Page 27 of The Mercy of Dawn

The lands were lush and green, and full of the sort of vibrancy that seemed to be commonplace if her few days in Reykr were anything to go off of. A hint of mystery hung in that vibrant greenery, too, from the lingering wisps of mist and fog that settled amongst the foliage.

On either side of the expansive gardens—originating from the palace itself, it looked like, as Cyril hung her head over the railing—wide walkways of gray flagstone set out down the terraced lands, until lawns gave way to a rocky backshore.

The lake Runa mentioned.

And what a wicked-looking thing it was, with black waters and jagged stone shores all the way around. Not a lake for leisurely activities. The dense forest that swept up the valley walls beyond it, rolling over hills and out of Cyril’s eyesight, came as no surprise.

What a strange and beautiful place.

It was a shame about its inhabitants, and their—

“Miss?”

Cyril nailed her knee on the stone railing and cursed. So much for awareness of her damn surroundings.

“Ah, sorry Miss, I didn't mean to startle you.” The same blonde maid who took her things earlier stood between the open balcony doors, smiling softly at her. “I only came to see if you require my help.”

“Your help…?” Cyril blinked, and the woman looked amused.

“With bathing and readying for dinner? Her Majesty asked that I see you taken care of during your stay.”

Oh.

“I…well.” A nervous laugh slipped out of Cyril. “I don’t usually have help with those things…”

Truthfully, she’d never had help like that. In Helia, the estate staff served only to keep the estate running and clean, and all the mouths within fed. She always bathed and dressed on her own—save for a time or two that Sebille helped lace her into a cumbersome gown—and the thought of someone bathing her felt intimate enough that her cheeks warmed.

“…and I would prefer to do them on my own.”

“Of course, Miss.” The maid gestured back in the room. “May I show you where we’ve put your things?”

Oh gods, her stuff.

Cyril didn’t have to be asked twice.

Off to the side of her bed was a short hall lined with cupboards and drawers that the woman walked her through one by one. Her shirts, pants, nightclothes, and underthings were all folded or hung and tucked away with care, with a tall cupboard at the end reserved for her few dresses and cloaks.

Cloaks that were dry already.

Frivolous magic, indeed.

“Her Majesty had more of the like ordered for you to be brought from the city,” the maid said, gesturing to the casual clothing Cyril brought. “But, ah, Miss… Do you not wear many dresses, or were you not able to pack them for the trip?”

“I only wear them if I have to. I usually just wear shirts with pants and boots like the men do.” Cyril smiled, and the maid nodded in understanding.

“Your bathing chamber is just through there”—she gestured to the closed door at the end of the hall of wardrobes—“and will have everything you need. I will ready your clothes for dinner if that is alright?”

Cyril’s instinct was to protest, but she nodded.

This woman had been nothing but polite so far, and Cyril knew at some point she’d have to forge relationships to gather information. No better place to start than with the woman who had access to her sleeping quarters, she supposed.

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

The maid bowed her head as she turned back to the cupboards, and Cyril realized just how terrible she was at everything.

“Wait—what’s your name?”

Her hazel eyes widened a bit, and she smiled. “It’s Rika, miss.”