Calia spun to find Iago behind her and the silverware flew off the tray.
"Easy, girl," he chided. "What‘s the matter?"
"Everything!" she bawled. "I have to sew his stupid shirts and I do not know-"
"Hush," he said harshly. "You mustn't speak of anything he asks of you."
Her tears paused. "But you are a servant too."
He shook his head. "But not his servant. Our king holds his privacy dear. You would do well never to speak of him to us."
She nodded her head but did not understand.
Iago gave a gentle smile. "How are your hands today?"
They had not bothered her at all and she only remembered then that they had been injured. "They are fine," she said with surprise.
"I'll come look at them again tonight," he promised, placing new silverware on the tray. "And I know Abelina will stop in to see you as well."
She wanted to cry again but at least there were a few kind souls haunting the terrible palace. With that thought she was able to force her way back up to the Cold Kings rooms.
Calia set the king's tray down exactly as he had instructed and resumed her spot back in the chair. Her mind wandered as her fingers worked. Who was so rich, so not wanting for anything that their silk shirts had to be double thick?
As she worked she worried. Calia had never had anything so fine and wondered how angry the king would be when he realized she wouldn't be able to replicate such perfect work.
But still she sat in the chair while he scribbled furiously and tried to piece together why and how the shirt was fashioned.
The tiny muscles in her fingers were cramped and her vision blurry before he finally spoke. "You are excused for the evening."
She breathed a sigh of relief and dumped everything from her lap into the basket.
"Manners!" he reminded her sharply. She struggled to rise gracefully from the chair on numb legs and hobbled over to his desk.
"Can I get you anything before I leave? Your Majesty," she added hastily.
"No, thank you," he said and waved her away. "Stop," he suddenly commanded.
She turned around slowly, afraid of what he would say. Most likely it would be something disparaging about her looks or lack of grace, but he surprised her. "Through the patio of the west wing there is a private yard. You are never to go there. Ever."
Calia opened her mouth and he glared through the slits of his glittering mask.
She could not help it; she rushed for the door and slammed them shut behind her.
In the room she had barely begun to think of as hers she stripped off the claustrophobic dress and dove at the bathtub, flipping the handles until hot water poured out. She had to ease herself in and even then she knew she would be an angry shade of red when she got out.
Nothing was right and nothing made sense but she hadn't been hurt this day and was still free to indulge in the most glorious thing she had ever felt.
Water closed in over her head as she sunk down. What did he want? For her to sew his fancy shirts? It did not sound like a lot but she did not think she could spend eternity trapped in that room with him trying to complete perfection in the form of a garment.
Calia broke the surface and experimented with all the little bottles lining the edge of the tub. For a slave it seemed she was well kept. The thought made her stomach turn but part of her could not help but think what she would be doing if she were home. She would just be starting the dishes after stoking the fire and heating the water. Her hands would soon be water logged and sore and yet the pile still had to be done. At home, bedtime would be a long way off if she had any hopes of getting all her chores done and not earning a beating. At home, sleep would mean sharing an itchy straw mattress with her sister and listening to her mother snore.
Calia was already soundly asleep in her bed when Iago and Abelina came.
They peered at her from the door, watching her sweet face twitch in the moonlight.
"She seems to be all right," Abelina whispered.
"She's very strong," Iago whispered back.
"I just worry for her, being stuck so close to him."
The gardener put a hand on her shoulder. "She'll be alright. Maybe she'll even be the one."
Abelina sighed. "There is no ‘one'. This curse will never end."
"Maybe not," Iago replied. "But he should not have to spend eternity alone as the Cold King. And she is so very different from all the rest."
Abelina gave a sad nod before turning from the doorway.
Calia balanced the breakfast tray on one hand and knocked with the other. Her arm shook with the weight of the king's meal and she nearly crashed through the door as she opened it. His exasperated sigh echoed out into the hallway and tears threatened again as she straightened up and steadied the expensive teapot on the tray.
"Set it here," he reminded her, rushing her over to the desk. She set it down and he waited with arms crossed, leaning back in his chair. "Well? You may serve me."
Her cheeks flamed and her hands hovered over all the specialty cups and utensils on the tray. "I am sorry, Your Majesty. I do not know how to serve."
"What kind of household did you grow up in?" he snapped. "Surely your mother prepared you for marriage?"
The heat in her cheeks grew, but this time from anger. "No, she did not. That's why I was chosen to come here."
He steepeled his fingers and regarded her over the perfect, oval tips. "I have no doubt that you will make an excellent personal servant, I just did not realize you would be so lacking in basic skills." He stood from his desk and motioned for her to follow him. "No matter, Abelina shall assist you with these matters."
Calia struggled to keep up with him then almost slammed into his back when he stopped at the door to his dressing room. "Sorry," she mumbled.
He said nothing, just ushered her in. A small woman in a plain dress with a measuring tape looped around her neck sat on small stool as if waiting.
"That's not Abelina," Calia said, edging into the room.
The king pressed a finger to his temple as if pained. "No, it is not. I did not anticipate having to teach you basic table setting and serving. This is my dress maker."
Calia turned back to the king. "I already have dresses."
"No, you had rags that I burned. You have cast off dresses that I have given you but you need several more. I cannot let you be seen in such poorly fitting attire."
‘But who is there to see me?' she wondered. Perhaps she would have better luck getting answers from the dressmaker.
The Cold King shut the door behind him as he left and the woman hopped up. "I need you down to your shift," she said. Calia complied with embarrassment, undressing until she stood in her only her thin, cotton undergarment. "Now up on the stool, arms out."
She did as she was instructed and waited patiently while the woman carefully measured every length of her. "My name is Calia," she finally said when the woman remained silent for so long.
"I know. Keep your chin up." The woman kept measuring.
"Oh, that's very kind of you. I think I am doing all right-"
"No, I mean keep your chin up. I need you to stay still while I measure."
Calia jerked her head back up and gave a little sigh. If she had been hoping to make a new friend she was sorely disappointed.
Finally finished with her measurements, the woman stood back and eyed Calia up and down. Calia shifted nervously on the stool. "You have unusual coloring," the woman finally commented.
"Yes," Calia agreed unhappily.
"No matter," the dressmaker said. She picked up a huge swath of fabrics in all different colors and held them up to Calia's face.
Calia risked friendliness again. "What's your name?"
"Imogene." The woman draped a royal blue piece of fabric around her neck and stepped back to look. A tiny smile turned her mouth up and she stepped forward to toss on a deep purple fabric. Her smile deepened and she swept them off to replace them with a black and white swath. "Excellent," she breathed.
Calia was confused. "What are you doing?"
"Matching colors to your skin and hair tones. And the colors that best compliment you are also the ones that best compliment the king."
Calia shook her head, still confused. "Why does that matter?"
Imogene threw a dark burgundy swath around her neck, shook her head and tore it off. "A king should always look immaculate. I dress our king to look his best and his servants to look their best but it doesn't always work that the servant compliments the master."