Verath the Red (Dragonwall Series #3)

Chapter 39 - The Autumn Moon Feast

Esterpine

Jeanine jumped at the sound of knocking. She set down her book, careful to set the ribbon so as not to lose her place. Growing up in Lincastle, she was fortunate enough to have tutors as a child. The children of Kaljah didn't know how to read. They'd never had any reason to learn. Perhaps because the number of books in the village, excluding her own, could be counted on two hands.

Even after moving to the middle of nowhere, her mother had insisted they continue her lessons. Reading, writing, numbers, and history. Up until her mother's death.

She hadn't many books to her name. They'd traveled light to Kaljah, so the ones she'd read through her teens were always the same, over and over. But Esterpine had a massive library. Feowen had given her leave to visit when she liked. Most of the books and scripts were written in other languages, Sprite dialects that dated farther back than the Third Age. But there were enough of them in the common tongue.

The knock sounded again.

"Coming. Just a moment." She rushed to the door, taking in the appearance of an unfamiliar Sprite through the glass. A messenger with a bundle. She greeted him.

"I was sent to bring you this," he said, offering a parcel wrapped with brown cloth.

"Oh. Thank you." It wasn't as if she could have forgotten Feowen's...gift.

He gave a curt bow of his head and disappeared.

She watched him go before shutting the door. It was late-afternoon, and the surrounding city was abuzz with activity, all in preparation for the Autumn Moon Feast. Her lessons with Feowen that morning had been canceled. His Highness had been required for matters of politics. Probably an excuse to avoid her after their time in the forest pool the day before.

She rushed across the room and set the package on her small dining table, pulling away the strings and wrapping. A gauzy fabric tumbled into her fingers, smooth like the water in the forest pool, shimmery, midnight blue. The same color as Feowen's hair—a direct match in fact. She clenched her jaw, studying it. Of course he would choose such a color.

Yet, it was stunning, even if it wasn't something she would generally wear. The silver ties at the waist, the beading at its hems, the swirls of silver foil across the fabric like Sprite markings. It took her breath away. It was a gown that would transform her. She knew it without needing to try it on.

She held it up, examining the fabric, pleased that it wasn't entirely transparent as she'd expected. What did Feowen mean by giving it to her? Was it a ploy to see her in a dress? To determine a new side of her? Or perhaps to see how much sway he held over her?

She frowned.

The last party she'd attended like this was as a child in Lincastle. Gatherings in Kaljah were often a casual affair. And even the nicest clothes worn by the villagers paled in comparison to what she held in her hands.

She sighed, well aware that she could not put this off. So she set the gown aside and went about bathing before attacking her tangled mass of brown hair, combing it until it shone, then braiding and twisting it in a bun. The bathing room vanity had a supply of pins, which she used to tuck the coiffure into place. There was even kohl and rouge available for her use.

Most of her dwelling was exposed, made of glass beneath massive tree roots, just like the rest of the dwellings. Privacy was scarce in this culture. So she utilized the folding paper walls, amply supplied, to block off the private areas where she slept and bathed. She stayed sheltered in seclusion as she donned the gown and gazed at herself.