A strand of hair fell on her nose, tickling her ever so slightly every time the soft breeze would make it move from one side to the other. Around her the garden was alive with the soft sway of the leaves in the trees; if she concentrated on it, she would be able to hear the buzzing of the fireflies and bees hanging over the flowering bushes, like a soliloquy of the little workers that inhabited that artificial paradise.
She'd been reading the same page repeatedly, unable to concentrate on the words – her rebellious mind was adamant that it should be somewhere else, replaying certain conversations in her head, going over some details that had been concocted by her imagination of things to be. Almost as if the heavens had heard of her plight, a delicate butterfly fluttered over to her – red and orange, as it had been since the day she'd first seen that garden.
The butterfly knew her – it sought her specifically, posing itself on the open pages of the manuscript she was struggling to read. This was no marvel; it was one of hers, a small creation she'd come up with after an infant memory of hers had resurfaced to remind her of a cartoon show she used to like. Like she'd done before with her other creatures she'd imbued it with a sense of purpose, but no real will or intelligence. It would fly to its destination and back and nothing more, which made it an excellent tool for discreet communication.
And once it'd arrive, a single tap on its wings would turn it into paper – a strange one, stringier than what she was used to, as if it had been really made with butterfly wings. But it was perfectly serviceable, and allowed her to receive missives like the one that had just landed on her lap:
I have received some news about what will happen the night before, it read. There is of course a difference between what has been announced to the public at large and what will happen between close doors. As I've said before, a large lantern festival will be held in the streets that night, but my source says that a few of the top brass in Aurelia, at the Pleroma, have been requested to attend a private ceremony at the Temple. They have not received any more details than that.
H.
She held the letter up and burnt it. She sighed, setting the manuscript aside. Hyperion's words had done little to quieten the fire in her mind: now she only felt like speculating different scenarios, rather than doing something a bit more constructive. Those little butterflies were her only connection with the outside world, and while she appreciated the small window of opportunity they had offered her to try and find a way out of that palace, she'd found she had no patience for all that sitting around, asking questions and receiving updates from the Chaldean merchant. She was itching to do something, but sitting around and pretending everything was fine was exactly the thing she was meant to be doing.
Aurelius was blissfully unaware that she'd learnt that a wedding was meant to go ahead during the Mystae. After that evening it seemed like the preparations had begun to pick up steam, and he'd been absent for hours on end, presumably working on the necessary details for the ceremonies that were to happen. She'd wandered off in the open fields to the south of the property often while he was away, having discovered that from the top of some of the old trees she was able to get a full view of the Temple's entrance.
She witnessed various carriages coming and going, and carts full of goods making their way into the complex to leave empty. The bustle was constant, and she spotted a few times the men she'd seen at the audience hall coming out to greet their guests and show them inside. It was while she idly sat around that she had set out to find a way to communicate with the arrivals she was waiting for. At first, she thought of transforming some of the leaves in the trees to paper, and then floating the letter into an open window of a carriage – then she thought about making them into origami birds of some sort, realized she had no idea how to fold paper into animal shapes, and finally turned to the idea of folding the paper and having it fly like a butterfly. But as she made her first attempt, her aether went one step ahead and turned the paper into what seemed to be at first the actual thing, except that it didn't move. A few more tries and it was going where she willed it to; then it was changing shape when touched.
By the time she spotted Hyperion's carriage, two days after she had suggested he be called to supply the palace, they were fully functional. She was so excited when she saw it arriving that she quickly scrawled 'I was able to get you into the Temple – the Emperor knows nothing of this. I didn't know the wedding was on. If you see this, look for me tomorrow over the palace's walls, to the south. O.' in her spotty Akkadian and sent a butterfly to fly into the merchant's carriage.
Long after sunset a hesitant butterfly made her way through the winter garden to which her room opened, and very tiredly fell into her lap, dramatically losing its shape back into paper. You ought to practice your Akkadian more, my princess of chaos, the letter read. Very clever of you. H.
