Trace watched with some trepidation as Anaisa was hurried away to another part of the castle to deal with the Dressmaker's assessment of her value, while he was left out at the stable.
The horse-master gave him a cursory glance and a few questions before deeming him adequate for mucking out stalls. Trace was given a leather apron and hardy gloves for the task, but no other uniform was issued to him. Shrugging, he got to work.
The physical labor was a relief to him after days of travel. He was raised on hard work, not espionage, and it felt good to use his muscles to accomplish something.
There were many royal horses, and thus many stalls to service. Two stable boys hauled away the buckets of manure, but Trace worked the shovel and set the pace of the work.
"Do you like working here?" He asked one of the boys as he paused for breath. The child, about ten years old, gave him an odd look.
"Pay's all right." He responded as he set down his empty pail and picked up the full one to take away. The other boy shortly appeared to trade buckets again. Trace tried a new question this time.
"What's your name?"
"Issachar," The boy answered simply before scurrying off.
Trace would learn no more, as the labor took his breath. By the time he was done, it was nearly evening.
"It's this bad every day?" He questioned the second lad.
"No, it's been days since the stalls were properly mucked. Ol' Geoff's been out for a week with his broken leg." The boy answered.
Trace felt a bit relieved that at least he wouldn't have to do all that over again tomorrow. There would be other tasks, certainly, but this was not his favorite.
The horse master approached with a stormy expression as Trace sat down on an upturned bucket.
"Slacking off on your first day?" He demanded. "When will you get back to work on these stalls?"
"He finished 'em!" Issachar spoke up with wide eyes. "He did every one already!"
The horse master's expression turned to disbelief, and he strode off to check the nearest few before returning.
"A rare show of competence and hard work," He said by way of compliment. "You must have a fair experience with the task?"
"Yes, Sir," Trace stood respectfully, though he would have preferred to sit a few minutes longer.
"Any other talents you possess?" The master looked him up and down with fresh eyes.
"I'm a fair hand at grooming them, though I'm not sure if the royal standards for clean horses are different than what I'm used to."
"Show me," The horse master directed, pointing to the nearest stall. A proud palomino mare stared at him with wary eyes.
Trace approached the animal with a relaxed posture, shushing softly and running his hand across her neck. She shook her mane and snorted, but remained still otherwise. Slipping a curry brush from a shelf, he began grooming the dirt from her coat, speaking in hushed, soothing tones as she got used to his presence.
The horse master was watching with keen eyes, and it seemed to make the animal nervous, so Trace worked a little more slowly than usual so as not to spook her. Placing the brush back on the shelf, he retrieved the hoof pick next and ran his hand down one of her forelegs.
She picked up her foot easily at his prompting, and he quickly loosened a rock caught in the shoe as he checked for cracks or loose nails in her hoof. Repeating the process with each foot, he finally moved on to brushing out her mane and tail until they were free of burrs and loose grass.
"A bit slow, but thorough," The master nodded his approval. "And most importantly, you didn't let the princess's horse cripple you."
"Cripple? Was that a real risk?" Trace looked between the man and the stable boy, who had kept silent and still for the duration of the grooming.
"She is a temperamental creature," The boy confessed.
"The princess or her horse?" Trace joked, and then grimaced. That was not a proper thing to say in the palace!
The child snickered, but the horse master fixed him with a glare. "Your only concern is the horses. Keep that in mind."
"Yes, Sir." Trace ducked his head in apology as he tried not to join in Issachar's smiles.
_________
"You'll do." The Dressmaker finally declared. "Get into uniform."
Anaisa curtsied awkwardly to the woman as a maid shoved a dress into her hands and ushered her to a changing area.
The uniform, if it could be called that, was a very fine garment. The puffed blue sleeves had a white frill, and a wide leather belt emphasized her narrow waist. The flared skirt was beautiful and flowing, with delicate embroidery that further gave her figure a pleasing appearance.
"Why should I wear something so fancy just to sew?" She wondered aloud. This was almost on par with the fine dresses she wore at home in her mansion.
"You wear the latest fashion so that the ladies we sew for can see how it will look and want it for themselves," The Dressmaker spoke loudly across the divide. "If a plain ordinary girl such as you can look so good in it, how much moreso will the finely bred noble women appear?"
Anaisa bristled at the backhanded remark, but managed to keep her temper in check. It really was a beautiful gown, and she was afraid to soil it, but the others in the room seemed to have no such worries.
"Come along, quickly. We have measurements to take and I need you to carry extra fabrics," The Dressmaker snatched the scarf off of Anaisa's head and threw it to one side. "None of that here."
Startled, Anaisa picked up what she was directed to and followed in the woman's footsteps. Four others walked with her, each carrying some burden, each in a different, stylish gown of fine fabric.
They walked openly through the halls of the castle, not slinking along the sides or through the back hallways where she had seen some of the servants disappear to.
The first several fitting sessions went quickly and without incident. The noble ladies came to the palace to try on their carefully ordered garments. Thankfully there was no one she had known closely enough to pick her out of a lineup of servants. Dressmaker's assistants were generally ignored anyway. She spoke not at all, simply obeyed the commands she was given, but she listened very carefully.
A grand lady the Dressmaker repeatedly addressed as 'Your Grace' sneered at the red fabric accents on her gown, since it was the flag color of the country just beaten in the last war. That woman's servant, addressed as "Betsy," was nervous and cowed. The red was summarily removed.
There was much to take in, and so many people in the palace. How was Trace going to locate a singular traitor?
Anaisa silently watched, and took all the mental notes she could. The time raced onward as the hurried Dressmaker rushed them from place to place, when a frenzied nursemaid blocked their path.
"Yes? What is it?" The Dressmaker demanded impatiently.
"The Princess–she's changed her mind about her gown–again." The servant reported with an apologetic expression.
"How many times—This is—art cannot be rushed! Her gown is the most elaborate, we started it months ago! How can she–" The Dressmaker's face turned a shade of cherry red as her fists clenched. "Nevermind. She must be delighted with my work or I'll never hear the end of it. Come along!"
The parade of assistants abruptly changed direction to follow the stately Dressmaker as she walked confidently up a set of circular stairs leading higher. Anaisa was, unfortunately, utterly lost by now with all the twists and turns and hallways, but she followed onward.
The chambers they entered were in utter disarray, with frantic maids picking up items one after another as they were thrown about.
"No! No! No!" Came the screams from off to one side. "How can you be so–this is entirely wrong!!"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness–" Squeaked a mousy woman from the corner, "if you'll let me try again, or at least restore–"
"You have no idea what you're doing!" The screaming continued. "Whoever recommended such an incompetent, useless–are you blind? Can you not see anything at all beyond your own face??"
The harsh words caused the Dressmaker to take a step back, but Anaisa sighed. Many ladies of high birth threw tantrums to get what they wanted. This seemed no different.
"Is there not a single competent person in this entire palace??" As the Princess came into view, Anaisa stifled a gasp. The young woman's hair was the color of a raspberry!