Chapter FifteenFrima didn’t think much of the tunic. It was scarcely longer than the gambeson, and she insisted there was a cold draft on her shins despite the fact that Garth could not feel a breath of air. Further, it was embroidered in red and gold, as was appropriate for a Prince of Ordunin on formal occasions, and she seemed to consider such adornment a sign of decadence. She pointed out that no Dûsarran wore any garment with more than a single color to it, and although the midnight-blue of the tunic was perfectly acceptable, she found the bright trimmings utterly appalling.
Garth let her complain, so long as she wore the thing and returned his padding. He pointed out that he preferred to have her look like a foreigner; she replied that she hadn’t known foreigners were so tasteless.