She wished she could've held onto that glimmer of hope that had crystallized in a few words elegantly scrawled in ink. She giggled as she thought of Hyperion's bemused face at her little trick, and with a heavy heart burned the letter, knowing she had to be careful about leaving traces that could get him in trouble. But that night she went to sleep smiling, feeling almost as light and carefree as she'd done in Arqa at some point…
The next day she sat on the roof above her own room, hiding behind a statue of an eagle that crowned the column below. She had snuck an Akkadian scroll from Aurelius' collection to amuse herself while she waited for Hyperion to arrive; trying to improve her calligraphy, she copied sections of the text. It wasn't long until his carriage was made visible in the path to the Temple's entrance – she quickly scribbled a note, forgetting she was supposed to show a more refined used of the scribal script. Tell me of what's happening outside. I can't leave – he's threatened to harm you and Phobos if I do. I was hoping the Mystae would present me with an opportunity.
A butterfly emerged from her hands as soon as the last letter had begun to dry, and off it went in search of its recipient. The little red and black smudge met the carriage midway through its journey to the Temple – it slowed down its march noticeably at some point as its owner stuck his head out looking for something in the south wall.
Only then Ophelia revealed herself, timidly waving from behind the statue. She saw Hyperion return the gesture, before sitting back inside his carriage. A few minutes later, the black and red stain fluttered away, carrying the beginning of a surprisingly active conversation:
This is a first time a Chaldean has been asked to become a knight brave enough to save the princess from the dragon. I do expect you will allow me to be cheeky after this, my lady, or my heart won't be able to take all this excitement. After I learnt that the Emperor himself had taken you to the temple, I admit I had lost hope. Send me a few of your empty butterflies, and I will send you updates over the next few days. H.
The whole ordeal would make Ophelia yearn for the convenience of phones and texting. The butterflies were decent replacements, but within the bounds of the Temple they still took an hour or two before a reply had been received, and to her who had been ruined by modern technology it was too agonizingly slow. Hyperion was fascinated by her ingeniousness, adding his own improvements to the process: he asked for butterflies in advance, so that Ophelia didn't have to keep polling him to ask for updates – she could just receive it at the right time when Hyperion heard anything relevant.
There was not a day that would pass by without several notes from the merchant. At the beginning he shared what he knew so far:
The caravans have begun to make their way back: the word has spread that the Byzantine Saintess, as they're calling you, has been found. The merchants have flooded the city in expectation of the festivals that will be held, and so the roads are veritably flooded by people from all nations. Arrangements have been made to receive diplomats and delegations from friendly nations. It seems like this spectacle is not meant for Elysian eyes alone. H.
They're preparing the notices to be proclaimed: the Mystae will begin with a ceremony at dawn in the temple, with all the other temples in the city holding sacrifices simultaneously. Foreign merchants will be allowed to trade without levies in the four squares until end. Second and third days, the Emperor will be holding baptism ceremonies and meeting close doors with the Pleroma. On the fourth day, a lantern festival. Fifth day, the wedding. Sixth day it's the proclamation – which I assume it's the official investiture of your title, followed by three days of games and races at the Imperial arena. H.
It was then that Ophelia produced a chance encounter with one of the Temple overseers; one of Ilex's peers, who had been tasked with the cleaning of the hall on that day. She snuck in as she'd done before, silencing the bell so as not to frighten him away, and through the screens she whispered a greeting. Past the initial moment of frightened reverence, he curiously drew closer, and struck a little conversation with her. "I'm very anxious about the wedding," Ophelia lied, pretending she was more of a frail, frightened bride than she was. "I keep having all these dreams where things go comically wrong, and the Empire becomes a laughingstock. It is silly, isn't it?"
"You have my sympathies, your highness, I was married just last spring. I remember how scared I was that it would all fall through at the last minute, and my bride's father would decide to give her hand to someone else."
Ophelia smiled, aware he couldn't see her. "It is a horrible feeling, it is. There are too many details to take care of. Just yesterday, I was trying to find out if the Prior had spoken to the head seamstress about the details of the fittings, but it seemed like nobody I asked knew much about the matter. It gives me the horrible feeling that too many things are being left to luck's draw."
She wasn't sure if what she was saying would make sense or not; she knew there was an office named Prior which Hyperion had dealings with. Given that the merchant had secured the deal for supplying the fabric for some of the dresses of the ceremonies to come, she assumed there was such a thing as a seamstress or a tailor who would be producing the garments. Luckily her educated guess paid off, and it brought forth an almost panicked response from the other man:
"Oh, rest assured your highness it's all being taken care of by the Lord Protector. He arrived in the city yesterday – but he has been arranging it all from Aurelia so far."
