“Oh, Maris,” Nim said with a groan. “You’re the morning sort.”
The maid smiled. “Aye, my lady. Early to bed, early to rise.” She tied the curtain back and snapped the edge of it straight. “Now, off to work today?”
“Yes, please. I’ve had all the idle time I can manage if you’ll not let me sleep through it.”
Maris chuckled. “Up, then, and let us get you sorted.” She led her yawning charge to the vanity, where Maris served her strong tea and a handful of biscuits before moving to her back to untangle the mess of Nim’s long dark hair. Her fingers wove skillfully through the locks, arranging them into a braid that she tucked and pinned securely at the base of her neck.
Maris seemed deft in all her tasks, with a sharp eye for detail. Nim hadn’t a full-time maid since she was a girl, and she’d forgotten the depth of knowledge about their charges such a position afforded. Warrick trusted the woman, surely, or he would never have assigned her to Nim. But it would not be an easy thing to bare her private self so openly after years of hiding.
As she set the cup down, Nim’s gaze caught on a pair of dark sapphire gems resting atop jewelry in a small porcelain dish. A spike of fear shot through her, and the cup tumbled, tea sloshing onto the vanity and into the dish. Her abrupt movement had tugged her braid from Maris’s grip, and the maid was maneuvering dish and towel and all in her haste to prevent the spill from ruining more than it already had. She set the things in the basin, presumably to deal with at a later point, and Nim’s mouth opened, but her protests fell short. She was being ridiculous, surely. There was no way the gems were the ones she’d feared. No way at all dark magic could reach her inside a king’s castle and under Warrick’s protection.
The maid was behind her again before Nim had fully decided whether to push the issue, prodding a last lock of hair into place. “There,” Maris said. “All to rights.” Her gaze turned to the mirror, catching Nim’s eye. “Off to the wardrobe.”
Nimona thought she managed to school her expression, but the corner of Maris’s mouth tweaked, apparently assuming that her concern was regarding her new wardrobe. The woman crossed to a massive cabinet and drew open the finely carved doors. The interior was filled with gowns that shouldn’t have had the proper time to be made, and Nim was hit again with the dizzying sensation of too much all at once.
Maris stepped to the side to allow a better view. “These are only to start. Alterations had to be made to accommodate the seneschal’s wishes, but a full wardrobe will find its way to you shortly.”
Nim gave the cabinet a narrow eye. She didn’t imagine she would need much more than the dozen inside.
Maris tugged one hem forward to display the design. “For today, one of these.” The long skirt was split down the front to reveal a pair of slim trousers underneath. Another outfit caught her eye, fitted pants and a bodice with a long cape that attached over the shoulder to flow from around her back and arms to drape nearly to the floor. It was Nim’s nighttime venturing wardrobe with society-appropriate shrouding—nearly appropriate, anyway. She’d yet to gauge the response of those who filled the halls.
“And for gatherings of the king’s advisers.” Maris gestured toward a half dozen formal gowns, rich fabrics with little frill, then gave Nim a knowing grin. “With these reserved for festivals and balls.”
Nim stared at the finery, fully aware that her brow had knitted. “Will there be many balls and gatherings?”
Maris smoothed a palm over one fine dress as dark as a starless night. “Not that you will be required to attend, but a half dozen a year at least. There’s the Festival of the Seasons, Soulsday, the Feast of the King…” She frowned, and Nim had the sense she’d not realized she was speaking aloud. “We don’t celebrate Moontide any longer, not since the king’s proclamation. I’ll need to remember to not allow you a bit of silver then, should the king see you.” She shook her head, snapping back to the posture of a lady’s maid. “So,” she asked, “do you have a preference?”
Nim nodded toward the nearest, pants beneath the layer of skirt. “Thank you, Maris. I can dress myself, but I’ll need direction to my new post.”
“Wesley will fetch you. We’re not to leave you adrift, my lady. Please call on us any moment you have a concern.” Her words were so casually assured that Nim felt the tightness in her chest ease.
Maris laid the gown over a settee and retrieved a pair of tall boots from the wardrobe before securing the doors once more. “You’ll be served a light meal midday, which I can have sent to your study. Or, should you prefer, you may take it in the garden. It promises to be a lovely day, the chill of springtide all but forgotten.”
“That sounds wonderful. You have my gratitude.”
“’Tis nothing,” she assured. “I can only hope that you will soon find Inara Castle feels like home.”
Maris had taken the basin with the jewels and sodden rags when she’d left, and a newly-attired Nim was fidgety by the time Wesley finally arrived to escort her to her post. She could not seem to shake the sensation of fingers crawling over her, the unsettling familiarly of things that should have been unfamiliar. She was grateful to see him and to leave her room.
It was a short walk through lesser-used corridors, though the pair did pass a handful of courtiers and castle staff. None seemed to give notice to Nim’s pants, though to be fair, they were well hidden beneath the thin layer of skirt.
“Here we are, my lady,” Wesley said, leading her into a massive library lit by a tall row of windows and littered with candelabra and sconces.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured, before glancing at Wes. “Where is my work room?”
Wesley smiled. “This. The assigned location for your new office. Do you like it?”
She nearly gaped at the expansive rows of shelves lined with books and safely tucked away from the ample sunlight and two large desks of the finest quality, each as wide as her bed. A cart of parchment and scrolls waited beside a table, which held inkwells and wax and supplies of the highest grade. “Maris said it was a study.”
Wes chuckled. “A grand one, to be certain, but yes. I suppose it is.” He watched her expression. “Warrick will be pleased it suits you.”
“Suits me?” She shook her head, unable to take in all of it. “It is far beyond my needs.”
“But not more than you deserve, I think.” At Wesley’s words, Nim’s gaze snapped back to his. He shrugged. “I understand we’ve both been given graces, and there are many less fortunate. But Nim, this was your birthright. And it was taken from you by them.”
Stolen by the Trust. She wasn’t certain that was entirely true, though, because though Nim’s freedom had been stolen, her father had willingly bargained away her future.
Wesley seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts. “All of it was in sacrifice to the kingdom, my lady. All so that this place”—he gestured around them—“could be safeguarded for the people of Inara, the people who built this kingdom in time before record.” He took her hand in his, his scars hidden beneath thin black gloves. “And now, it is you who will protect it—protect us.”