With reluctance, Lanico rose from his position kneeling on the floor. It was as if he was carrying sacks of sand at the urge to remain and ask his many questions. It would be an unknown length of time before he’d see her again. There wouldn’t be much time remaining. He soon found himself grasping her doorknob and closing the door behind him.
Chapter 10
Songbird
It had taken the tailors every ounce of focus and energy to get it right. They had worked tirelessly making hurried movements, blending deft with hazardous. The expansive room that had once seemed an elegant military quarter draped in refinement and heritage now seemed an explosion of color and recklessness. Tulle, scraps of fabrics, random roaming beads, countless bits of threading, and various cuts of ribbon littered the floor and the furnishings. The place was made a disaster. It was lucky the General Prince was not here to see his rooms in such a manner. But blazing fires, by some miracle they had managed to pulled it off.
The tailors managed to create a few dresses for Grude’s lady—if one would call her that. They had to adorn the dresses with additional flare to accentuate her look for, as plain as she was, her appearance needed extra help. Their creations were gorgeous. Truly feats of imagination and the extension of their own talents. Anyone, even Cantata, would look stunning in their designs.
✽✽✽
Golden fingers of sun radiated, ushering in warmth and vibrancy. The high lark-like flutters of Cantata’s voice resounded gloriously, a beautiful blend to the brilliance of the blossoming morning. She sang to her heart’s content in the castle kitchen, in her kitchen. A plain songbird well-kept. No. Not plain. Only to one’s vision would she be considered plain. For Grude knew her far better than that.
He could see the confidence in the way she pulled back her shoulders; her lifted chin showed she was proud of the breakfast she had just created. Honestly, she could have fixed him just about anything—the way he felt in her presence, the food didn’t matter. She was a lively soul he increasingly longed to be near and a body he longed to touch. Her company made the cares of the world outside almost disappear, as the sun upon a dwindling dewdrop. Almost. Of course, the tingling of his fingertips would start, and his mind would shift to his first love, trillium. Scraping that thought away, he heard himself say, “Cantata, my dear, that was delicious.” The face of stone he wore faded. In its place, a smile grew.
“Oh, I’m so pleased you liked it, Grudie,” Cantata said in her singing way, a sign of her satisfaction.
Grude shoved aside his emptied plate. “You ready to see the dresses?” He stared at her back as she washed. The way the thin points of her elbows paused at the question—it delighted him.
She turned with soap-dripping hands to face him. She inhaled, “Grudie, those dresses were to take weeks to finish!”
“Well, I was able to encourage the tailors to work at a faster pace.” Grude smiled, thinking back to the threat he made to them the evening following the fitting—their beloved pet Swanloft currently stabled along with their mounts—the vision of his pretty head going missing should they not comply. The Prondolins noticeably picked up the pace then, working around the clock. It was an oddity to Grude that people cared so deeply for things that were foolish, such as animals. Nevertheless, he was pleased with the efficiency. He not only wanted to please Cantata, but he urgently needed her presence out there, out with the slaves—turning them. Time was a luxury he could not afford to waste.
He had already spent days grooming her of her role. Primping her. He had spent precious time explaining her added responsibilities and duties she’d have to the kingdom. She was most receptive as long as she understood she was praised for her efforts. Praised in status and in luxuries, of course.
She squealed, “I’m thrilled!” The threadbare rag that she wore about her apron tussled at her hurried hand-drying.
“Well,” Grude said, pushing back his high stool. “Let’s off!”
He kept pace next to her along the winding way; aware his steps sent slight quakes, likely to Cantata’s landing feet. And he listened to the sound of her breathing, the ragged breaths from their hurried shuffle. It made his mind wander to other delightful, uncharted places.
Once at the top, Cantata’s eyes widened. Today Mysra guards had been stationed outside the former General Prince’s chambers. Grude caught her alarmed glance. He hadn’t considered having to explain their presence until that moment. “Well, I—” With expert stealth, he grasped for a lie that he successfully planted, “I wanted to ensure the secrecy of your unexposed fashions.”
She made a delicate sigh, and dipped a nod. “Right. Of course. Isn’t that like you to be so very thoughtful? It’s true. I want to be the first to see and wear my unique styles.”
He gave a confused smile that she paid no attention to. Of course, he should have known better. Cantata wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the welfare of the tailors. That she believed anyone around these lands could come to that level of fashion was absurd, but the lie seemed to appease her.
They passed the Mysra guards whom seemed more like solemnly carved pillars than living, breathing Mysra. Grude strode to open the doors and placed himself in front of Cantata as they marched in. He himself, though shorter than his Mysra subjects, was still a formidable wall in comparison to her. He held out his thick arm to usher her forward. “Ready?” His pointed teeth glinted.
Cantata, positively charmed, jumped in anticipation; her hands clasped tightly together against her chest. “Oh yes, Grudieee!” She danced in place at the sight of mannequins draped in scarves and the walls adorning innumerable accessories of every shade. The wonders that awaited just on the other side of him. What had been a disastrous mess to the tailors seemed an elegant party frozen in place to her. There was even more to take in. He stepped aside to allow her to view the expanse hidden beyond his large frame. Her eyes widened and her heart stopped.