"I'm afraid my last stay at the Pleroma is a bit blurry so will you excuse me if I ask for his name?"
"Lord Ilya, your highness. He is due to visit quite regularly from tomorrow onwards, I believe he will be meeting his majesty the emperor."
Ophelia retreated from the topic and redirected the chat somewhere else before hurriedly stepping out into the nearest garden and making a brand new butterfly. She would be presumptuous to think that the Lord Protector held the same office as it was in Arqa, but she was ready to place a bet. Regardless of what his position entailed in Elysium, she was sure she'd just found the man that Hyperion would need to cosy up to find out more details about the entire Mystae.
The Chaldean, as it turned out, had a better idea of who Lord Ilya was: in his own words, a poor bloke who's only affair was to organize the affairs of others at the Pleroma, which in Ophelia's limited understanding made him akin to a whip in the British parliament. It is good to know he will be around, Hyperion wrote, I will have him followed; a chance encounter perhaps could lead to a beautiful friendship.
And a beautiful friendship it was, that in the space of two days and an evening of expensive entertainment and drinks had told Hyperion that the wedding ritual will be unique, unlike any other Elysian wedding. The emperor will take you to the altar, where seven attendants will bring seven offerings, all of which both of you will have to consume. Then both of you shall be crowned by Fortuna, and hand-fasted by the high priest. A series of miracles will take place then, although no one knows of their nature: they are to be a demonstration of yours and the emperor's might.
Mysteriously enough, that wasn't the only friend Hyperion had made that night, as he ended the missive with: the foreigners are quite chatty in this town, and many old boots are walking similar paths again. I might not be a lone knight in this quest. H.
Elucidating the meaning behind his words was a task pushed to the side when, the morning after, Aurelius showed up at her room while she was still in the process of getting out of bed.
"I had begun to think of you as a creature of the night, unable to survive sunlight," Ophelia commented, sitting up still trying to shake the sleep off her eyes.
She had grown used to having the day to herself so she could plot with Hyperion her next steps to get out of the wedding that Aurelius had yet to tell her about. But as far as he knew she had nothing to do all day but wander around the palace and read books, and it only made sense to comment on his absence after his initial few days of games and leisure together. He'd made a point of sharing dinner together with her, but he was seldom seen before sunset.
"It is a curious case of getting more and more done, yet seeing the list of pending tasks grow longer by the minute. But perhaps it is my fault – I do obsess over the little details."
He sat in one of the chairs that looked out to the garden; Ophelia got up to join him. "I am ticking off one now," he graced her with a lopsided smile. "I do know there's only so much anyone's sanity can resist if all there is to do is read old, boring scrolls. I had someone send for your maidservant, the one Aegyr had procured for you. You will be seeing her this afternoon."
Ophelia couldn't say she was someone who obsessed over future possibilities outside of what moderate amount of fantasizing she might do to remember a future different from the one she was headed to, but that was something she wouldn't have been able to see coming in a million years. "Calliope?" she whispered, shocked.
He smiled. "I heard the relationship between you two was good."
"It is – I just didn't expect to see her again, if I'm to be honest," Ophelia felt a pang of guilt that her first thought was worry that her butterflies might now attract unwanted attention if the hyperactive teenager constantly trailed after her. She was excited to see her again – the distraction of her happy chatter was something she longed for.
The reunion, however, wasn't at all what Ophelia had imagined – she had prepared herself to receive an armful of the young woman, all smiles, talking excitedly about all that had happened since they last saw each other. Instead, she saw her timid figure walking demurely in the company of a Knight towards her room: Ophelia stood from her chair to receive her with a smile, but Calliope fiercely avoided her gaze right until the moment she stopped a few feet away from her.
"It is so nice to see you again," Ophelia tried, somewhat deflated by the girl's attitude, with an awkward smile and an even more awkward tone of voice. "I hope the journey was pleasant."
"It was, your highness," the reply came automatically, and for a brief moment their eyes finally met – and in them, Ophelia saw remorse and a deep seated guilt.
