Claiming The Remnant

Chapter 9

[ Taiya ]

Grace and Han let me sleep in the padded chair in front of the fire until the seamstress and the hairdresser His Majesty had requested for me arrived. Sleeping in the chair was perhaps not the best idea as the awkward position was undoing all the positive effects the bath had on my poor muscles but the exhaustion was overwhelming. 

“Lady Esther, this is Isha and Izla.” Ms Doran introduced the two identical ladies in front of me. 

“We are honoured to meet you, Lady Esther.” They said in unison while also curtsying in perfect synchronization. 

They were neither tall nor short, having an average stature. They were neither thin nor fat. In fact they were so average that they were impossible to describe. Other than their fashionable day dresses being in differing shades of pink the only difference between them was that Izla had a streak of pink in her hair that Isha didn’t. I wondered if it was a point of contention between the twins, that one had magic and the other didn’t. Appearances could be deceiving though so perhaps all was not as it seemed.

“Isha will…” Izla started.

“No sister! How many times do I need to tell you! You need to do the hair first!” Isha interrupted huffily. 

“But Isha, I need time to study my canvas and how can I fashion her hair to suit if I don’t know what she will wear!” Izla, with her pink streak, was pouting and practically stomping her foot. 

“Izla, for the last time, hair first! I need the finished raw product. How else can I accentuate the outstanding hairstyle you will create!” Isha pouted right back.

“Well of course you are right sister, my work does need to be complimented just so or it would never do.” The sisters hugged and kissed each other's cheek before becoming a flurry of activity. 

A small army flooded the quarters, clearing furniture and bringing in equipment. I must say I don’t think I’d ever seen anything quite like it. Amongst the clamour and ensuing chaos I managed to find a moment to inconspicuously lean over to Grace.

“Are they always like that?” I asked, feeling quite startled by the fanfare continuing to unfold before me. They were now arguing over where the chair should go. Izla wanted the natural light of the window but Isha thought that the balcony would be even better.   

“Unfortunately, yes.” Grace whispered back clearly disenchanted with the whole parade. She patted my leg (which was entirely inappropriate) and proceeded to make her way over to the twins. 

“Isha, Her Ladyship has not been well recently and so I’m afraid the balcony is out of question.” Grace told the pair, settling the argument. I was please at that. All the bustle and noise was starting to give me a headache and of course I was still so very tired.

“See Isha, the window is best.” Izla then stuck her tongue out at her sister and Grace walked away sighing. A sound of someone who has been long suffering if ever did I hear it.   

Finally everything was in place. The chair had been positioned 'just so' by the window. A large desk had been brought in and filled with all manner of hair products and styling tools. All Isha's equipment had been brought in too but it had not yet been set up. I had not played attention to how the room had looked before, having been as tired and confused as I was, but it was certainly very cluttered now.

"My canvas! I need my canvas!" Izla announced dramatically. Perhaps if I did not feel so unwell and trepidatious of the entire matter I might have found it all comical but as it was I found myself ill at ease.

"Izla, no one called for such theatrics." Her sister scolded with a roll of her eyes. "Lady Esther, please come and sit for my sister."

Despite her sister's admonishments Izla continued with the dramatic flare. 

"Oh dear, deary, deary me. Who did this to your hair! Such sacrilege! This won't do." Her delicate hands were all over my head. They pulled and pinched and twisted what seemed like every inch of my limp auburn hair as she muttered and exclaimed. "Hummm, what to do?" She pondered.

"Sister we do not have all day!" Isha fretted.

"I was going to let you go first so stop complaining!" Izla told her. The bickering began in earnest with poor me stuck in between. My head was beginning to pound, the shrill sound of their voices - identical voices, drilling right into the centre of my brain. It was like listening to someone argue with themselves.

"Enough!" I raised my voice just a fraction, addressing them both with a commanding tone. 

They both looked at me and then at each other.

"Pay up." Isha told Izla. "I win." She grinned ear to ear before they both started giggling.

I couldn't believe my ears. It appeared that I was the subject of some entirely inappropriate behaviour. 

"I will not sit here and continue to be made a mockery of." I snipped standing up. The movement was too fast. My head went light and my stomach suddenly was awash with churning nausea. Quickly I reclaimed my seat but the symptoms did not dissipate. Only after I had vomited the tiny content of my stomach into the bowl Han had held out for me did I feel any better. Of course my throat burned with the acid and my stomach felt sore but it was bearable.

The room had fallen silent. I was shaking a little, the exertion from emptying my stomach had simply been too much. Han wiped my face with a warm cloth and handed me a glass of water. I was greatly appreciative of her attentiveness. 

It would not do to cry, most unladylike in the setting, but the tears were threatening. They gathered in the corners of my eyes, hot beads ready to escape at the most minuscule provocation. 

"This has been the most horrendous day." I told no one in particular. Then I remembered the gleaming array of, mostly wickedly sharp, instruments on that table in the dungeon. Today could have been so much worse. The tears could not be stopped now. They came hot and stinging, as tears do, breaking the silence of the room.