Mara stood back, eyeing her creation critically, before she dared a glance upward to Penryn’s watchful gaze. “Does all feel as it should?”
Penryn gave the skirt a shake and took a step forward. It was long as she had expected, and it swept along the floor in a pretty way. She remembered when she was young and she would put on her longest skirts simply to watch them trail behind her as she descended the stairs, imagining herself someone important, someone regal, proceeding toward something of importance.
Most often her own wedding, if she was willing to admit that remembrance even to herself.
“You look very fine, my lady,” Mara commented, a hint of red to her cheeks as if she had paid an undue compliment to her own accomplishment.
“It is your work that is fine,” Penryn disagreed, smoothing her hand down her skirts. “Do you know anything about arranging hair?” She had done her usual twist and plait, but it felt somehow less now that she was bedecked in such finery.
Mara’s eyes lit up to be entrusted with something so personal, and she slipped into the bathing room, coming back with all sorts of pins and a silvery twine of leaves and sunbursts. Penryn did not recognise them in the least, and she did not know where they might have emerged from.
“If you will just sit, my lady,” Mara instructed. Her fingers were skilled, practised things in use of the comb and Penryn found herself making an enquiry, despite the risks.
“Did you learn from tending your own hair?” She stared at the fire, woefully relishing each pass of the brush and comb, knowing it would end, knowing she would not receive such attentions again. Not after what would happen later today.
“Goodness, no,” Mara denied with a laugh. “Always in a knot, mine. But I have four younger sisters and they always liked me to make their hair as pretty as could be.” She was quiet for a moment, her tone turning wistful. “Lost our mam with the last, and our da a year after. Sages took me in for work, to prepare for your coming. Her fingers stilled, and she took a breath, whether from recounting such difficult times or to master some welling of emotion even now. “Don’t know what I’d have done otherwise with so many mouths to feed.”
Penryn did not know what to say to that. She knew, had always known, that the Keeps were responsible for the livelihoods of many, that they offered work where none was to be had. And the guilt had warred with her own resentment, wishing that none of it was necessary even as it meant so much to so many.
“Do your sisters work here now?”
“Two are married,” Mara gave as if that somehow answered Penryn’s query. “The youngest is in the school.” This she declared with an obvious note of pride, although Penryn was not overly familiar with the institution. But apparently it held a note of prestige, and doubtlessly it was only available because of Mara’s toil. “Lettie works in the kitchens here with me. Tried to get her to pay attention to my lessons on a needle so we could tend the wardrobe together, but she has no patience with it. Would rather use a knife and scrub a dish any day.”
Penryn smiled at that, her only experience with such tasks her time spent on the road. “I am glad she has found what suits her best.”
There was a gentle pull at her hair that could only be that delicate bit of metalwork being twined into the fresh plait Mara had constructed. The weight was foreign, even though she was certain the craftsman had made it to be light, an enhancement without encumbering the wearing, but Penryn was very aware of its presence all the same.
It made her feel a little better about what was to come, however.
Like she was not quite like herself, dressed up in clothing that was grand, her hair bound in armour, disguised as it was with beauty.
Mara gave a final twist and Penryn could feel her take a step backward, assessing. “I was hoping you’d be a woman,” Mara confided, an unnecessary tinge of embarrassment accompanying a confession freely given. “I helped make the new garments for the men too, of course, but wouldn’t be appropriate for me to help with the dressing.”
Penryn turned. “Does that mean there is a man downstairs disappointed that his charge did not arrive?”
Mara laughed. “Aldric took the position, hoping he’d never have to come up to this tower the whole of his career. Never seen him more relieved than when you came through all slight and obviously female, hood or no.”
There was no denying the fondness in Mara when she spoke of her counterpart, and Penryn briefly wondered if it would be long before a third of the sisters was married. But it was not her place to ask such things, to pry into the romantic feelings of others.
She was to be set apart. And if she was aware of such proclivities, it was to look down on them, as something for lesser beings, ones ruled by passion and affection rather than duty and tradition.
The thought chafed even now.
“Then I am glad you are both satisfied,” Penryn assured her.
Mara gave a bow, already beginning to edge toward the door. She likely wanted to move of her own accord before Penryn might dismiss her as abruptly as she did before. Another prick of guilt, but this one easier to bear.
“Do you need anything else? I could send Respie up.”
Penryn’s eyes widened. “That will not be necessary. Truly. And...” Would it be a very great wrong to ask? There was little for it, and it would spare Respie a conversation she very clearly did not wish