A conversation needed to happen between the two of them. She turned to the knight, and thanked him for his services, politely asking him to leave. Her distant tone seemed to shake goosebumps out of Calliope, who only shrunk in on herself even further.
Once they were both alone, Ophelia made a gesture for the younger woman to take a seat.
"I can see your eyes look at me with guilt," she said. "What is it that troubles you?"
"Your highness!" for a moment, old Calliope was back. Then, her eyes shied away from her again, looking for solace in the garden. "I…"
She went silent, words struggling to come out of her mouth. Then, suddenly, she broke down and started crying: big ugly sobs wracked her body as she hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, oh I'm so sorry your highness," she cried, trying dramatically to contain the tears by wiping her cheeks over and over again with her hands. Ophelia knelt in front of her, delicately placing her hands on the girl's knees to comfort her.
"What are you sorry for?"
"F-for huh, for m-making you fall! If I h-hadn't b-been so careless, you w-would not have fallen…" her voice died down slightly. "It's all my fault," she almost whispered.
"Oh, no," Ophelia pulled her into an embrace. "No, don't blame yourself, my friend! It was an accident. In other circumstances, nothing should've happened. But it seems like Byzantium wanted me back for a bit."
"E-everyone said it w-wouldn't had h-happened had I been not so useless… Now Lord Scipio is gone, and t-the Mystae were almost ruined…"
"Who did?" Ophelia leaned back. Calliope gave her a desperate look, "few I talked to did not repeat it back to me: my family, my wet nurse, my friends… they are right, oh they are so right."
The girl grabbed Ophelia's hands: the chair she was sitting on was roughly moved back as she threw herself to the floor, head bowed down. Her forehead was trembling barely above their hands as she said, "please allow me to make it up to you, your highness. Have mercy and grant me your grace to right my wrongs."
Sadness gripped Ophelia's heart at the sorry sight. "I do not believe there's anything I have to blame you for, Calliope. As you can see, I am absolutely fine, and as for Lord Scipio… he made a choice to stay in Byzantium. But should you want to do anything for me: keep me company while I stay in the palace and be my confidante. If you offer me your unconditional loyalty, there'll never be anything I can reproach you for."
Calliope's head snapped up: her eyes were teary but filled with a renewed vigour. "Yes," she whispered, her gaze turning fanatical. "You have my loyalty forever, your highness. My life is in your hands."
Ophelia nodded, unsure if she had intended to inspire that intense of a reaction with her words. But Calliope's old self seemed to claw its way back from despondency, and they spent the rest of the day catching up as Ophelia now took on the role of the tourist guide, showing the younger woman around the palace.
However, it was not quite what it had been at Aegyr's residence. Calliope's air of naivety was gone, and despite how at one point the very idea of being at the palace would've sent her into ardent excitement, she seemed almost indifferent to it: she cared nothing that she was at the heart of Sophia, the holy city, walking through the same rooms her Emperor transited daily. She asked no questions about Aurelius, and altogether avoided initiating conversations – instead, she waited for Ophelia to pick the topic, attentively hanging on to her every word. It soon became evident that she was altogether serious about offering her life to the older woman, which made Ophelia wonder how long it'd go on for.
There were also more practical considerations: there were no servants inside the palace, but now that there was someone of a lower rank than her it was not possible for Ophelia to do the mundane tasks she'd been doing so far. Aurelius was the one to explain it when he passed by the library to snatch her away for dinner:
"You can see it as a symbolic gesture," he suggested while they walked to the dining room. "She is there to attend to you; if you deny her that, it is just as well that you call her useless, unfit to stand where she stands. And for her, do not forget, it is a great honour; after all, there has been no other servants in the palace for hundreds of years."
"Does everyone else see it that way? She was in tears today; it seems like everyone was of the mind she was to blame for my and Aegyr's disappearance."
Aurelius seemed to side quite strongly with Calliope's critics.
"It is her carelessness that forced you to intervene, was it not?" he said quite curtly. "Had she acted as it was expected of her, with the restraint that young women ought to show, it all would've gone down differently. That Byzantium took Aegyr away from us is a loss everyone at the Pleroma, and I particularly, feel very deeply about. And it was the strength of the fate that ties you to Lygeum that made up for her mistake; your presence here, now, is despite her actions."
