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Giledhel
From her wardrobe Giledhel plucked out her garnet dress, soft rich velvet with sheer sleeves from which the tips of her fingers would just barely peek. She laid it on her bed, careful not to wrinkle it and then fussed about the bottom of the wardrobe for the pair of matching shoes. She had danced with Malris in this dress, she recalled, a smile touching her lips. And where had her jewelry box got off to – there was a string of garnets on a fine gold chain he had given her. Her choice of raiment for the party changed daily or more often, depending on how her mind flitted about in her skewed stream of days and hours.
She was excited about the promise of dancing with Malris again, of being in his arms. Her brow puckered as she thought on how often he was gone now – busy with his tasks and his men and that wo . . . No! She would not go down that path today, she told herself. He will be all mine tonight; his eyes on me; his arms about my waist as we dance.
Giledhel smoothed the hair back from her brow, catching it back with a thin blue ribbon. ‘I’ll just work on my weaving a bit,’ she told herself. ‘That always soothes me.’ She picked up her cherrywood shuttle and stood looking for a moment at her design. Muffled voices from the corridor caught her attention; she turned to see who might be at her door.
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