Before her stood the most glorious dresses that she had ever seen. Her dresses. Vibrant, candied jeweled colors, fabrics, and designs. She had never imagined dresses such as these could have ever existed, or that she could ever don the like.
“Oh,” a tiny gasp escaped her lips. “Odan on High,” she uttered quaveringly, lifting a hand to her mouth.
The dresses—her dresses—were placed on wire statues for her review. The closest to her she noticed wore her crimson dress, a deep gorgeous and shocking color: deep, bold red, and sleeveless. And with pockets! That was a blessed addition.
Noticing her stare Gilden added, “They all have pockets, my lady.”
The crimson dress appeared tight around the waist and was quite long; long enough to match her height. The skirts underneath must be equally long as well. She never had clothes long enough to fit her height. She moved, closing the space to it. Carefully she felt at the thick fabric. A wide smile stretched across her face as she massaged the material between her fingers. The sleek feel made her sigh. She looked to Grude who strolled in next to her.
“King Oetam and the General Prince must have aided their subjects to new clothes on occasion?” Grude asked searchingly, innocuously; though knowing the answer to this. Of course, they didn’t. What a bunch of nonsense that would have been.
“No. Well no, they wouldn’t have done anything like th—” Cantata gasped sucking in air. “Oh blazes, that’s gorgeous!”
She dashed to the next creation on display. The emerald green flair of another. And then the deep sapphire of another dress—one that Cantata’s eyes had been locked on to. This was a gown that had long sleeves! Like the one before it, she knew that this wasn’t meant for her kitchen duties. The dress was a statement in itself! The material, like the other, was thick and had a light shine. It had a long sash for the waist. Why would he have ordered a dress like this? It would lack function with her work. But was unbelievably gorgeous nonetheless. Perhaps to entertain the Mysra? she determined gladly.
Still reading her, he stated, “Your talents, dear Cantata, are not limited to the kitchen.
So many are longing, no…pleading to hear your divine voice again. No longer will you don the tired performance rags of yesterday.” Her eyes widened. “No,” he continued, cutting off any possible objection, “You’re a mighty star, a high-class beacon and I need you to dress like one.” As if reading her again, he nodded and added, “Yes, Cantata, you need to dress like one.” He turned, reaching to feel the fabric she wore. “I want to change things for the better, for all WynSprigns.”
“Yes, I know, Grudie, I know.” She smiled wide, seeming to dream of a future filled with even more dazzling dresses yet to come. A future filled with fame and being the lady of the Castle of Odana. Perhaps sitting on a throne of her own—at his side? A dream meant to be. Perhaps they could still find the rest of the royal jewels for me to wear? For those, she had heard, still remained missing.
Together they reviewed a multitude of accessories and assorted everyday wear. He feigned interest when he really couldn’t care any less about the sparkling, dangling things that she fingered. It made her happy and that fact served purposes for him.
Finally, when seemingly all had been rummaged through, Grude led her beyond more piles of clothes and a dusty mirror. Her last dress. Yes, hidden beyond racks of other clothing and a mannequin covered with a black cloth sat the creation that he himself requested. On cue, Gilden rolled the miscellaneous rack away and Ilgani pulled the cloth with a tight snap. Beneath was a delicate dress. Simple, like her. It was no less beautiful than the others with exquisite draping and shape, but lacking in the frivolities, lace, and sequins that the tailors had added to the others. The light material was almost sheer against her alabaster fingertips as she admired. She paused, staring at it. It wasn’t unusual that he couldn’t interpret her expression reflecting in the mirror—as the WynSprigns used more facial expressions than he and his Mysra ever did.
The dress was the color and a design he had chosen, after all—when Cantata was distracted at her fitting. It was the very shade of his beloved trillium, a soft lavender. He figured that she would likely wear this dress around the castle, around him. He spoke low and his softened eyes hovered to Catanta’s, which were now looking back at him. “I can’t wait to see it on you, draping your ivory shoulders”—he dared himself to reach out, circling his grip about her middle— “that thin waist.”
Saying nothing of his physical snare, or of the way he looked at their mirrored image, with the dress just before, he heard her whisper, “This dress is the most marvelous of them all.” And once more, Grude’s face softened. “I believe I could wear this design...every day.” With his hands still about her waist, she circled within them and returned the embrace. Taking him in for long seconds. Then, faster than she could bat an eyelash, she twisted free and promptly worked to lift the dress from the mannequin.
It was sleeveless, had pockets that were somewhat hidden within the deep fabric folds, and was tapered about the waist to accentuate her thin build. It was functional, a beautiful design, and the fabric wasn’t as thick and heavy as the others. The design, feeling, and functionality of it overshadowed the grandeur of the other frocks, somehow now forgotten. This was undoubtedly her favorite.
“Then I’ll have more of the same made.” He slid a glance to Gilden, who nodded solemnly, understanding their work hadn’t quite finished; may never be finished. Grude looked back to Cantata, but this time, there was something dark hidden behind his eyes. “Try it on,” he gave a quiet demand.
