bright colors, made of soft silks and supple leathers, and scented with the cedar of the chests. Light clothing, all of it, made for the gentle warmth of the Vale. There were other mage-robes, heavier, made to be worn outside the Vale, but none of those were as extravagant as these outfits. Tayledras mages did not advertise their powers in outrageous costumes when outside the confines of their homes, unless meeting someone they knew, or knew would be impressed.
'Here-' he said, shaking out the ruby-colored silk half-robe and matching Shin'a'in breeches, cut as full as a skirt, and bound at the ankles with ribbon ties. The half-robe had huge, winglike sleeves with scalloped edges, and an asymmetric hem. 'Try this one on, while I find some hair ornaments.' She stared at him, at the clothing, and back again, as if he had gone quite mad. 'But-' He grinned at her. 'Indulge me. This is my art, if you will, and it has been long since I was able to spare a moment for it. Go on, go on-if you're modest, there's a screen over there you can stand behind to dress.' He turned to his collection of feathers and beads, crystals and silver chains, all hung like the works of art they were, on the walls. By the hertasi, of course; when he'd lived outside the Vale he'd had no time to sort through the things and hang them up properly. They winked and gleamed in the light from his lamps and candles as he considered them.
Some of them he had made, but most had been created by other Tayledras.
Most of them, sadly, were either dead or with the exiles. But the delicate works of their hands remained, to remind him that not every hour need be spent in war and defense.
After a moment he heard Elspeth rise and take the clothing behind the screen; heard cloth sliding against cloth and flesh as she undressed, then the softer, hissing sounds of silk against that same flesh. He closed his eyes for a moment, reflecting on how good it felt to be doing this again-after all that had happened, that there was still a skill he could use without thought of what it meant tactically.
A moment later, she slipped from behind the screen, and he heard her bare footfalls against the boards of the ekele floor. 'I hope I have this stuff on right,' she said dubiously, as he selected three strands of hair ornaments from among those on the wall.
He turned, his hands full of beaded firebird feathers, and smiled with pleasure at the sight of her.
She made a sour face, and twisted awkwardly. 'I look that silly, do I?'
'On the contrary, you look wonderful.' She pursed her lips, then smiled reluctantly. He admired her for a moment; as he had thought, the variegated, rich rubies and wines of the half-robe heightened her otherwise dull coloring. With her face tanned by the wind and sun, and her dark brown hair, without the help of color reflected up from her Clothing, it was no surprise that she thought herself plain. But now, she glowed, and her hair picked up auburn highlights from the ruby-red silks. And with her hair braided and ornamented instead of being simply pulled back from her face-She is going to look magnificent when her hair turns white, he thought admiringly. But now-no, this severe style is not going to work. Color's a bit too strong. It looks wrong now.
Before she could move, or even protest, he had his hands buried in her hair, braiding the beaded cords of feathers into one side. Then he created a browband with another cord, pulling some of the rest of her hair with it across her forehead to join the braid on the other side. It didn't take long; her hair was ridiculously short by mage- standards, and even many of the scouts wore theirs far longer than hers. But when released from that severe tail, it had a soft, gentle wave that went well with the braids and beaded feathers.
'There,' he said, turning her to face the mirror that had been left covered, as was customary, with an embroidered cloth. He whisked the cloth away, revealing her new image to her eyes. 'I defy you to call yourself plain now.' Her mouth formed into a silent 'oh,' of surprise as she stared at the exotic stranger in the mirror. She flushed, then paled, then flushed again, and her whole posture relaxed and softened.
'I would give a great deal to see you appear in your Court dressed this way,' he said, a little smugly. He was rather proud of the way she looked in his handiwork. Better than he had imagined, in fact. 'I think that you would set entirely new fashions.' She moved carefully, holding out her arms to see the fall of the sleeves, twirling to watch the material slip about her legs and hips, her eyes sparkling with unexpected pleasure. 'I had no idea. The last time I wore anything like this, it was for Talia's wedding. I was a cute little girl, but, well, cuteness wears off. I never thought I could look like this.' She shook her head, her eyes still riveted to the mirror. 'I thought that the clothing the hertasi had been leaving for me was nice, but compared to this-'
'Scout's clothing, it was, really,' he said, with a shrug. 'Quite as practical as your Herald uniforms. Mages tend to prefer more fanciful garb, and certainly more comfortable. These are for delight. Showing off. Dancing. Display, as our birds do, for the sheer joy of doing so, or for-' Before she could respond to that, he had picked out a full robe in monochrome intensities of vivid blue. 'Come,' he said, coaxingly.
'Let us try another. I wish to see you in all of these.'
'Me? What about you?'
'What about me?' he repeated, puzzled. 'What have I to do with this?'
'You're a mage, aren't you? And aren't these your costumes?' She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. 'I'd like to see what you look like in these things!' Try as he would, he could not dissuade her. Before she would consent, she insisted that if she was going to prance about in bright feathers, he would have to do the same. So nothing would have it but that he must don a set of dancing gear before she would change her costume for another.
The evening hours passed, the two of them playing among the costumes like a pair of children at dress-up, laughing and admiring together.
Some time later, he had draped her in a swath of amber-gold that brought sunlike highlights to her hair and a Tayledras-sheen to her skin.
Any of the vivid colors suited her, but she glowed in the warm colors, he had decided. This particular robe, though he did not tell her so, was a lounging robe-a dalliance robe, in fact. A lover's robe. Meant for display to one person, not to many. He had made it for himself, but had not liked the color once he had tried it on-one of the few times he had misjudged color for himself.
But on her' You must keep that,' he whispered, as she turned and twisted, plainly taking sensuous pleasure in the soft slip of the silk against her skin. 'No, indeed, you must,' he insisted, as she turned to protest. 'It was never suited to me, but I think I must have somehow designed it with you in mind.' The words had been meant to come out teasingly, but somehow, they turned in his mouth and hung in the air between them with more meaning in them than he had intended. He reached delicately to a glass box and opened it, and before he knew what he was doing, he reached toward her, his hand holding a single brightly beaded feather.
Not one of Vree's-though at this moment, he would have offered her that, if he had thought she might take it. But he dared not. He hardly believed that he dared this.
