Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
The clothes Klemena had brought me placed me firmly into the tress category. The outfit started with a dark green chemise, a thin, loosely fitted underdress. The sleeves looked like something that had popped right out of a medieval movie: trumpet shaped, with a drawstring casing running along the forearms. Pulling the string shortened the sleeves to above the elbow, leaving the arms bare, which was probably handy for cooking and cleaning. I left the sleeves down.
Over the chemise, I wore a simple sage-green gown, which I had promptly put on backward on my first try. The dress had a deeper neckline, so about an inch of the chemise showed above it. Its bodice laced on the sides to adjust fit, and its loose ungathered skirt came down to my ankles. The fabric felt like a sturdy version of linen.
The dress came with a built-in bra, which seemed to have an underwire of some sort. Its short sleeves ended right about where a T-shirt sleeve would hit. The left sleeve had a small inner pocket on the inside of the arm, just big enough to hide a few coins. I slid Everard’s den into it.
The simple cloth shoes with thin soles were a little loose on my feet, but I would make do. A gray cloak completed the outfit. It featured a deep hood and a large inside pocket with a grommet in it to which you could chain your purse. I hid the rest of my money there.
I had asked for an outfit that wouldn’t make me stand out, and neither the clothes nor the shoes looked new. The color of the dress had faded, the hem of the cloak had frayed, and the shoes had grime stains, the kind that form on fabric after frequent use. I didn’t care. Shoes were amazing. Clothes were pretty up there, too. And the boost of confidence I got from no longer running around literally butt naked was truly priceless.
I braided my hair into a simple plait—I hadn’t seen a single woman with a ponytail or a plain bun—tied it with a bit of string I pulled from the cloak’s fraying hem, and looked in the mirror.
Good enough.
“Klemena?”
No answer.
Hmm. I opened the door. The short hallway was empty. My attendant had vanished.
I eyed the door at the other end of the hallway. Behind it lay the main floor of the Garden and all the wonders and dangers it held.
Hiding in the room and waiting for Klemena would be safer, but there was magic beyond that door. I had no idea how long I would be in Rellas. For all I knew, whatever force had brought me here could yank me out of this world and hurl me back into my own bed at any moment. Even if I was stuck in Rellas, once I walked out of the Garden tomorrow I would probably never return. I simply didn’t have the money. This was my only chance to take it all in. If I missed it, I would kick myself for the rest of my life.
I walked down the hallway, edged the door open, and slipped out.
In front of me, the main floor gleamed, like a swirl of bright paint with an occasional burst of glitter. The mage who had conjured the butterflies was gone. The dancers were back, wearing golden dresses that would’ve been skimpy back home and were scandalous here. They danced more slowly this time, framing a man in the middle of the stage like flowers.
The man was shockingly beautiful, tall, lean, dressed in black, his skin the color of deep ochre, his black hair worn in a long braid over his shoulder. He sat in a chair, leaning a strange stringed instrument against himself like a cello player and drawing a bow across the strings, seemingly lost to the music. The melody that spilled out sounded almost like a person singing, beautiful and haunting.
The main floor was about half full. Most of the patrons were men in expensive clothes, although I counted four women in beautiful gowns. Three of them watched the musician, while the fourth flirted with a handsome man at her table. The man wore red and white—one of the Garden’s attendants.
Three men emerged from the entrance tunnel. The first, dark haired, tan, and muscular, had to be a bodyguard of some kind. He wore dark pants, mid-calf boots, and a black doublet with silver embroidery. He walked in, scanned the floor as if he were looking for threats, and stepped to the side.
Another man followed, with a second bodyguard close behind. He was about six foot two or six foot three and solid, with broad shoulders and a wide pale face, made wider by a chin strap beard. His light brown hair, probably naturally wavy, fell on the left side of his face in a fringe cut. He wore black as well, but his outfit must’ve cost about ten times more than his bodyguard’s.