Page 13 of The Concubine King
“Of course it does,” he fretted.“More than anywhere else, in fact.”
Ethyr shook his head, baffled.“Can I dress now please?”
“No, we must finish washing.The gods do not appreciate filth.”
“Good.”Ethyr crossed his arms.“Maybe they’ll send me back then.”
The man’s eyes widened.“Oh no, Divine Ethyr, they would kill you.”
His arms dropped.“What?!”
“They will see it as an insult.”
“The priest said they didn’t kill kings who displeased them!”
“They would not hurt a king whono longerpleases them, but anyone who directly offends or insults them will face their wrath, king or not.”
Ethyr stared, mouth open.He snapped it shut.When the attendants moved over and resumed their work, he clenched his jaw and endured it.At the very least they were methodical and efficient, and the rest of his body was soon clean to their satisfaction.He was offered a cloth, soft and plush like the rug in the carriage, and dried off.Then he was put in a yellow silk robe and taken to another room.
It was bigger than his entire hut, with a fire burning in a brick-lined hole in the wall.He didn’t know why; the summer air was more than warm enough, and there was nothing cooking over it.A round rug covered most of the floor, tapestries lined the walls, and a platform jutted out into the air from an opening in the far wall.
Against the left wall was a legged structure almost like a table, except that it was puffy and fat with blankets and had a draping roof of sheer, purple veils.
“What is that?”
Gionan glanced at it, surprised.“It’s a bed, Your Divinity.This is your bedroom.”
“You sleep on that?”
The attendants exchanged looks.
“It is quite comfortable,” Gionan reassured him.“Far more comfortable than those floor mats.”
He placed a hand on Ethyr’s back before he could say anything else and herded him towards a table that at least looked like one, though instead of a bench it had a single chair with an elaborately carved back-piece.When they were close to the table, people popped into view and Ethyr jerked back in surprise.It took him a second to realize it was him and the attendant.
“A standing reflection?”he said, awed.He’d only seen reflections in still waters.He pressed his fingers against it, wondering if it would ripple, but they hit solid surface.
“It’s called a mirror, Divine Ethyr,” Gionan said, pushing him gently to the chair.Ethyr’s face and shoulders were in full view from that angle, and he looked twice at himself.
His hair was a more dynamic brown than it looked in pond reflections, his eyes brighter, the lines and curves of his face more defined.He’d always known his features were soft, softer than the chiseled jaws of most of the village men anyway, but in full view they were also delicate in a way he hadn’t seen even in women.The ends of his hair curled slightly and where light hit it, the brown turned into a halo of gold.He turned his head to watch the light shift across it, locks shining smooth and clean after the aggressive cleanse.
His attention pulled back to the room when his feet and hands were grabbed again.The same ladies who had scrubbed them clean set to work cutting his nails, filing them smooth with a rough stone, then rubbing them with an ointment until they shined.
Another woman arrived with a bundle of clothes, and Ethyr once again had to strip under their watchful eyes, though this time he was dressed immediately.The woman pinned an oversized tunic until it was snug to his body, then used charcoal to mark the spots before unpinning them.She did the same for fake shoes made of linen, and stockings that joined together and covered his pelvis—called pants, according to Gionan.
It was a lot of work for some clothes.Deian had always made his tunic fit through eye alone.But the thought made his chest tighten and his eyes moisten, so he shook it away.
“We need something for tonight,” Gionan said as the other attendants draped Ethyr back into the robe.The tailor hummed and nodded, examining Ethyr.
“He will have to wear one of Verusias’s,” she said.“We can adjust it to fit well enough in an hour.It’s not as important as the offering regalia.”
“Of course,” Gionan agreed.The woman gathered up her fabric and materials and hurried out.
“What’s the offering regalia?”Ethyr asked.
“It is what you will wear to be presented to the gods tomorrow,” the man told him.
Tomorrow.The word sunk to the pit of his stomach.
