The Affairs of Mortals

Chapter 20

In the time she had been mistress to the Marquis de Fer, Vero had learned that she was not the sort of woman who enjoyed elaborate gowns. The very idea of them grated against her nature. They were difficult to get into, difficult to wear once inside, and difficult to get out of. It was astounding to think that Jean had considered the attire he bought for her previously only 'traveling dresses.' That notion could only have come from the happy ignorance to never actually travel entombed under so many layers of skirts. Antoinette had laid out the newest cream-colored monstrosity on the bed.

Despite her hostility towards them, Vero wanted to do her best to at least try and accommodate herself to her new life- and all that entailed. Everything had seemed so wonderful between them while she and Jean had been abroad. He won victory after victory and was very attentive towards her while she healed. Now in this drafty and dour old castle, she felt trapped in a gilded cage. The cold made her leg ache.

And the shades have found you again.

Vero watched the mirror vacantly, while Antoinette stood behind her with a brush and tried to work the kinks out of her hair. She marveled at the patience Antoinette exhibited, gently working each knot free. If it had been up to Vero, she would have just wrenched the brush through and torn out the knots, just to have the thing done. Now her hair was past her shoulders. Jean seemed pleased by it, she believed, so she kept it that way, despite how atrociously tangled it became every night.

It was important to her to try her best to attract him, although – or perhaps because – Vero did not believe she was very beautiful. Her face was fair, but her shoulders were too broad and she had too many muscles.

Too many scars.

Vero waved off her maidservant. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed and opened it. From inside, she withdrew her dead master's long sword- her sword.

The weapon was unnaturally light, but remained perfectly balanced between blade and hilt. The scabbard was plain rough leather, and the hilt had no jewels or adornment of any kind to distinguish it. She drew it. The blade was free of rust. Even without recent care, its edges remained razor sharp. Lines of runes, etched in silver, ran along both faces of the blade.

Vero attempted a few simple techniques. Her body responded slower than it should have, but she attributed this to her lack of training while she mended. Her range of motion was nearly uncompromised- but not quite. There was no disguising the fact that she had lost flexibility in her right leg. She knew there would likely be no further recovery. Some injuries could never be fully repaired, no matter the skill of the surgeon. She was just thankful she could still move as well as she could as soon as she had.

The shades gather outside the walls even now. You cannot hide much longer.

And he shall abandon you.

Vero returned her sword to its chest and allowed Antoinette to begin dressing her. The tailor responsible for crafting the monstrosity had given them both a careful explanation as to how to wear it.

"You seem fully recovered."

"Not quite. I feel as though I'm moving a second too slow, and my right leg gives me less dexterity than it did before the accident."

"Well, you're unlikely to be required to fight anyone at a banquet- so I don't suppose a second's tardiness will matter."

Vero sucked in her breath as Antoinette cinched the gown closed. She could barely breathe in the damn thing. She had become accustomed to binding her breasts to hide her femininity, she supposed that she could also adapt herself to the inverse. Wearing it almost gave her an average woman's bust- but not quite.