Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [67]
Chapter Thirteen
UPSTAIRS, IN THE east wing of Lord Albain’s stone palace, the tall windows stood wide open to catch the cool breezes. Early morning sunlight spilled in, bringing with it a warning of the intense heat to come. Soon the muxa bugs would dry their dew-paralyzed wings and come alive. The screens would have to be rolled down over the windows for protection. Already, the jungle beyond the stalwart walls emitted screams and bird calls as its day denizens awoke.
Within the suite of apartments belonging to Lady Bixia, daughter of the house, all remained peaceful. The sunshine glowed upon fine Ulinian carpets and walnut chairs gracing the sitting room. Yesterday the room had been complete chaos, piled high with scattered possessions, half- packed trunks, and muslin packing cloths. Now it had a stripped, empty feeling. The trunks had been carried away last night by the porters. The room stood bare of Lady Bixia’s favorite trinkets, music, sewing boxes, and foot cushions. Only a trace of her scent lingered on the air. Otherwise, it was as though she had not lived here for eighteen years. Even the cages containing her parrot and pet monkey had been swathed in traveling covers and removed.
The double doors to Lady Bixia’s bedchamber remained firmly closed, for although this was the grand day of her departure, she never arose before noon.
Her servants had been up since before dawn, driven to a frenzy of last-minute packing and preparations for the comfort of their mistress.
Some servants had been up all night.
Crouching on the cool stone steps leading up to the empty hearth, Elandra forced her sore and aching fingers to keep stitching. She had to finish hemming this new dressing robe so it could be packed. Only last night had Bixia discovered the robe was too long. In a screaming fit, she had ripped at the garment and flung it on the floor. Elandra tried to clean it, and she’d been up all night sewing.
The stitches were not ordinary ones, but instead some kind of intricate embroidery indicative of the finest handwork. It had taken hours to puzzle out the trick of the tiny stitches.
Now Elandra was so tired her eyes would barely focus, and she could not stop shivering from exhaustion. Glancing up for a moment and grimacing at the stiffness in her neck, she realized the sunlight was finally brighter than her little lamp. Leaning over, she blew out the flame and sighed with her eyes closed.
If only she could rest for a moment.
But she dared not. Dragging her eyes open again, she forced herself to regain her concentration. If she didn’t complete her task, it would be the switch for sure.
The needle jabbed into her finger, and she flinched.
Swiftly she stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth and sucked at the wound. She couldn’t afford to spill even a tiny drop on the gorgeous white brocade fabric. It was the finest cloth she’d ever touched, incredibly soft, and beautifully cut by an expert seamstress. It was the only garment of Bixia’s trousseau that Elandra had been allowed to see, much less handle, and its exquisiteness took her breath away. It did not deserve to be treated like a rag and flung about, even if it didn’t fit the way Bixia wanted it to.
Quick footsteps approached the door to the sitting room, and it was shoved open without a knock.
Startled, Elandra looked up in dread, but it was only one of the maids hurrying in with her arms full of clothing freshly finished from the laundry downstairs.
Elandra sighed and relaxed. “Hello, Magan.”
The woman looked surprised to see Elandra. “What are you doing in here?”
Elandra shrugged, although the taut muscles in her shoulders screamed from the movement. “I haven’t finished with this yet.”
Magan looked at the garment flowing from Elandra’s lap, and her eyes widened. “Gods’ mercy, what arc you doing with that?”
“Mending it,” Elandra said.
Magan’s mouth opened, and she seemed about to say something before she changed her mind. “Give me that,” she said with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. “If the hag finds this,