Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [17]
"You could be taller," she said grudgingly; there was not much else for her to criticize. I may have been absent from Naamah's Service for a year and more, but I had not let myself go. "It makes for a better line. At least you're proportioned well." Satisfied, she nodded curtly. "Put your clothes on and I'll tell you what I think."
Obediently, I dressed and waited in the draping room. A blushing apprentice brought mint tea, pouring gracefully. Favrielle emerged to join me, taking an unceremonious gulp of tea.
"Costuming will be ornate this season," she said abruptly. "Heavy brocades, layers of skirts, lacework and trim, triple-slashed sleeves, masques an arm-span broad. Prosperity on the heels of war and all that. If I tried to outdo for you what I've already begun for others, I'd have you in so many layers you'd scarce be able to move. So." Her cup clattered on the tray as she set it down and reached for a length of fabric. "You want to stand out, anguissettel We go the other way. Simplicity."
I fingered the fabric; a silk jersey spun so fine it flowed like water through my fingers. "On what theme?"
"You know Mara's Tale?" Favrielle raised her brows inquiringly. I shook my head, and she made a sound of disgust. "Kushiel's chosen, and ignorant as a pig. Livia..." she turned to the apprentice, "... run to the library and fetch me Sarea's History ofNamarre. The illustrated version."
I opened and closed my mouth, deciding discretion was the wiser part of couture. Ignorant as a pig! I spoke five languages with passing fluency, and had unravelled the riddle of the Master of the Straits. But it was true that Eglantine House was a repository of more lore and learning than the academiesof Siovale, and much of it unknown outside their bounds.
"Here." Favrielle opened the leather-bound book and pointed to a glowing illustration; a slender, dark-haired woman clad in a crimson gown that flowed like flame. Her hair was upswept in an elaborate coif of ringlets, and a sheer black veil hid her eyes. " 'In the fifth year of Elua, Naamah lay with a man condemned for murder,' " she read aloud, " 'and his skin was fair and his eyes as black as coal. And he was hanged by the neck until dead, but Naamah had taken his seed unto herself, and she was with child. Unto Naamah was born a daughter in the sixth year of Elua in Terre d'Ange that was, and that daughter she named Mara. And Mara bore the curse of her faÃer's blood, and went with her eyes veiled. In atonement for the curse she bore, she went unto Kushiel, and in pity he granted her penance and made her his handmaiden.' " Over my faint sound of protest, Favrielle closed the book. "You see?"
I did. "You think she was an anguissette."
"It's a likely story." Favrielle shrugged. "We're not supposed to tell it," she admitted grudgingly. "Beggars, princes and shepherds are all right, but the Night Court doesn't like it known that Naamah lay with a murderer. Still." Biting her knuckle, she regarded me. "Some know it. I thought you might. You'd make a good Mara."
It was true; more than true, it was brilliant. I eyed the closed volume. "Is there any chance I might have a copy made of that?"
"No." Favrielle's reply was curt. "You're interested in the book?"
" "The fruit of the future is rooted in the soil of history,'' I said in flawless Caerdicci, quoting the historian Calpurnius; the look of surprise on Favrielle's face was deeply gratifying. "Never mind. I'll speak to the Dowayne. Tell me your idea for my costume."
Taking a deep breath, she did, sketching it out in swift, elegant lines on a piece of foolscap. It was gorgeous, and it was perfect. I wished it had not been, for I did not like her overmuch, but once seen, I could not forget it.
"We'll need to leave a seam open, there ..." she pointed, "... and stitch it closed once you're wearing it. If your maid is handy, she might do. It's the only way, with the back so low. But with your marque,