"It is because I've been told you cherish her greatly that I had her called, nothing else. As far as I'm concerned, her usefulness will run out the moment you tire of her. So, consider her life yours, do with it what you will. Should she become odious, I'll strip her of her status and banish her."
Ophelia grimaced but kept silent. There was little use in arguing: even if she came to hate the other woman, she'd never tell on her if that were to be the consequence.
That she became a maid in all but name was something that the girl in question didn't mind at all: she seemed grateful for it, as she kept repeating to her. Her control over her aether, however, was not as great as hers or as the Knight's, and so many of the tasks were gruelling and manual, like cleaning the floors or doing the laundry. And although Ophelia sometimes stayed nearby to chat to her as she carried her duties, this gave her also plenty of opportunities to receive her precious butterfly updates.
And this is how, on the second day, she found a plan had been set in motion to kidnap her: I've made a few friends here and there and rekindled some old flames. We've been very wicked and thought that we should do away with a princess for our prize. But setting the stage for it requires some finesse: the dragon that guards her is clever and will not be fooled unless it is all more than play-acting. So this is what we've thought: let someone who carries one of the seven holy communions swap wine for poison, and having drunk the neutralizing elixir beforehand, let a princess partake in the seven blessings. Her apparent death will throw many into chaos: a lucky Chaldean will take his prize, and let our kind friends deal with the aftermath. Now, what do you think of my story? It is a thrilling tale of deception, I bet. H.
It is as clever as it is stupid, she replied. I'm in. I should be eager to know how the princess will get a hold of the antidote.
Hyperion's instructions were disappointing. They were as clear as a rapidly written: it will come with a shipment of fabrics, which is to say, they were not at all. Fabrics were being carried into the Temple every day: for curtains, for table dressings, for clothes. Ophelia thought about sending more butterflies to ask for more substantial directions, but her leisure time was cut short: Aurelius brought her to his wing to gift her a 'surprise', as he put it.
Exhibited on a hollow wooden mannequin that had been delicately carved to resemble the soft outline of a human, she found two dress pieces in matching colours. Intense sapphire blue outer robes made of silk and gold thread rested atop a two piece for him, and a dress for her. The outer clothes were grandiose, long and draping over the floor; the inner ones were meant to be more refined and simpler, more closely hugging the figure. Four chains of different sizes and embedded with sapphires and emeralds hung as belts from the waist of the male kit; for the female side, an x-shaped body chain of pure gold framed the chest.
In front of the robes, two crowns were resting on velvet-lined cushions on top of two marble pillars.
"Is this for the Mystae?" Ophelia innocently asked, already dreading the answer. Of course, she knew that it was for a specific part of the celebrations, the zenith that would be a wedding: she hoped that Aurelius would finally come clean about it.
And he did. "It is for a special ceremony, yes. Your presence in the palace will be undoubtedly a matter of speculation across the empire and beyond, and I'd like to put the matter to rest before it grows legs of its own. You are knowledgeable of what the rumours have said about us…"
Ophelia held some of the fabric of the robe meant for her, trading gazes with the man who was watching her every move like a hawk. "That we are to be wed?" she asked, although both knew the answer. He nodded.
To Ophelia's modern sensibilities, that situation was a strange (if not awkward) one. She had been brought up in a world where marriage meant the culmination of a romantic union; to a certain extent, she'd assumed that it was the same case in Lygeum until Phobos had fervently expressed his desire to take her hand. He was a prince in a battle for his throne: his marriage was only one more weapon to fight with. And Aurelius, she figured, was in a similar position: what better way to take advantage of her power and image than to bring her in as his wife?
Her expression was clearly not one of elation, which elicited a chuckle from him. "No woman in the Empire could dream of anything more exulting than being taken in as an empress to stand by my side, yet you clearly would rather anything else. Of course, this comes as no surprise, but I hope you'll humour me for now."
There was no defiance in Ophelia's eyes, at least not the angry, reactionary type; instead, a cold, silent determination had taken a hold of her and when she spoke, her voice did not tremble: "when you say humour, I wonder if you realize that you're just asking for absolute compliance – what, then, is the value of a seat that's just meant to be occupied by a doll?"
