“It’s noticeable,” Ner tutted.

          Issi winced as the maid dabbed at her cheek.  She moved the brush to the palette hidden in the array of pastes, perfumes, and oils she’d lined across Issi’s vanity, muttering her discontent. Ner had already claimed she’d finished, gone to line Issi’s eyes with kohl and declared that she wasn’t satisfied as she took the brush again.

          “It’s fine,” Issi’s reflection was pretty enough.  The Grand Mage enjoyed showing how Chousalian Issi was, so he’d ordered Ner to go for a “traditional Chousalian feel” when specifying her make-up.  This had resulted in Issi’s dark lined eyes and a smattering of gold dots travelling along her cheekbones and across her brow.  A few Chousalian letters spelled in white ink just beneath her hairline, if she cared to put them together it read tree, tree, tree, tret, tree.

As far as Issi was concerned the slight rising of the skin just beneath her right eye was nearly unnoticeable.  Besides, with the gown she was wearing, people were hardly meant to look at her face.

          “It’s not, ‘fine’,” Ner insisted, she pressed at Issi’s cheek with renewed vigor, “This is the King’s Dinner, not some lady’s tea party.”

          Issi wished it were. She’d give anything to spend the evening grimacing over tea while ladies probed her for news of the Grand Mage’s decline.  

          The maid clicked her tongue and gestured towards Issi’s lips.  Issi’s eyes darted to the palette she was studying. 

          Curiosity loosened her tongue, “Which color?” she asked, then blushed as the maid gave her a knowing look.

          “Same as always,” Ner gestured to an autumnal red, “It compliments your skin.”

          Issi leaned towards her.  Her mind whirled quietly with marigold yellows, sunset oranges, poppy reds, rose pinks, deep violets, starless night blacks, glittering golds, and sky blues.

          If she had the chance to decide what she’d wear herself, what color would she pick?

          Ner frowned as Issi’s forehead wrinkled, “None of that.”

          Maybe she’d ignore the palette altogether, buy one of her own.  Something simpler.  But the color—

          “Issi,” the maid snapped.

          Maybe she’d decide not to wear make-up at all.

Ner flicked her forehead, thoughts of colors disintegrated in favor of the maid’s honey-colored eyes, “What’s got you thinking?”

          Issi fidgeted.  She’d been seated for bells as Ner organized her hair into hundreds of neat braids that had to be coaxed into staying by wax and fire, “…who do you think I would’ve been if I’d been born anyone else?”

          The maid stiffened, the stump on her left hand ticked nervously, “You were born you, Issi.”

          That was where the conversation was meant to stop. Issi felt the edges of Ner’s reluctance the same way she felt for her master’s moods.  But there was something about this she couldn’t let go.

Her heart skipped as she broke past Ner’s quiet barrier, “Yes, but what if I hadn’t been?  Do you think I could have been a musician, or a dancer…,” she swallowed and searched the maid’s face, “a mage?”

          “Issi,” Ner’s voice rang with disapproval, Issi quailed at the sound of it.  She shouldn’t have pressed, “You have an important purpose here.  The Grand Mage would be lost without you. He loves you, so stop these silly thoughts.”

          Issi looked at her hands running her thumb over the scars.  Silly, yes, it was silly.

          She winced as Ardein’s words continued to circle in her head, What if you could be more than a tool? 

It was too dangerous to consider.  She didn’t have the papers to be a mage, and even if she could arrange for them, she knew nothing about living outside the palace walls.  Even the coins she’d hidden in the garden were a mystery to her, just trinkets she’d collected and thrown about because that seemed like something she was meant to do.

          Ner continued painting Issi’s lips in silence. When she finished, she leaned back and gave a small, satisfied smile, her honey eyes warm with motherly affection, “So very pretty.  You’ll be the talk of the dinner.”

          Issi tried to smile in return. Butterflies circled in her stomach. She’d be talked about regardless.  If it wasn’t her status, it would be her dress, or her heritage, or her make-up.

          Ner handed her a pair of gloves and Issi donned them obediently before ticking her chin up to meet her reflection in the mirror.

          Issi watched as the maid set a leather collar around her throat. Gold embossing flashed in the evening light denoting Issi’s status as a Pet belonging to a high noble.  The crow stamped into the side informed people of precisely whom.

          The maid worked quietly with the lacing that ran up the back, her fingers working deftly, until she fumbled with the knot.

          “Now, don’t go all quiet on me,” Ner prompted, “We’re almost done, aren’t you excited?”

          What if you could be more than a tool?

          Gods, why couldn’t she just stop.  The idea was infuriating, it stuck like jam to the inside of her skull and refused to quiet.  She wasn’t a child anymore, there was no point playing pretend with ideas that could never take root.  She might as well be wondering what she’d do if she could pluck stars from Ose’s skies.

          Issi sighed, her face crumpling, “Ner, it’s been years since I’ve left the wing in any official capacity.”

          “You’ll be fine,” she hummed, “It’s not something you’d forget.”

          But she wanted to, the eyes, the whispers, the plastered smile that made her cheeks ache. She’d spend the whole night balancing her master’s need to show her off with his desire to monopolize her. Everything would be so much easier if she could just stay inside and curl into one of the Grand Mage’s fat-pillowed chairs.

          “Cheer up, there’ll be delicious food,” the maid tried, “And dancing,” when that failed to get a reaction, she grinned playfully and tugged at one of the braids framing Issi’s face, “If you’re quick, maybe you can try some of the wine.”

          Issi’s lip quirked at the idea.  She’d spent years hearing the whispers of maids and watching what she could of the festivals from the window.  To say she wasn’t, at least the smallest bit curious was like denying the seasons.

          Maybe she could at least taste what they’d been talking about.

          The door opened, and Ner let the braid fall back before scurrying to the far corner of the cage. Issi mourned the loss of her even as she struggled to understand why the Grand Mage had come into the cage rather than wait for Ner to escort her to the wing’s main hall.

“Good evening, master,” she stood and dropped into a curtesy, trying to make sense of his mood. He seemed…wound, the sides of his eyes crinkled with stress.

His attention flickered across her face before shifting to Ner.

Issi tried not to follow his gaze and failed.  She shoved betrayal she felt at the reverence that bloomed across Ner’s face somewhere she couldn’t reach.  The maid had always looked at the Grand Mage like she was seeing a god. She’d worn the same beatific expression the day he relieved her of her thumb.

Even as Issi screamed and wailed for him to stop.

“Was there nothing to be done about the swelling?” he asked.

The maid’s voice wavered, she spoke carefully as if raising her voice in prayer, “I’m afraid not.”

Ner flushed as his attention lingered, her hands tugging fitfully at her servant’s greys, “You did well.”

She beamed, “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

She was still grinning as she hurried away, offering Issi a wink as she slipped over the threshold.

The Grand Mage hummed tunelessly as his fingers probed the skin on Issi’s cheek.  His eyes raked down her body, he liked putting her in tight things that clung to her like spider’s silk with necklines that plunged between her breasts.  He smirked quietly to himself, satisfied, “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

He kissed her briefly on the lips, “You look beautiful.”

Pride flared in Issi’s chest.  Even after all this time, some small part of her reveled in his attention and yearned for more, pursuing kindness that she’d never reach.  She forced a smile, “I am beautiful.  You look well yourself.”