that day.
At the thought, Esofi sat bolt upright and leapt from bed. Hurrying over to the nearest wardrobe, Esofi was greeted by the sight of a host of barely familiar dresses. She had forgotten just how many she’d commissioned and packed away before leaving home, with the strict orders that they be left untouched for the entire journey.
Unfortunately, none were suitable for mourning. Esofi knew that she was not expected to partake in the mourning period, being a foreigner, but felt that a too-grandiose display would seem insensitive, especially since Albion had been her betrothed.
The day before, all of the Ieflarian ladies had been dressed in simple but elegant gowns with skirts that fell naturally from the underbust. It was a stark contrast to the voluminous and many-layered dresses that were popular in Rhodia. Perhaps she could have some Ieflarian dresses made up for her.
Esofi sorted through the dresses, trying to pick the most subdued one. It was not long before there was a knock at her door.
“Enter,” called Esofi, and Lexandrie and Mireille hurried in. They were in their long, lacy nightdresses.
“We thought we heard you up,” explained Mireille. “Why did you not call us?”
“I only just woke.” Esofi did not turn away from her wardrobe. “Is Lisette gone?”
“Of course,” said Lexandrie, a bit of annoyance in her tone. “There’s work to be done, so naturally she’s missing.”
“That is to be expected,” murmured Esofi. “Her assignment here is different than ours, after all.”
“Still—” Lexandrie seemed to be trying not to let her annoyance show now that the princess had made her position clear. “She could at least try to act like a proper waiting lady.”
Esofi selected a gown of palest pink decorated with buttercream ruffles and little silk rosebuds. Her ladies helped her dress, lacing her into her corsets and lifting layer after layer of fabric over Esofi’s head until finally the dress looked suitable.
While Mireille pressed Esofi’s blonde hair into curls with a hot iron, Lexandrie set to the task of applying the princess’s powder and rouge. Once that was finished, they pinned silk flowers in her hair and stood back to admire their handiwork.
“It’s not too much, is it?” worried Esofi as Mireille retrieved a porcelain hand mirror.
“Too much?” Lexandrie had a touch of incredulity in her voice. “You’re meeting with the queen. There is no such thing as too much!” She cast a wistful look back at Esofi’s closet, her gaze settling on an elaborate crimson-and-gold gown. Esofi chose to ignore this.
Lexandrie and Mireille left to prepare themselves for the day, and Esofi found her embroidery bag inside her bedside table after a few minutes of searching. She wished she could have overseen the servants as they unpacked. It would probably take a great deal of effort to arrange everything the way that she liked it.
Esofi went into the parlor and was surprised by multiple baskets and packages waiting for her on the table. Pinned to the largest basket was a hastily scrawled note from Lisette.
Princess,
The packages are all safe to handle. I know you would have liked to open them yourself, but it was better this way. I didn’t detect anything amiss, but I wouldn’t be displeased if you threw it all out anyway, especially the food.
Lisette
Esofi reached for the nearest basket and pulled out the card, which named an Ieflarian noble that she had never heard of as the benefactor. The other gifts were much the same, each bearing a card with an unfamiliar name and title. Not all were nobles, though. A canvas painting of the royal chase had been sent from the court painter, and the parcel from the Lacemaker’s Guild contained a pair of gloves, dyed lavender. There was also a bottle of wine from the Vesoldan Ambassador.
Esofi decided it would be more fun to explore the gifts if her ladies were there with her. She went over to open the window and let the cool morning sunlight in, and then sat herself on the sofa. During the journey, they had spent endless hours embroidering in the carriage while practicing their Ieflarian conversation. So great was the association in Esofi’s mind that she found herself murmuring verb conjugations as she took a pair of silver scissors from her bag and carefully cut out the awkward, crooked stitching from the corner of the tablecloth that had been Lisette’s responsibility.
Esofi had been betrothed to Albion at the age of three, and so much of her education had focused on the fact that she would someday become the queen of Ieflaria. Along with the ordinary tutor who had educated her entire family, Queen Gaelle had also hired an Ieflarian tutor especially for Esofi. He had taught her the nation’s history and language, and Esofi was confident that she knew as much about Ieflarian history and economics as she did about Rhodia’s, or at least as much as could be put into books.
Still, none of the reading she had done had prepared her for the beautiful sweeping farmlands that made up the majority of the Ieflarian countryside. She would never forget the first time she had laid eyes upon the land that stretched as far as the eye could see, hills beyond hills and fields beyond fields. In that moment, she could have believed that it all went on forever.