Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Twenty
When I awake the next day, I decide to do things differently. Sigrid fusses over the scrape on my forehead and applies a pungent ointment that she swears will help.
It’s certainly vile enough to rival the tonic she gave me for the mountain sickness, so I can at least trust in its efficacy.
After my bath, I sit down to breakfast alone, but I’m not quite ready to let Sigrid leave.
“I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something?” I begin.
“Mistress?” Her voice is just a hair on the hesitant side, bringing home the unwelcome realization that I’m considered a wild card here.
“It’s been too cold for me to stray from my rooms very much,” I explain, realizing full well how feeble my excuse is. “But I was thinking, if I had warmer clothing, that I might be able to get out more. You know, around other people.”
Sigrid stares at me silently, her veil concealing her features. I’m not sure exactly what she thinks of what I’ve said until she closes the gap between us in three long strides, takes my face in her gloved hands, and presses her veiled face to the top of my head.
“You make me so happy, today,” she says, her voice lighter than it has been in weeks. “I have just the things for you. Come.”
She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me to the wardrobe where she placed all of the clothes I brought with me.
Moving aside the gauzy dresses, she pulls open the lid to a chest within the wardrobe, one that I had no idea was even there, and removes several articles of clothing.
Laying them out on my bed, she fusses until I can see the full outfit.
White and grey fur-lined pants accompany a long-sleeved fitted top of the same material. What had looked barbaric on our wedding day appears somehow softer now, more welcoming and practical in a way that appeals to my own pragmatic nature.
It must have just been the man wearing them who made them so off-putting before.
What catches my attention and nearly steals my breath is the hooded cape she has provided. Not only is it a practical solution for the chill I can never seem to shake, something no one has yet thought to offer me, but it’s red.
All this time, I’ve felt so...distant, so unseen, so very different from the rest of the castle. But Sigrid saw my wedding dress and the rest of my wardrobe and, instead of trying to force me into the dreary gray way of life here, she infused that gloom with color. My favorite color. And she made it feel like mine.
I run my hands over it, studying every inch of the stunning garment. Deep shades of crimson and ruby and garnet form an abstract pattern of roses in the soft crushed velvet. My breath hitches at the harsh memories and the constant reminder that the flower brings to mind.
The whole glorious thing is offset by bright white fur lining, lending the gorgeous cloak even more warmth.
Even if I can never gaze at the cursed flowers without seeing my sister in their every stem, petal, and even each thorn, I will wear the clothes with pride.
I will imagine her at my side, lending me her endless well of optimism, her own brand of strength, in a world with far too little of it.
I swallow, taking in the matching boots and thick, warm socks that my toes can hardly wait to wiggle into.
“Thank you,” I say, choking back the emotion that has come unbidden, as I hold the items close to me to compare the sizes.
“I am have them made when you get here. But when you stay in your bed so much, is no use.”
Normally, her chastisement might chafe, but I am too grateful to focus on anything else now. Besides, she’s not wrong.
“I know. I’ll be better.”
“You will.” She says it in that tone that’s half encouragement, half command, but she definitely has to swallow a couple of times to get it out.
“I thought I might start with dinner tonight...” I bait the idea to see what reaction I will get.
“Yes. Wonderful!” She says the W like a V, and her excitement would be contagious if I didn't know it would be another evening of other people watching while I eat.
I want to ask why they even meet for dinner, but she is so happy and there is no tactful way to phrase the question. So instead, I nod my head.
“Perfect. It’s settled, then. Will you be there, too?”
“Not this night. I rest. You go.”
Unexpected nerves assault my stomach like the persistent flies down by the wharf, the ones that never leave you alone. But I’ve already decided this is the best course of action going forward. There’s hardly any sense in backing down now.