Free The Poison Throne by Celine Kiernan Page A

lavender paper and nets of dried roses, gilly-flowers and orange pomanders. She noticed with surprise that they had been aired. Over the years, someone had taken care to regularly shake and hang them. Marni, perhaps? Or some maid who had been terribly fond of her mother?
    Comprehension dawned, and Wynter mentally slapped herself for her romantic notions. No one had taken care of these dresses through devotion to her mother! Most likely these had, until recently, been the property of some Lady’s maid-in-waiting. Poor girl, made to give up her wardrobe all of a sudden to its previous owner. I’d better watch for scissors in the dark and pins in my soup , she thought as she laid each lovely creation on the bed.
    She hoped their last owner hadn’t altered them too much, as her father had told her she was very like her mother in size and shape, and the dresses should fit her pretty well had they not been fiddled with.
    Mamma had good taste , she thought as she ran her hand down the rich fabric of one of the dresses. They were cut to the old style, bold clean lines and simple skirts that hung straight down from just below the bosom. Long wide sleeves with contrasting linings and trim. Each had a tight-fitting, long-sleeved silk shift to wear beneath. She decided that she liked them very much; their beautiful colours and elegant simplicity appealed to her. The new style amongst the courtiers up North was all ribbons and swags and little capes and round hats that perched on the back of the head. She would be considered hopelessly old-fashioned and plain in these. Not to mention freakishly short , she thought. She was generally considered to be a small person, but the new fashion for high cork heels and built up soles in both men’s and women’s shoes would really emphasise her lack of stature.
    Wynter giggled at the thought of Razi adding those extra inches to his already ridiculous height, and Christopher, with all his slippery grace, tottering along on heels. She doubted they would be indulging in the fad. And what about Albi, he… Wynter cut short her thoughts of Albi, hilarious as he would be in heels, broad, bullish and bounding as he was, or had been. She swallowed and turned her attention back to the dresses.
    It didn’t take her long to choose, and she slipped into sage green satin, embroidered with sprigs of pale roses, with pale rose lining to the sleeves. The matching shift covered her arms to the wrist and puckered at her bosom above the neckline of the bodice. It was surprisingly easy to move in this outfit and she was comfortably cool in the evening air.
    She considered trying to do something with her hair, tucking it into one of her mother’s pearl studded nets or coiling it or pinning it somehow, but she was a lost cause when it came to hair and she just brushed it out of its long plait and let it fall around her shoulders and down to her shoulder blades in glossy, cracking waves.
    What are you? she thought as she examined herself in the mirror. She looked like a doll; her pale face with its constellations of freckles floating in a wavy sea of hair; her usually busy hands resting against the green of her dress, her arms encased in rose coloured silk. She ran her hands across the fabric of her skirt, feeling the calluses on her palms snag and catch. The familiar weight of the dagger she always carried was missing, but there was no place for a weapon in this formal attire. She lifted the skirts, revealing her scuffed felt indoor-boots and grinned. That’s what you are , she told herself, you are work-hardened hands, you are scuffed boots under a satin skirt . She looked herself in the eyes. Don’t forget it , she told herself.
    Razi and Christopher came knocking just as she was considering rousing her father. She drew the bolt and stood back to let them in. Razi was standing in the door, his hand poised to knock again, and Christopher was lounging against the wall across from them, as if he intended to wait