After a long, hot bath, the servants guided to a luxurious dressing room. A dry, middle-aged woman arrived a few minutes later, introducing herself as a tailor.
"Oh, you poor thing," she fussed, twirling around my slender body and taking asurents. She spent the most ti examining my Sunpurged shoulder, taking the surface area of the wound and the distance it extended down my bicep. Hot tingles crept through my body as her fingers traced around the glowing lines, but I held still until she finished. The tailor then asked for my preferences, which I readily supplied, inspired by the off-shoulder dresses I’d worn at the Divine Throne.
The tailor jotted down a few notes and left, promising to return in a few hours before the banquet. anwhile, the remaining servants, who were all Beastkin slaves, found a loose, sleeveless dress for to wear in the anti, and I was ushered to a guestroom.
Alone, I tried to lie down, but the constant ache of the Sunpurge prevented any real rest. No matter how I turned, the wound seed to flare up, forcing to rise with a tired sigh. Given ti, I was sure I could get used to the pain, but for now, it was too fresh. At least it wasn’t like the Slave Crest, which was designed to be impossible to ignore.
One thing had been bothering – my staff. Traditionally, using a magic item required threading mana through a focus, the large crystal atop the staff in this case. But with Soul Casting, that mana never left my soul, making it impossible to use both. Soul Casting was efficient and flexible, but the staff’s mana enhancent and recycling abilities were invaluable. Without those abilities, I would have been unable to cast half as many Fire Shields in the dungeon. If I could sohow combine them, it would create a compound effect that eclipsed either alone.
With nothing else to do, I began crafting and testing theories. When the Tailor returned with my new wardrobe, I was sitting on the bed, exhausted from my efforts.
"Resting’s over!" she exclaid. "Let’s get you out of those rags and ready for a feast!"
She pulled at my hand, urging to my feet. I eyed the crimson dress folded over her forearm warily and shied away as the maids reached for my clothes. The sting of the suffering and humiliation from my last banquet still lingered, and I wasn’t eager to repeat them.
The maids were persistent, and I ended up surrendering myself to their attention. But when they held a mirror up, I turned away, murmuring, "It’s fine."
"What’s the matter, dear? You look gorgeous!" the tailor said, plucking at the silken fabric of my skirt. "I had so dresses about your size which didn’t take much to alter. Considering your unique situation and, uh, biology, I was worried whether they’d work, but now I’m more than satisfied."
Teased by her honeyed words, I gave in and peered at myself. The dress was simple, and graceful, emphasizing my slender figure yet sohow accommodating my tail. The off-shouldered sleeves and low neckline cleanly skirted the gentle pulse of the Sun Purge while also exposing the slave crest. Running a self-conscious hand along my horn, I lightly blushed at the seemingly indecent pattern.
The seamstress frowned, mistaking my embarrassnt for worry, and waved another servant forward, presenting a soft, red cloak. "Lord Griffon insisted I offer this to you the instant he heard of your situation. It might be difficult to wear due to your injury, but it’s enchanted to be weightless and offer protection against light weapons and projectiles. Would you like to try it on?"
After quickly scanning the cloak with the Eyes of Fate, I leaned forward thoughtfully. But, even after confirming her words, I couldn’t bring myself to accept. The cloak seed a perfect solution to the problem of the Sunpurge, but the issue felt much deeper to . After so internal debate, I reluctantly shook my head. "Thank you, but I won’t wear it tonight. Please place it with my things for when we leave."
She nodded thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin and watching with interest until I coughed awkwardly. "As you wish."
As she began storing the new outfits in my spacial storage, the maids attacked my hair. Weeks of travel had left it a tangled ss, and they seed to take great pleasure in combing the snarls out, giggling whenever I winced in pain. When at last they finished, I discovered with so delight the shining, crimson curls brushed the bottom of my shoulder, having grown during our adventures.
"Perfect!" The Seamstress clapped her hands. She smiled as everyone jumped and handed my spatial satchel, outfitted with the new wardrobe she’d prepared. "Everything’s in order. What do you say we get you to the feast? I can’t stand the thought of denying everyone the chance to behold your beauty!"
We parted ways shortly after leaving the guest chambers, leaving with a pair of beastkin slaves to lead the way. They chattered with excitent, pacing ahead before glancing over their shoulders and waiting for to catch up.
"You must love this place," I murmured, surprising both of them.
Baffled, a cat-eared girl, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, asked, "I’m sorry, what?"
"Never mind. Sorry to disturb you." I shook my head, dismissing their confusion, and fell into thought.
All of the slaves in Viriden seed to be in high spirits, quite unlike the ones I’d encountered in the Divine Throne, not to ntion the terror I’d observed in High Valley. Soltair had once ntioned prejudice lessened the further one distanced themselves from the Roann, which might be the case. Either way, I was glad to see the slave crest allowed for more than suffering and despair. Perhaps I could hope, after all.
The doors to the banquet hall were thrown wide open, revealing hundreds of soldiers locked in just as many conversations. The hall was smaller than its counterpart at the Divine Throne and lacked much of the ornants and wealth, yet had a warm, familiar feel. Soltair, Trithe, and Fyren joined before long as we awaited the steward to announce our arrival. , The maids waved onward, smiling and giggling as they joined the other servants headed to the kitchens.
"Not bad," Soltair said, giving an appreciative look. A faint blush ward my cheeks as his gaze lingered on my figure, but Trithe’s glare quickly put an end to it.
"Thanks," I muttered, looking away as the blonde-haired girl swiveled to scowl at . I coughed and, after a mont, t her eyes. "Are you feeling alright?"
Her hand flew to her stomach, fingers caressing her gown where the scar had been. ’I’m fine," she snapped, then added more softly, "But thanks."
As she turned away, Soltair chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around her. "Don’t be like that. Weren’t you just saying she saved your life?"
Her gaze sharpened, flashing a jealous look, and she pushed him away. "Whatever. Like I said: thanks."
Soltair frowned but let it go. His eyes returned to my chest before flitting up to my horns, and he furrowed his brow in concern. "Didn’t you want to wear a cloak or sothing?"
I picked at the hem of my skirt, bunching it up in my fingers before relaxing my grip. "Well, I was thinking it might be ti to, you know..."
"No?" he said, looking at in confusion.
I sighed, conscious of my tail twitching behind . "That’s alright. Let’s get going. I think they are ready to announce us."
He looked like he wanted to discuss it further, but Trithe pulled him away, shooting another look. Fyren muttered sothing under his breath, and I vaguely caught the word "idiots," before striding after them, dragging along behind him. The powerful voice of the steward offered our introductions, and the room erupted into cheers.
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