Isabels brows drew together. Do your people believe in love? Or are your marriages all arranged, like Pias?
Oriana mulled that over. We believe we are destined for one in particular, or
Then perhaps you just havent met him yet, Isabel interrupted with a blithe wave of her hand.
Apparently Isabel believed that if she were to have a husband, then everyone must. At least Isabels interruption had saved her from admitting aloud she was destined to be forever alone. Oriana nodded again, as if she agreed. She was realizing she did that quite often.
Isabel surveyed the mess on the bed with narrowed eyes, plotting how to subdue it, no doubt. Now, why dont you go pack your own bag, Oriana? Ill finish up in here.
Oriana cast a glance back at that chaos and suppressed a shudder. Isabel would simply cram her clothes into that trunk. As she wasnt taking a maid along, Oriana would end up ironing everything later. She hated exposing her delicate hands to all that heat, but she would do so to help Isabel start off in her new life properly. One last thing she could do to repay Isabel for her kindness.
She tugged on her black silk mitts to hide the webbing between her fingers. Ill be back shortly, then.
She slipped out the bedroom door and walked down the hallway, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. The Amaral household was one of contrasts. In the public areas of the house no expense was spared. Fires would no doubt be burning merrily in the parlors to chase away the September evenings chill. The silver was regularly polished, and the china lovingly displayed in a fine oak sideboard in the palatial dining room. The rugs and tapestries were of the finest quality, many dating back to the familys wealthier days.
The social elite of the Golden City seemed to believe that facade of affluence, counting the Amaral family among their most important members. Isabel and her mother were invited to all the important affairs, the balls and picnics and soirees. They attended the theater regularly. Isabels approval was sought by younger girls, and her hand by all the men.
But while the Amaral family worked hard to present an affluent image downstairs, they didnt bother upstairs. The second floor, where Isabel and her mother had their bedrooms, was left unheated. The draperies and rugs were threadbare, and the hall runner had begun to unravel along one edge. Only half the gaslights were turned up, leaving the hallway murky.
The areas of the house where the servants lived and worked were worse. When Oriana reached the narrow back stair leading up to the third floor, it was altogether unlit. But since her eyes were better than a humans in the dark, she didnt bother to fetch a lamp to climb its creaking length. The servants quarters were cramped and cold, the floors covered only with aged floor cloths. Like most houses on the Street of Flowers, the Amaral home had been transplanted to this spot in the Golden City in the previous century, moved stone by stone. The servants lived in rooms that hadnt been improved since
that time: no plumbing, no lighting, and with peeling paint on the walls. Small wonder the maids so often fell ill.
Being Lady Isabels hired companion, Oriana had a room to herself. She was grateful for that. Her little room was a safe haven, a place where she need not hide her hands or her gills or the inhuman coloration of the lower half of her body. While she looked more human than most females on her peoples islands, those things simply couldnt be escaped.
Oriana opened her door and slipped inside. Once shed lit the lamp on her nightstand, she stripped off her silk mitts and stretched out her fingers. The webbing between them glowed iridescent in the flickering lamplight. Although they protected her from exposure, the fingerless silk mitts pushed down the webbing between her index finger and thumb. This pair shed sewn herself. That ensured they were better made than the ones she could buy at the market and long enough to hide all but the tips of her fingers. Even so, they made her hands ache.
Oriana sank down onto her narrow bed, rubbing that sore spot. She kept her nails trimmed close. Otherwise they would curve downward over her fingertips like claws. That was easy to hide. Her webbing was a different matter. At least the other maids didnt question her refusal to bare her hands. Not long after hiring her, Isabel had cleverly let slip to Adela that Oriana had psoriasisrough, red patches on her skinmarring her hands and throat. That lie provided a ready explanation for continually wearing mitts and her penchant for high-necked gowns, even in summer. It also meant that the maids never associated with her, for fear it was catching. Whenever she wasnt in Isabels company, she was alone in this cold and unfriendly house.
Over the past year Isabel had become more than just her employer. Shed become a confidante as well. But once Isabel was securely married to her Mr. Efisio, there would be no need for a companion to play chaperone. Oriana would return to the Golden City, alone and without employment. There was little chance she would find work as a companion again, not after having been a party to an elopement.