Page 112 of Anathema

“You mean undergarments?”

“Well, I suppose it could be called that.”

“Yes. Did I not give you any last night?”

“No?”

“Oh. Terribly sorry.” She strode out of the cell and headed toward the stone wall just outside of it. It was only when she knelt down that I noticed a small door in one of the stones, essentially invisible in the way it blended so seamlessly with the water-stained rock. After knocking three times, she crossed her arms and huffed. The door swung open, and a hairless rat-like humanoid appeared, slightly taller than the length of my hand, with pink wrinkled skin and beady black eyes. Yet, he wore clothes—tattered pants and a ragged, green vest, with a laced-up brown tunic beneath that clung to his slender body.

I could feel my jaw slowly coming unhinged.

“I need a favor, dear. In my room, there are two brand spanking new undergarments laid out on the dresser. Can you fetch them for me?”

“Of course.” The ratman nodded and, unless I was imagining it, wore a slight bit of blush on his pink, skin-like cheek.

Rykaia pointed a finger at him. “And no rummaging through my lingerie. I mean it.” She booped the little creature on the snout.

“I would not, Mistress.”

“Good. Now, run along.”

The door slammed shut after him, but she remained there.

“What is … was …”

“A golvyn. You don’t have one? Wonderful creatures, but they can be tricky. He likes to sniff undergarments. But no worries, I’ve never worn the ones I intend to let you borrow.”

I began untying my borrowed tunic, to get started on the leather garments, and she held up a finger. “If you’re squirrely about others seeing you dress, you may want to wait just one moment. He’ll return any second.”

“That quickly?”

No sooner had I spoken the words than the door flew open again. The ratman handed over two black garments, far too small to be cammycks, to Rykaia.

“Thank you, love.” She planted a kiss to the top of his head, and his cheeks seemed to redden again, before he slipped back through the door, closing it behind him. “You see? Wonderfully useful creatures.” Rykaia sauntered toward me.

Taking the proffered garments, I couldn’t help but note how small they were—they’d hardly cover much of anything, at all. Whereas the cammyck had reached the middle of my thighs, these looked like nothing more than a small patch of fabric connected by strings. “I hardly think this will keep me from chafing.”

“You’d be surprised how soft caligosian leather is. Particularly between the thighs. Now, hurry along. I’ll wait for you at the top of the staircase.”

“And if nothing fits?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“We may not be the exact size.”

She held out her hand toward the clothing laid out on the bed and jerked her head. “Put the undergarments with the others.”

I did as she commanded, setting them on top of the pile.

“Fitilia quantya.” Without another word, she turned and exited the cell.

I glanced back at the garments, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Curious, I swiped up the clothes and backed myself to the shadowy corner of the room, where I dressed quickly, sliding on the undergarment that clung to my hips for dear life. While the fit seemed good, I tugged at the edges of the fabric on the backside, but they didn’t budge from where they covered my two fleshy cheeks. How desperately I longed for my cammyck.

Next, I slipped my leg into the trousers and yanked it up over my calf, confused by the sensation. Warm and fitting, it clung to my skin like stockings, and I couldn’t deny, it felt … nice. I yanked the other leg up and tied the string, pulling the waistband in to a perfect fit. Staring down at myself, I smoothed a hand over my leg and smiled. No wonder Ms. Chalmsley had always opted for trousers. Far less chilly than an open-hemmed dress.

Turning away from the cell bars, I removed the tunic, the air against my bare breasts sending a jolt of urgency through me. I pulled on the long sleeve of the hooded leather tunic that fit snugly over my arms, then I fastened the many laces on the front, pulling it tight against my breasts. As close fitting as it was, I was glad not to be wearing a cammyck, which would’ve only suffocated me. A black, leather corset fit just below my breasts, and held small loops and pockets that I imagined housed daggers, though mine were empty.

After tugging on the leather boots, I examined myself, running my hands over the soft leather of the pants and jacket.

---