The inspiration for the clothing comes from the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. (January and May). Except in the original dress on the "May" page, the pattern appears to be crowns, but I changed it to gold sparrows, following the same general shape of the crown pattern.
. . . .
It took great restraint on Aravis' part not to rub her eyes or yawn as Lady Amberjill talked and talked and talked. Her voice—at first beautiful to Aravis' ears—now was just noise as she droned on and on.
"Lady Amberjill, I beg you pardon but I must interrupt you. It is growing late and I must prepare for the ball, myself."
"Oh, dear! It is late, isn't it? I am so sorry for keeping you! But, you have not told me your story yet, Aravis!"
But, you've told me more than plenty of yours'.
"Perhaps, at the ball. Now, if you will excuse me."
"Of course."
It took all of Aravis' self-control not to run to the door.
. . .
"Where hast thou been, Lady Aravis?" Asked the ladies maid upon opening the door for her mistress.
"Never mind that, Ealasaid!" Aravis said, sweeping past her and hurrying towards the wardrobe. "Is my gown ready?"
"It is already laid out, my lady. The royal family is wearing blue and gold tonight."
Aravis turned to see a gown of deep azure neatly draped over the coverlet of her bed. Throughout the blue field was a pattern, embroidered in gold, of sparrows in flight. The collar was oval in shape; sweeping across the top of her bosom and lightly baring her shoulders. The sleeves fit snugly around the upper arms and billowed out about her wrists. The waist nipped neatly in, enhancing her hips. The rest of the gown flared out and draped in luscious folds, to end just brushing her slippers.
What was usually a pleasant experience for Aravis was agonizing. Because of the late hour, Ealasaid did not have the time to be gentle with her mistress' hair; she yanked, tugged, and pulled it into submission. Aravis knew there was no helping it and held her tongue instead of the usual, sharp, reprimand.
Even with time running short Ealasaid managed to create a fine coif. Aravis' abundance of dark hair was swept up and a tiara wrought with delicate gold flowers and vines, pinned on top.
"Have I ever told you how good you are in a pinch, Ealasaid?"
Ealasaid gave a little laugh as she made one last survey of her work. "No, my lady."
"Well, you are."
"Thank you, my lady. You do look lovely."
"Thanks to you."
Aravis took one last survey of herself in the mirror; exhaled loudly through puckered lips, and swept out the door.
She had decided.
. . . . . .
Aravis smoothly slipped into the ballroom. No one would have believed she had been running at top speed a few seconds earlier. Cor and Corin were already at their stations by their thrones, ready to greet their guests, which were on Aravis' heels. She walked quickly to the dais and climbed the stairs. Both princes were decked in resplendent blue tunics with billowing, scalloped sleeves.
"Cor."
"What?"
"I need to speak with you."
"Now?" Cor looked doubtful.
"Of course not; after all the guests have arrived."
Cor caught the glint of desperation in his friend's eyes. "Is everything all right?"
"Fine. It's just—"
"Sir Cwnic of the Lone Isles!" Boomed the voice of the footman at the entrance.
"Here we go," sighed Corin.
"I'll find you later," Aravis whispered before darting off to perform a very last minute inspection of the hors d'oeuvres.
. . .
Aravis spent a half an hour patrolling the refreshments, making small talk with the guests, but always with her eye on the princes: waiting for them to finish their greetings.
Finally, in came Lady Amberjill. She was the last to arrive.
Big surprise. Aravis could not wait to tell Cor she had decided to go with his plan. As bizarre, awkward, and probably unbelievable it would be, anything would be better than the possibility of Lady Amberjill taking up permanent residence.
Aravis could not read Cor's reaction on meeting Amberjill from her point of view all the way on the other side of the ballroom. Once the lady moved on and joined the rest of the throng Aravis began to weave through the crowd toward the dais. She was almost there when she caught a glimpse of Lady Amberjill. She looked stunning, of course, in a golden gown that fluttered and pooled like liquid around her small feet. But, what stunned Aravis was the high blush on the lady's face, which—annoyingly—made her all the more attractive.
A small, inexplicable, knot of apprehension twisted in Aravis' chest. She turned back to the thrones and resumed her progress. She glided up to Cor's elbow, not looking at him, but leaning to the side and conspiratorially whispering in his ear.
"Cor."
"What?"
"I wanted to speak with you." He already forgot.
"Yes?"
