Page 26 of Song of the Dawn
But each time I closed my eyes, I saw the hunched shape again, felt the cold air, and smelled that foul scent. I couldn’t help but think of Endia and what had happened to her. What if something ominous and evil was out there? What if it had taken her?
* * *
For the next few days,I couldn’t shake the sensation that something was wrong. But the rhythm of the inn continued despite my trepidation. A few new lads were staying at the inn to help with the harvest of oranges. The ripe fruits were everywhere, sent up to the guest rooms on trays, an enormous basket planted in the staff lounge. More were stocked in crates and loaded into wagons to be taken to the city. It was smart of Ezra to have so many avenues for revenue.
The sweet fragrance should have made me happy, but all I recalled was that dark shadow. Briefly my thoughts went to Mother and Aveline, but I decided against writing them a letter with my frightened notions. While I wanted their advice, they could do little to comfort me from afar. Besides, nothing had happened to me, just fears that were all in my mind.
At last the weekend came, and Rachelle and I went to town to visit the dressmaker. Giselle came with us, driving the wagon, but an awkward silence stretched because of Rachelle. I felt I couldn’t speak plainly in front of her, and Giselle hummed in peace, either ignoring or oblivious to the tension.
The town was less than an hour from the inn, a fair bit to walk but nothing to the horse’s quick trot. Like Rachelle had mentioned, it was two intersecting streets with rows of buildings. It was quaint, small, and not for the first time, I wondered why the inn was so set apart from it.
The buildings were old and weather-stained, but the dressmaker shop was a spot of bright color, almost as if it did not belong. Giselle pulled up in front of the shop. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she called before clicking her tongue behind her teeth and setting off again.
I vaguely wondered what she’d be doing, but Rachelle tugged at my arm, pulling me inside.
I’d been in dress shops in Solynn, ladies fussing at one another, yards of fabric everywhere, and dresses hanging up showing off the latest fashions. In contrast, here a small woman sat behind a table, needles sticking out of her mouth as she sewed. Her dark eyes studied us as we entered, and then she rose. She was old and wrinkled, with golden-brown skin and a tight bun of midnight-black hair pulled back from her face. I guessed her to be close to Mother’s age.
“Ladies, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“This is Mila. She’s been at the inn a month but needs new clothes,” Rachelle said. “I’ve returned to pick up clothing and request a few new pieces.”
At that, the dressmaker came from behind the table and assessed me, her beady eyes roaming up and down my body. “Namen,” she announced. “It would be an honor to create a wardrobe for you. I have just the thing that will go well with your luscious hair.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I told her, wondering if she could see what clothing I should buy. I wanted to say more, but Namen turned away.
“Rachelle, welcome back. I made some alternative pieces for you, and before you protest, take them. I sent the bill up the hill, and Ezra has agreed to pay it.”
Rachelle blushed, flattered, not embarrassed.
“Same for you.” Namen wagged her finger at me. “I make. You take. Don’t worry about the price. Now stand here while I help Rachelle.”
She went to a curtain that separated the room, and waved Rachelle back. I waited while they talked, Namen scolding yet motherly, Rachelle with a tremor of excitement in her tone.
After a while, it was my turn to go behind the curtain.
It was a bright room with lots of windows. Instead of asking me what I wanted, Namen walked around me, taking measurements, asking me to hold my hands up and shaking her head fiercely when I tried to speak. She wrote notes on a pad of paper, my name scribbled at the top with the numbers I assumed were my measurements.
“You work at the Dawn,” she stated.
I nodded, almost hesitant to speak in her presence.
“But you have enough work dresses, yes?”
My face warmed under her assessment. “Yes, I have work dresses. I’d like something to wear when I’m…not working.”
Namen arched an eyebrow. Her shrewd eyes missed nothing. “After work, hm. To impress a man, no doubt.”
“Something comfortable,” I said quickly, “that is nicer than my work clothes.”
“And a dancing dress too,” she agreed. “Leave it to me. You shall be stunning.” She waved a hand at the piles of material behind her. “Purples and blues will suit you, perhaps some red, a hint of yellow, ah, and gold embellishments.”
“Nothing too extravagant,” I told her, not wanting her to send an absurd bill to Ezra. I’d have to ask Rachelle more about paying for the dresses and whether it came out of our wages.
Namen winked at me. “Let me do my work. Now go and come back in one week.”
Pressing my hands together, I moved to leave, when something else caught my eye. Little golden statues sat at the corners of the room, each one holding a different instrument. Their features were marred, as though the designer had put little thought into anything other than the instruments. One played a violin, another a piano, the third a harp, and the fourth a flute. “What are those?”
Namen followed my gaze, and for a moment, her face brightened in surprise. I wondered if anyone had taken an interest in her for who she was beyond a skilled dressmaker.
