16
I sit at a tiny make-up desk in my chamber at Arx Hall. My ladies’ maid, Clover, stands behind me as she fiddles with my hair. Clover’s on the short side with a rail-thin body topped by a large, moon-shaped face. Like all thrax, she has mismatched eyes of brown and blue. Her uniform’s a simple peasant dress of black cotton with a long white apron.
“How would you like your hairstyle for tonight’s Ball?” she asks.
“Down my back is fine. Just what you’re doing.”
“We could try something more formal, too. It is a Ball of Welcome in your honor, after all. I have some diamond hairclips around here. Let me show you.” She steps away and starts scanning the nearby tables.
I frown. The Ball starts soon and I don’t want to be late. This room’s so cluttered, it could take hours to find anything