"It is all for the greater good; the valueless hold value in that it's all part of a grand scheme of things. For now, consider it your responsibility as a Byzantine, that in this way you cement the right order of things. Later, you will be able to build your own path..."
Ophelia dropped the fabric. "I had never thought of marrying; it is curious, however, that I feel so disappointed at the thought of it being something devoid of sentimentality."
Aurelius took a step towards her. "Do you really expect it to be a loveless union?"
"Do we really hold much love towards each other or are we just bound by the accident of coming here from a different world?" Ophelia replied coldly. "Even if I were to forgive your deceit, would that be enough to grow a genuine love when I am nothing but a tool to you?"
"You are not a tool to me," Aurelius declared passionately, "you think that because I said nothing about my identity I made everything else up. I might do what my position requires of me, I might lie to some and hide the truth from others, but I am yet to be able to fabricate emotions I do not feel. I do cherish you, Ophelia, and I know you hurt – but I hope you will learn to forgive me, and hopefully, cherish me in the same manner."
"You gamble more than what you'd like to admit. You don't seem to think it possible that I might grow to resent you more because of this."
Aurelius grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. "As young as you are, every minute you spend angry might feel like months," he said, embracing the woman who had stood still in his arms. "So naturally, you think it will last forever. But time does strange things as it runs: it can wear down mountains, dry up oceans, and soothe every unforgivable mistake. You will see as the seasons change your heart will also slowly open up: be warned, I will be waiting to take it for myself."
It wasn't the first time he talked about the passing of the years as if it was a trivial thing: had he forgot that she, like every other Elysian under him, also aged? Was he so divorced from the passing of time that he had yet to think about her inevitable death? There was something in between the lines that kept bothering her, because it felt he wasn't talking about years or even decades when he called on Father Time to settle an argument.
She meant to question him about it, but he had already moved on to explain the ceremony: she faked her surprise, as it added very little detail on top of what Hyperion had already told her. "The night before we'll have a small ceremony at the Temple with a select few nobles," Aurelius added. "It's a first of its kind; I normally hold it in private."
Ophelia remembered Hyperion's note and perked up to hear more. "What kind of ceremony is it?"
"An offering," he answered simply, "for the prosperity of the Empire."
There was no more room for questions. "I've given instructions to your maid to prepare for it; we shall need her help."
Her steps were swift when she made her way back to her chambers; if Aurelius would not tell, perhaps he intended Calliope to deliver the news. But when she saw the girl it felt like hitting a brick wall:
"I would not dare to ruin her highness' big moment," she said as she stood up from the mess of fabrics and boxes she was trying to organize. There was anxiety behind her smile, and it almost came off as a grimace more than anything else, "it is better that it remains as a surprise."
Ophelia tried to press on, but Calliope took out her entire arsenal to refuse her: "it is incredibly presumptuous of me, but if her highness would allow me to keep this secret for now I'd be the happiest. I only wish to keep from spoiling a little humble gift I am able to give your highness."
Her hapless eyes silenced the older woman, who could not deny her when she acted so pitiful. But knowing that Calliope was in cahoots with Aurelius put her slightly on edge, no matter how well-intentioned she was: Ophelia knew that if it was twisted to make it seem like it'd benefit her in the end, the girl could do anything.
Talk about the wedding and the ceremony the night before had almost made her forget about the little package she was expecting from Hyperion. She looked at the fabrics the Knights had brought from the Temple, and with a small gesture, sent them all into the air. Those that had been folded unfolded, and those that laid crumpled extended and unravelled to show their charms. Some of them had already been cut and made into garments, others were clearly meant to be used for decorating.
"Sorry, I was curious," Ophelia said at Calliope, who had rushed to tell her it was fine, she could organise them herself. "They're incredibly pretty. What are the clothes for?"
A lengthy explanation of her schedule and every garment she'd wear for it followed. While half of her listened to her maid, the other half examined the fabrics closely, trying to find bumps amidst them. When she found nothing, she searched the floor around them, in the hopes that something had fallen out of the bundles.
Perhaps it was hidden in the garments. "Do you think I could try them?" she asked the girl, who perked up at the suggestion. The fabrics folded itself into a neat pile in a corner, while the garments landed softly on her bed.
