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Zimzi
From her parents’ room at the top of the Inn, Zimzi could see the party being set up in the front yard. She longed to go down and help out in some way . . . or at least to talk to the interesting newcomers she’d picked out from the window view. But her mother would have none of that. The dress that Aman had given her was beautiful, but there a few places it needed to be altered to fit Zimzi well.
And after that there was the hair to think about . . . and what color shawl . . . and shoes . . . and earrings and necklaces and on and on . . .
You’re my only daughter, Zimziran!’ her mother had admonished her. ‘Let me fuss over you while I might.’
Zimzi had acquiesced, spending the morning in idle chatter and the small projects her mother deemed important to the day. She’d sat herself in a chair by the open window and often looked down to check on the progress of the party preparations. At one point, early in the day, she’d seen her two brothers in close conversation, laughing as they spoke together. She’d wondered what that had been about, but then they started walking and were lost to view as they rounded the corner of the Inn. Making for the stable, she thought, smiling a little to herself . . . Derufin would be there. She wished he would come out to the yard so that she might see him. But fortune did not smile her way . . . and soon enough she was called into the other room where her mother and the ever-present dress were waiting . . .
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