The Cultivated Girl

Chapter 18 - Back to Lessons

"No-one ever suspects these weapons." The woman's voice was sweet, her lips full. Mouth slightly parted she seemed to breathe the words like a promise. Every acolyte in the cave was intently focused on her as she peeled herself from a gold chaise longue and glided around an intricately carved, wooden alter.

Gaudy, thought Simone, searching for her clutch. She spotted them halfway down the chamber sitting on a scatter of shockingly pink and grey velvet cushions.

Crouching, even though it hurt her leg, she shimmied down to sit next to Nada.

"Lovely of you to join us Ms Simone," said the woman.

Her voice sounded like a river of hot chocolate, frothy, warm and slightly velvety on the tongue. Simone knew that voice. It was the witch she'd nicknamed Silky when she first tried to escape but her hair was no longer blonde, short and sharp but flowing and red, like blood.

Rats. "Excuse me, I was attending to Lady Alva."

"Make time dear, not excuses," she said, with a hard stare, "and if you're going to make excuses, try to sound sincere."

What a cow, Simone thought but didn't dare say it. She dipped her head so the evil priestess couldn't see her mutinous stare.

"Don't worry, you haven't missed much," whispered Nada, slipping a small parcel into her hand. "This is Lady Godiva, she's teaching us sorcery, spells and potions."

Simone choked back a laugh. "You're kidding," she muttered under her breathe. She could hear Bloduewedd's mental laughter echoing hers as she shared the joke.

Simone whispered back to Nada, "I thought Lady Michaela was taking this class?"

"I heard a rumour Lady Michaela has disappeared," whispered Alexia. "Lady Godiva is one of the Principal. We're..."

"Yes, yes, I know, lucky to have her," said Simone.

Due spontaneously caught her up on all the gossip from the past quarter, her mental whispers brushing Simone's mind.

Lady Godiva, if that really was her name, tossed her crimson, waist length hair gently, her hips swaying in rhythm to counteract the shift of weight. Perfume trailed the air behind her, hypnotising the class. Simone couldn't imagine the effect she must have on males should she ever encounter any. "Not likely here but if she did, she'd eat them up like an owl does field mice and spit out the bones".

She waited until the Lady's attention was distracted before exploring Nada's gift. It was a small selection of titbits from the morning meal, each individually wrapped in tender, fragrant leaves and tied with pretty cord. She squeezed Nada's hand in thanks and popped mouthfuls every time the Priestess' back was turned.

"First, the basic principles," she told them. "The face is a dancer's mask. It needs to be prepared to reflect the emotions of others without revealing what lies beneath the porcelain skin." As she spoke she beckoned Nada out of the neatly seated throng, giving Simone a sharp look as she did so. Simone stopped chewing just in time.

Lady Godiva seated Nada in front of the wooden altar. An assortment of potions and tubes, liquids and shimmering powders scattered its smooth amber surface.

Using a large silken brush and the even softer pads of her exquisite fingers the Priestess lightly laid a smooth canvas on the open palate that represented Nada's expectant face.

"Next, the flush of unsatiated desire," - here a glow of colour on her high cheekbones – "and the ripeness of lips unkissed," with a flourish of dusky rose.

Her rapid strokes hastened with no apparent hurry or rush. "The eyes need to trap the soul of the gazer with their light while the lashes quiver with the trembling of a delicate fern caught in a storm of emotion".