"This dress is a very popular style nowadays," Calliope said as she picked up a lapis-lazuli velvet dress. It reminded Ophelia of the sort of thing medieval queens in movies would wear: tight silhouettes with wide, trailing sleeves. It was meant to be worn with a heavy cape lined in fur, which fell low on her shoulders and had holes from where her arms could go through. "I kept asking my mother to have one made, but she's too conservative; she thinks these foreign styles are unrefined, unlike the traditional dress."
"I think it looks very regal," Ophelia said as she changed behind the screen. She felt every inch of the fabric, trying to find hidden pockets which could be hiding the antidote she was looking for.
Calliope had stars in her eyes when she saw her dressed.
"Oh, your highness, you will be the talk of the entire empire! There's this beautiful bottle green sash that I think will garner a lot of attention. I can imagine this style will only become more popular because of you."
She tried a few more dresses. One of them stood out, a black satin gown parted to the side, which was meant to be held together by a deep red sash. It was light, but not thin enough that she'd consider it intimate. Calliope was initially confused by it, as she said she'd never seen anything quite like that before, until she realized what it had been made for: "oh, I remember now," she explained. "This is for the ceremony on the day before the wedding. There's a black robe here as well that you can wear over it."
"Black," Ophelia said thoughtfully. "Most of the dresses are either different shades of green or blue; what does black mean?"
"Love," Calliope said dreamily. "Deep, unconditional love."
"But the sash is red," Ophelia held the fabric in her fingers, trying to remember what she'd learnt before. "I remember red meant something unpleasant…"
"Yes… an actor in a play who wears red normally represents a brute, or a violent murderer, a villain… that sort."
"That's strange. Shouldn't it be royal blue? This sash?"
"It could also represent the offering to be made," Calliope said slowly as she mulled it over. "It is a pretty colour, regardless. Perhaps it's a gift from a foreign official. The Thracians are known for their red belts. And the Phrygians, for their red hair..."
None of the options eased Ophelia's wariness over the sash. But she took the ensemble behind the screen, examined it, and put it on. It was when her arms slid through the sleeves of the inner satin robe that she had her eureka moment – she felt a small patch had been sown to the inner lining of the garment. She turned the sleeve around and found a very loosely stitched square of black satin, which could be removed by delicately pulling the fabric away. It was hiding a small tube half the size of her pinky finger, made of blue faïence. The ends had been sealed with red wax, and she shook it slightly to see if there was any liquid in it.
The next step was to hide the vial somewhere – but it was so delicate that she didn't dare just leave it anywhere. In Elysium and in Lygeum in general the trend was less towards the clutter she'd grown used to and more towards functional, simple furniture. There wasn't much decoration, and many of the elements around her room were either for holding something of common use or for storing what was of immediate necessity. This meant that there were few places where she could hide a very suspicious vial that could easily break: there were no big chests full of fabrics and clothes as she'd seen elsewhere, as they were displayed on the racks on the wall. The jugs and bowls that were kept for the toilette were left amidst vases of flowers on top of tables with no drawers. Thus, her only option, she figured, was to keep the vial with herself at all times.
She placed the antidote back in the fake pocket, sealed it once again with her aether, and came out to show Calliope how the outfit looked. "It almost feels like a wedding dress," the young girl said with a wide smile. "All that black, it is very passionate. I think, had I the chance to get married, I would choose something like that for my dress."
"I thought you had a fiance," Ophelia said, confused. "Am I misremembering things?"
"Oh," Calliope's smile turned sad. "After your disappearance… his family decided to break things off."
Ophelia became incensed. "Oh, how dare… when all this is said and done, we'll give them a little grief. Preposterous!"
"They're acting in the best interests of their family, your highness; I do not blame them. Perhaps, it is for the better; I see a brighter future ahead of me."
Her optimism made Ophelia feel slightly better; then she realised that what her and Hyperion were planning for the day of the wedding might very well put poor Calliope in a delicate situation. She resolved then to take care of her, and grabbed the girls' hands in her own, and said, "if you ever feel despair, my good friend, remember that I will do everything I can to take care of you. I will clear the path in front of you so that you never doubt your steps."
The girl's eyes tried to swallow up her emotions, but it was too much for them: tears collected and then fell. "T-thank you, y-your highness," she said, squeezing the palms that held her, "I will never forget this."