She returned to the surface, gasping lightly for air, turning her attentions to the vials beside her. She did not know the use of any of them, the colours of blues and greens unnatural and slightly disarming for soap or lotions for her hair.
But they were all she had, and now that she was amongst company once more, she was acutely aware of the layer of grime clinging to her skin despite her best attempt to wash as best she could when water was plentiful enough for scrubbing.
They were lightly fragrant, almost pungent with tinges of flora she did not recognise. But the sharpness was welcome as she used it in her hair, scrubbing with as much force as she could stand, the soapy residue leaving her bathwater milky as it mingled downward.
Her body was next as her hair floated about her in dark tendrils, inky against pale skin that flushed pink in the heat and from her ministrations.
But she was clean and that was something.
She gave her pile of clothing a dubious look, not wanting to corrupt her efforts by putting on clothing travel-worn and dirty, but she also could not imagine emerging from the room in naught but a towel to wait whoever dared venture up first, healer or keeper of a Lightkeep’s wardrobe.
She was about to rise when a knock upon the door startled her into sinking as low as possible within the tub.
“My lady?” came through the thick wood of the door, muffled and almost inaudible.
She had never been addressed so, and she wondered if it was more respectful than the miss she had been given before.
“Yes?” she called back, wishing she had already been out and dried rather than still prone. She fumbled quickly with the handles, trying to stem the flow of water in case they had come to chide her for some improper use of them, and she gasped when at first she had merely succeeded in stemming the flow of hot, leaving icy cold in its wake, tumbling over her hands and forearm as she wrestled to put all to rights.
Until that too was stopped, leaving Penryn’s heart racing as she gave another panicked look to the door.
“I have clothing for you, my lady,” came the muffled voice again, this time a little louder and more clear.
Penryn yanked on the chain stopping the water from escaping the tub, the force required a little greater than she might have otherwise expected, and stepped out of the warmth, the soothing swirl of heat that relaxed muscles she had not even realised had been tensed.
She dried herself quickly, the towel plush and large enough wrap twice around herself.
At least she would not be entirely uncovered when she went to the door and undid the bolt, peeking to the chamber beyond.
The woman there was barely out of girlhood, her hair pinned neatly at the nap, a cap of plain white covering the crown. Her eyes were downcast, but she held out an offering of cloth, a greater mound of it on the bed behind her, ready to be placed within the wardrobe.
“Thank you,” Penryn murmured, accepting the offering, trying not to sigh.
All red.
Even at home she had only been made to wear the cloak in that colour, the rest whatever she preferred.
Evidently here everything about her was to scream out her place, vivid and unrelenting.
She shut the door again.
Steam had clouded the one looking glass, but that was fine with her. She should tend her hair with more care, it was long overdue for a good combing, but the clothes would have to be first lest the healer also trespass before she was dressed.
She rolled her eyes that even the underpinnings were red.
What a waste of dye, though she supposed none other were permitted to wear the colour unless they were sworn to the sages, so if one’s trade was in its making and production, a fine penny was to be had.
The style was unfamiliar to her. There were no leggings to provide warmth or modesty between a split of skirt, only a long dress that puddled on the floor by a few inches. Evidently Henrik had not been mistaken when he said they were expecting someone of much greater stature.
If they provided a needle, she could see to it herself, but somehow she doubted they would be so keen.
The sleeves were strange in their absence, exposing much more of her arms than she was used to. She held no particular modesty that required they be covered, but she would have to give the fire a good poke to make the room warm enough that she was not desirous of a shawl.
A timid knock upon the door. “Is that well enough, my lady?”
The title was becoming tedious and she had barely used it.
Rather than give an answer directly, Penryn opened the door again.
The woman gave her an appraising look, an interesting feat as it was punctuated by frequent glances to the ground, as if she was afraid of being caught looking at Penryn directly. “If...” she began, but cut herself off quickly.
Penryn suppressed a sigh. “Yes?” she encouraged, glancing down at herself and wondering what might have drawn such notice.
“If you permit me saying,” the woman tried again, “If you pull the string tight at the waist, that’ll help with the length.”
Penryn fought down the embarrassment that threatened to rise at not being able to master a simple dress without assistance, but did as she was bid, murmuring her thanks as she did so. It did help, the shape changing to now suggest that there was a subtle nip at her waist, and at least she would not risk tripping with every step.
“I thought if you needed healing, it would be simplest,” the woman explained quickly, as if she was eager to prove that careful thought had been given to her selection. “The ties at the neck, see? To show...” It was her turn to feel embarrassed, pink flaring in her cheeks as
