‘Apologies for the hour, my lady – and the, er- interruption.’

The door to the room at the top of the stairs was still swinging. In the room’s four-poster bed, two women were lounging by the first light of dawn. One of the pair, a fair-haired beauty in a silken chemise, was still fast asleep, while the other, a scarlet-haired and scarlet-eyed witch sat stark naked at her side.

The witch took another drag of her cigarette and leered at the flat-nosed man at the foot of her bed. Smoke flooded from her cracked lips in a vile cloud to meet the rest swirling over their heads.

‘You are an odd one, aren’t you?’ she said. Her voice was rough and low; it bit the air like a blade. ‘Not many men around here can meet my eye… Fewer still who would do it while I’m nude.’ She laid back against the headboard and smirked. As she moved, she did nothing to stop the blanket sliding away from her chest.

As though stung by something, the man flinched a little, and his eyes darted to the ceiling where they fixed upon the growing cloud of grey.

The fair-haired girl to the witch’s side tossed over, and rested a hand in the witch’s lap. ‘What time is it, Errol?’ she mewed in a daze.

‘Eryn,’ corrected the witch, but the girl was not listening. A delicate snore escaped the pile of pillows at her side. ‘Though, as for the time, I couldn’t yet say – as there’s a man in the way of the clock.’ the witch added in a steely tone.

The flat-nosed man, whose eyes were still fixed on the swirling fog above her head, gulped, but did not move. 

‘I am Werner Fen Aglia, steward to his graciousness, Viscount Rangogh,’ he said.

The witch pressed the end of the cigarette to her forearm in a quick motion, crushing the flame. Distracted, Werner’s eyes momentarily slipped downward and grew a little wider. A single bead of sweat slipped from his brow. ‘My lord has become aware of your presence in town and would like to extend to you an invitation to court this very morning.’

‘What does the Viscount want with me?’ 

‘He is a host to all guests in Urnn – to those with talents worthy of praise, especially.’

‘You have no idea what he wants with me, do you?’ 

‘My lord has declined to enlighten me at this juncture,’ said Werner, bitterly.

The witch’s lip curled. ‘Hmm. But I have nothing to wear, Sir Werner,’ she said. Her tone was playful, but there was more than a little contempt hidden beneath.

Werner swallowed again, and blinked a few too many times. ‘He has provided a dress from his late wife’s wardrobe. I have it here.’ He snapped his fingers with effortless flourish. At the sound, a tiny hunchback boy armed with a billowing silver dress, bounded into the room. ‘His excellency is hopeful that you will not decline,’ continued Werner.

Eryn looked at the dress, and then back to Werner, and raised an eyebrow. ‘I am obliged to persuade you to reconsider in the event of your refusal.’ 

‘Adorable,’ said Eryn. ‘I assume the form this persuasion will take is a pair of cuffs and a storm of steel? Am I to assume there is a battalion waiting by the stable?’ 

‘No, my lady. No such force has been dispatched, you have my word. I have been ordered to escort you either to Vhittering House, or to the south-gate. The choice is entirely your own.’

‘Pity. I’d have liked to have seen you try with the cuffs,’ she said. ‘You’d be leaving with them around your ankles but the sheer gall would have been commendable.’

‘Do I detect by your amiable attitude that you are favouring the former option?’ 

‘I am,’ the witch said. ‘You can wait outside while I slip into this… Did you call it a dress?’ She grabbed the end of the gown and laid it flat against the bed. It was awfully old-fashioned – perhaps the word was: traditional.

‘Hand-picked by Viscount Rangogh himself, I assure you.’

‘How sweet…’ muttered Eryn, grimacing at the flowery collar and frilly sleeves. ‘Didn’t have anything in my colour, I take it?’

Werner glanced at the dress, then to the witch. His eyes bulged as they skimmed along her pale form, before shooting skyward again.

‘If it is not to your liking, I can arrange for another to be waiting for you in the house, however, it will greatly displease my lord, I am sure.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t bother. If this is the best, I’d rather not risk the second-best.’ She rose to her feet in the bed and hopped onto the floor with the dress in-hand. It flowed quite prettily about the room as she went, sweeping against the dust-caked boards, and yet there was nothing in the motion that brought her even the slightest joy. With another leer, she curtseyed for the flat-nosed steward and his hunchback sidekick.

The hunchback clapped; a toothy grin on his salivating face. Werner however, was still looking at the ceiling.

‘I will be waiting by the horses outside. Please take as long as you need. The viscount would not like to hear that you were rushed.’

With that, the steward took his leave, striding from the room as fast as his feet would carry him – though not too fast to appear impolite. The hunchback boy lagged behind, peeking back regularly, but soon was out of the room as well.

‘What do you think?’ asked Eryn, holding the dress against herself where she stood.

The girl in the bed raised her head, and through a squint, caught a glimpse of the witch and her gown.

‘Beautiful,’ she mumbled. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Vhittering House, apparently. I’ve been… invited. I have a feeling the more appropriate word is summoned.’

‘That’s strange. What do they want with you?’ asked the fair-haired girl.

‘I imagine your viscount is a little remiss after the death of his court wizard.’

‘Huns’ is dead?’ the girl asked, perking up.

Eryn grinned. ‘As a water-drake,’ she said. ‘“A regrettable decline in otherwise good-health,” according to the crier. Regrettable, indeed.’ There was more than a little venom in her voice.

She snaked a foot through the opening of the gown and found the hole far too narrow. Hopping on one leg she heaved against it and spat a series of curses in a long-forgotten language.

Seeing that her fair-haired companion had once again fallen asleep, Eryn threw a slipper into the bed. ‘Now, come and help me get into this damn thing. I can’t find the seam.’

The girl jerked awake as the slipper skipped off of her nose. Groggily, she shook the daze from her head and slid free of the sheets.

‘Have you ever held a knife and fork before? You eat like a wild-thing. Drink like one too,’ she said a moment later, as she tugged at the dress’ fastenings.

‘Not since I was a girl,’ said the witch, staring at herself in the grubby mirror. ‘But once you know how, you never lose it. Not after how much they drill it into you.’

‘You were taught?’ the girl asked. ‘I assumed you were raised by wargs.’

‘The wargs kicked me out,’ Eryn said.

‘So how do you manage to make such a mess?’

‘It takes effort- Ow!’ cried Eryn after the girl tugged too harshly.

‘Oh, pipe down, Lady Eryn,’ the girl mocked. ‘Why is it you can walk into town with a quiver-full of arrows in your back and not make a sound, but can’t handle a corset?’

Eryn winced as the girl tugged again. Something in her side creaked as though about to split. She wasn’t sure if it was the dress or her ribs.

‘What you’re doing back there should be hailed as a new interrogation technique.’

‘Shh! I heard less whining when I was de-needling the walking pincushion.’

With a final tug, the fair-haired girl stepped back to admire both her handiwork, and the witch’s dazzling form.

Eryn herself could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror. Silver ran like water from her neck to her feet, suggesting so adeptly the finer curves of her figure, and the most appealing angles. It was a curious result from such a garishly ‘pretty’ dress. It was everything that she was not after all, and yet somehow she and it collided harmoniously.

The unblemished silver reminded her of an old kettle she had once owned. It had been buffed out and scrubbed until sparkling by every hand that had ever owned it – until Eryn. In only a month the paint and polish had faded to reveal the ugly thing underneath. The ugly, honest thing.

Eryn scowled at her reflection. ‘Let’s get this shit over with,’ she hissed.