"Well . . ." Aravis suddenly felt very nervous and very silly. "It's about that plan you proposed earlier . . ."
"What plan?"
Aravis finally looked up at him. Cor's eyes were transfixed. She followed his gaze to Lady Amberjill. There was a look on his face she had not seen before. He was utterly taken.
"Aravis, I have never seen a lovelier creature . . ."
Aravis raised an uninterested eyebrow. "Really?"
"She's . . . she's . . ."
"Lovely?"
"Yes."
"Nothing to worry about then?"
"No . . . nothing . . . to worry about . . ."
Aravis fought the urge to roll her eyes. There was no talking to him about anything now. She turned her head and looked for Corin. Surely, he would still be sensible. . . but, no. His face mirrored his brothers. The Tarkheena sidled up to the younger prince.
"So . . . Corin . . ."
Aravis watched his Adam's apple bob. "She . . . she sure grew up . . ."
"In all the right places, apparently," Aravis muttered.
At that moment music blossomed. Aravis recognized it for belonging to the Gazelle, the dance they had practiced earlier that day. Aravis' gaze snapped to Cor and Corin: They were no longer staring at Lady Amberjill, but staring-down each other.
In the next second, the brothers leapt into action, making a beeline for her side, while trying to discreetly shove the other off course.
"Eldest gets the first dance!"
"Only by twenty minutes!"
"I'm the Crown Prince, so I get the first dance!"
"I'll knock you down, then we'll see who gets the first dance!"
Gasping, they both reached Lady Amberjill at the same time.
"Your highnesses." She curtsied, an amused expression tickling her mouth, obviously brought on by their exertions. She looked up at them expectantly. Her gaze seemed to rest longest on the Crown Prince.
Cor's mouth went dry and his mind, a blank. Corin recovered first and made his bow.
"My lady, if I may have the pleasure of this dance?"
Aravis could have sworn she saw a frown crease Lady Amberjill's smooth forehead. But, it was gone in the next second—if it had ever been there at all.
"I am flattered, Prince Corin, but I am afraid the first dance must go to the Crown Prince, for that is why you came over here, is it not, Prince Cor?"
Cor finally found his voice. "Y-Yes!" He croaked. He cleared his throat and answered again, more firmly this time. "Yes."
Lady Amberjill rewarded Cor with a dazzling smile. He fought against his buckling knees as he led her out to the center of the floor.
Aravis walked up to stand besides a glowering Corin. While watching Cor and Amberjill, Aravis had the oddest sensation. She felt as if she were an old toy that had been left behind in the wake of a shiny, new one. It was very strange. She knew she was not a toy. She was his best friend. Nothing, not even the beautiful Lady Amberjill would change the dynamic of their friendship. Right?
A twinge of pain struck Aravis' chest and a sudden, overwhelming need for Cor's attention.
See me standing here . . . look at me . . .
"Let's go, Aravis." The sensation of Corin's arm roughly wrapping itself around her own snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Go where?" She asked testily.
"Dance."
Aravis yanked her arm out of his. "No, thank you. I need some air."
She stormed out onto the terrace. What was she, the dancing dummy? No 'may I have the pleasure of this dance' for her?
Aravis felt a second overwhelming desire that night: a desire for Calormen. No one would ever treat the daughter of Kidrash Tarkhaan like this, there. Not unless they had a death wish. She thought she would not be bothered by the demotion so much and, truly, in the beginning, she had not, to her own surprise. But, now . . .
There used to be days that when she had made a grand entrance; when men had tripped over themselves for her attention. When Cor, if he had been there then, would have noticed her.
Well, of course he "notices" me. I'm his friend. But, there's a difference between noticing and noticing . . . where am I going with this train of thought?
Aravis leaned against the stone railing, burying her face in her hands, running her fingers through her hair, messing it up. She shook her head in an effort to clear it of the racing thoughts. She turned around and gazed back into the ballroom. She spotted Cor and Amberjill finishing their dance. Cor was gazing at her, enthralled. Amberjill's smile was blinding as she looked up at him.
Aravis gripped the railing until her knuckles were white. Then a thought came, unbidden:
I wish that were I.
It was as if someone had shot her with an arrow. Aravis' knees buckled under the shock of her realization. It was a good thing she had already been gripping the railing or she would have fallen.
Aravis' eyes prickled as hot tears rose.
It was not fair. Why did she have to realize it now—now that it was too late?