Page 11 of Thief of Roses
“I knowe thou shalt be there until I am damned or redeemed.”
You will never be redeemed.She released the hold on him.He settled back down on the tree and closed his eyes again, telling Her the truth that he had long ago acknowledged.
“I knowe.”
VI.
When the Fir’Darl mentioneda room with a bed, she doubted its relative comfort.What would the Fir’Darl know about her desires and the parameters of dressing a room for a human?The Magic with which she had cohabitated prior to her introduction to the Fir’Darl only provided food and the few comforts she requested, not her lodgings.The Fir’Darl, known for his evil, had not ever been described as one for interior design.It only made twisted sense that the room he had offered would be a nightmare, a horror, a monstrosity.Her fury boiled for not anticipating the deception.
When the candles stopped lighting her path on the first floor along an empty narrow passage, she turned to the door nearest her.The door did not belong to a servant’s room and loomed over her in too menacing a manner for what she might consider a private bed chamber.Her unease made her hesitate.The downstairs solar where she had settled herself was large also, but that was expected of a public room.A private space should not be preceded by so monstrous a door.Her hand wavered on the handle, but she made herself enter.Pushing the door inward relieved her as it demonstrated that the hinges were inside.
Oh!She took the room in.This isn’t what I expected at all.
She had been braced for a dungeon chamber, or a melodramatic rendition of a church of the Great Holy attempting to pass itself off as an antechamber and bedroom with voyeuristic wood-carved putti and leering stone-carved grotesques.She had also been braced for an overdone confection of lace and pastels with festoons of gold accent pieces designed as a monument to performative hyper-femininity.
Although still far too grand, the low fire burning in the anteroom hearth welcomed her to explore further.The windows on the far side of the bedroom, small but enough to let light in, bore shutters on either side that she could close at night.The overall color scheme relied on dark green with whitewash accents to relieve the heaviness of the dark wood.The imposing canopy bed surrounded by heavy curtains occupied most of the space in the bedroom.A vanity, which she did not intend to use, took up a corner.The wardrobe loomed, but despite its intimidating grandeur, she intended to be firm with it as the Fir’Darl instructed.
Before clothes, she addressed the defensive orientation of the bed.If she could have trusted the Fir’Darl to assist, her task would have benefitted from his brawn.After a variety of different methods, she toppled the bed onto its side.The massive thud reverberated around the fortress.Her efforts transformed the bed into a miniature stronghold, the bottom and top serving as battlements if enemies came either from the door or the windows.The curtains would make decent sheets or cloth for skirts if she could not get her wardrobe to behave.
If the wardrobe behaves.She shook her head.What a thought.
She eyed the wardrobe.Standing before it, she fussed with her blouse, straightened her skirts, and tugged at her hair scarf.
“I don’t know how this works,” she said, “but the Fir’Darl told me that you would provide clothing.If you would be so kind, I need a new skirt, shirt, boots, and, if you are able, several new scarves for my hair.”
She waited a moment.A minute.Three minutes.Without any indication that the Magic acknowledged her or granted her request, she opened the wardrobe.Clothing hung from a bar.She extracted the offerings.
“Oh dear gods.”
The wardrobe delivered what she asked for — a new skirt, shirt, boots, and scarves, but the elaborate offerings came adorned with so many frills and ruffles that she could not determine which piece was the skirt and which piece the shirt.Perhaps a lady who could afford to sit on her chaise lounge all day and nibble bonbons wore such things.And look ridiculous.But no self-respecting Rivani would touch them.Even those who married out of their culture with wealth beyond imaging would never adorn themselves with such silly garments.Rivani lived active lifestyles little served by such impractical clothing.She took a deep breath and addressed the wardrobe again.
“Wardrobe,” she said again, trying to be courteous, “I have misjudged.The master told me to be specific and I was not.I apologize.While the clothing you gave me is,” she could not think of a word that was not insulting, “very suitable for a lady of refinement, I am not such a one.I intend to be working in the gardens, exploring the forest, toppling beds when necessary.Therefore, I need something serviceable for hard labor, not luxury.I intend to use the scarves, but if I could have some additional ones that I would not have to worry about soiling, I would be grateful.”She was mollifying a wardrobe.What madness had she stumbled upon?
It took a few more tries for her to get what she needed, but when serviceable clothing appeared, even if they were still much finer than anything she had been envisioning, she took them from the wardrobe to claim them.
“These will do very well.”