Her eyes lit in surprise. “Now?” Cantata huffed a laugh in disbelief. “Here?”
Movement to the side of his eye reminded him of the tailors’ lingering presence. He turned to eye Gilden and with a daggered stare, with a sound above an irritated growl he said, “Get. Out.”
Gilden nodded frantically. Then the two, without word, hastened from the room and into the hallway. The guards would ensure they didn’t stray far.
Cantata held the new dress to her chest, waiting for the pair to leave. Waiting for the glow from the open doorway to wink out.
His undivided attention returned to her.
The air in the room, stilled.
He noticed how her gaze landed to the dusty portrait of Princess Raya above the fireplace. He’d quite forgotten to fulfill her request for a pink dress. No worrying on that. He’d get the Prondolins to comply with making more frocks soon. “Go ahead,” he said softly, bringing her attention back to the matters at hand.
She considered that she should have been astonished, offended by the lewd request, but she wasn’t. Examining herself, she wasn’t even the slightest bit rattled. Instead, a slow grin spread on her lips, and she wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it at all, but there was surprise in this unexpected demand. She’d oblige his wish. She created distance and strolled toward a large window while he waited in the shadows behind and lowered himself into a chair. She set the new dress aside and turned to face the window with her back to him. With intention, she slowly slid down her tired dress.
He noticed that she hadn’t any undergarments on. Perhaps she didn’t possess any. If that was the case, he wouldn’t commission any for her. No, he’d prefer to know her as completely nude beneath the layers of fabric and tulle.
Her pale skin was highlighted in the glow of the midmorning sun. Grude watched. Waited. He observed how the sun and shadow fought over the plains of her back, her waist, her long, long legs. He realized that she was taller than any WynSprign ought to be. A peculiar fair beauty. A rare, singing prize with a humble face.
The old fabric she stepped out from lay in a sad pile at her feet. Thin and worn, in comparison to the stone floor itself. Feeling the weight of the Mysra’s stare roaming over her, she reached for the new dress. Aside from her pulse drumming in her ears, the susurrus of fabric was the only sound.
She slowly pulled this down over her head. She smoothed out her sides and front. She tied the sash, tight. She turned to face him. He had just seen her nude from behind. Her gaze met his, with reluctance.
His eyes grew wide and he sat up, inclining toward her. “There she is. There’s my lady. The WynSprign lady of the castle.” My songbird. He didn’t dare say out loud.
She carefully walked toward the seated Grude, but stopped steps away. His smile grew, crossing ear to ear.
The dress fit her perfectly. She resembled a Queen. A Queen paying homage to the lavender trillium he and his people so dearly loved. The light purple softened her tired appearance, and gave a pleasant glow of beauty she hadn’t been akin to, ever.
She smiled widely at his interest, at his obvious approval. Then, without proper warning, she ran to him. The chair on which he sat tipped backward as her playful force sent them both back onto the floor with a slam. The lavender dress flew up as a result of the impact; exposing many yards of fabric hidden underneath, not to mention more of her. Cantata laughed spiritedly and delightfully and, in those moments, he didn’t care about the upheaval.
Grude was confused and alarmed at this reaction and befuddled at the way he was supposed to react. She then abruptly pushed off from him, stood, and then danced, swinging the dress to flare out. Her gleaming smile grew ever wider. In her twirling and singing, she suddenly remembered the floor mirror off to the side. Her movements slowed and her face became somber. She ran her hands over her subtle curves, the light fabric. Her image, somehow not her own…but it was.
Grude, from his place still collapsed on the floor, watched as she began crying. Rare worry surfaced in him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He struggled, rising from his place on the floor and took cautious steps toward her leaving the downed chair and scraps of tulle behind. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her strange reaction.
“I’ve never looked so, so…” Welled tears rimmed her eyes.
“Beautiful,” he finished softly, looking to her eyes.
She nodded in silence. Not once had she ever felt as beautiful as she did in that moment. Tears trickled from her face and patted onto the slight bust of the dress.
He
dabbed a random swatch of fabric to the droplet on her chin. “I think you are,” he breathed allowing himself to finally say it, “my songbird.” The air between them became tight, but then he barked, “Gilden!” She jerked at the unexpected shout. It took a split second and the couple came rushing into the room.
He didn’t bother removing his glance from Cantata as he gave orders, “Give her a matching hat and perhaps a decorative, uh…I don’t know—a reticule.”
Gilden nodded nervously. No one dared question how Grude even knew what a reticule was. “Yes, yes of course.” He turned and riffled through a few boxes, sending more tulle and swatches up in the air at his hastened effort.
Grude took her hand in his. It was small in comparison to his. “I want you to take the rest of the day for yourself.” She hesitated, her thoughts going to the chores awaiting in the kitchen. He could see her mind twisting and added, “Away from the kitchen.” Reading the confusion that had washed over her face he assured, “We’ll send for the other staff and I’ll expect you to return in the evening.”
The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series Page 9
