Trinket (Reverse Harem)

Lucky Sponge Is Lucky

I wrestled out of Korr's impossibly heavy robe, leaving it on the floor, and squirmed out of my dress.

"My lady," a soft voice said from the door to the main living quarters.

I whipped around, caught my feet in Korr's robe, and fell on my ass.

Two maids, eyes downcast, rushed towards me, murmuring soothing words.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" I said, voice cracking, flailing about in all the stupid fabric while they each grabbed an arm and hauled my upright despite my bleating.

"Here, my lady," the one on the right—a young woman who reminded me so much of Lucetia that my heart spasmed—handed me the Raven feather that had fallen out of the folds of my dress.

I accepted it. The other one, also young, pushed the folds of the robe away from my feet and somehow folded it up into a bundle that she carried towards the couch. Although she had to waddle under its weight.

"What are you doing in here?" I asked warily.

"We're here to help you undress and bathe, my lady," the Luceita-look-alike said, eyes downcast and posture demure.

"Do you have names?" I asked. I'd grown up with servants. Hell, I'd been a servant. These girls—well, young women, they looked a bit older than me—were both prim and neat, dressed in practical black dresses with smooth undyed aprons, and their hair bound up in tight braids and buns, without even tiny hairs escaping.

"Yanice," the one closest to me bobbed in a curtsey.

"Delia," the other said, also bobbing.

Now Yanice proceeded to start unwrapping the layers of my sheer dress. The dress was light and fluttery, but comprised of several layers of sheer linen and silk secured at my shoulders with metal clasps, but also decorated with strands of sea-pearls and glass beads wrapped artfully around my midsection to give shape to... my lack of shape. I probably could have torn myself out of it with enough squirming, but Yanice made quick work of the layers.

I paid attention so I could do it myself. It hadn't seemed that complicated to begin with, but there was a way to secure everything. "I feel like a boot that's been laced up."

She smiled but kept her gaze down. "Yes, my lady. There's a bit of an art to it. You're from the center-north, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"The styles are quite different there, I imagine."

How diplomatic of her. "Yes."

The styles were different because commoners like me had worn wool, while linens and silks and cottons were for the well-to-do. The layers of fabric also weren't in favor. High-breds like Tynn's mother had worn dresses gathered under the breasts and around the neck, falling free and sumptuously dyed and painted with beautiful scenes and patterns day to day, and for formal events, more elaborate gowns with flowing sleeves and skirts embroidered with fine thread.

"I prefer pants," I said by way of conversation. I'd been allowed to wear pants and a shirt in the kitchen to work, although if I'd had to been seen in the main house (or had been seen in public with Tynn) I'd been obliged to wear one of my dresses.

"Pants are more practical for many things," she said. Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced at my hands, which were rough and calloused from working in a kitchen around knives, peelers, rinds, and boiling water. I did not have a lady's hands, where the only proper callous to have was at the time of her thumb and index fingers from needlework.

And the soles of my feet? Hah. Caked with thick callouses. Excellent for when I hadn't been able to afford shoes as a child. Other kids had cried about their split feet, but those of us who had been able to toughen up and not get sores had been lucky... oh, and we'd lived. Or still had both feet.