[maikafanawen]

On arrival back in her chambers, Dryea changed quickly out of her extraordinary gown and into a midnight blue silk nightdress over which she pulled her crimson velour robe. Letting down her hair brushing it with her elaborate brush until it shown like the harvest moon. She pulled it back behind her ears to the base of her neck and clasped it with an amber stone barrette to keep our of her face as she washed in her basin.

Cupping the cool water in her hands she rinsed her face, relieving much of the tension in her nerves. She patted her face dry with a towel just as someone knocked. Dryea had been dreading it since Rhircyn left at the door with a kiss: Her mother had seen them that evening.

Dryea took a deep breath and poured herself a small glass of sherry setting the vessel back on its silver tray before she admitted the person on the other side. It was Alethea. She was tired and wished that her sister would wait until tomorrow to canvass about tonight’s events.

“So how did it go for you?” she had asked from where she had settled herself on Dryea’s bed.

“How does it always go? Conversations of politics, weather, and health with people of position and authority. A robust banquet and agreeable dancing. Always enchanting and never beneficial those balls. ‘Tis something one always grows tired of, but when the night is over she always looks forward to the next. Isn‘t that what you wanted to know? Perhaps you should right it down so that whenever you feel like asking a tired woman ‘how did it go?’ you‘ll always be able to refer to that and safe the breath and time.” Alethea laughed.

“Witty, Dryea, but predictable,” she stood and poured herself a small beaker of the amber wine tasting it tentatively. Dryea calmed down considerably, grateful to her younger sister for her patience. She took a seat on the loveseat by the fireplace, taking her feet out of her black slippers and curling them under her.

“I trust everything went well for you then?” Alethea opened her mouth to answer when a second knock came at the door.

“I’ve already gotten my fresh bedclothes, decanter of sherry, and my bath water heated what in the world do they want know?” demanded Dryea exasperatedly as she shouted for the maid to come in. The timid servant entered, her eyes on the floor. The noblewoman bit back her lip, sorry she had been cross. “Oh,” she said tenderly. “I am so sorry. It’s late and I’m right tired. Please forgive my short temper.” It was not like Dryea to chide the servants anyhow so the maid relaxed and delivered her message confidently.

“Your mother wishes your company in her chambers.” Dryea froze and Alethea looked quickly towards the maid, having to turn in her seat to see past the curtains drawn on the opposite side of the bed.

“Thank you,” said Dryea. The maid bowed and backed out, closing the door silently behind her. Alethea looked apprehensively towards her sister.

“She knows,” she whispered, clapping her left hand over her mouth, almost sloshing her sherry over the side of her cup. Dryea shrugged and set her glass down on the table, lacing up the front of her robe.

“I thought so. Well don’t look so timorous,” she said firmly. Though their mother was an imposing woman, Dryea was hardly frightened of her. “You may wait here if you wish,” she offered. “I’ll only be a moment.” Alethea shook her head.

“Thank you but no. I’m going to tuck in. Goodnight.” She left quickly, catching the end of her night dress in the door. Dryea chuckled.

Ruiel’s room was on the east wing of the citadel and a good distance from Dryea‘s and Alethea‘s rooms. Finally the tapestry of the last king of Gondor and his wife came into view marking where Ruiel’s door stood just across from it. She knocked hesitantly waiting for her mother to call her in, hopeful that whatever she had to say didn't include Rhir.