The Feather on My Scale: Ch 11

“Think slutty thoughts. What does that even mean?” Wash muttered to himself as he turned around in yet another hallway, having lost himself deep in the back end of the temple complex. He had hoped to find the elusive tailor who was supposed to insert silk into his collar before the ceremony. However, this hallways gave him no indication as to if he was any closer to the workers’ wing or not.

“Did that half souled creature really become the-?”

“Shhh, not so loud. Yes. He did.”

A pair of whispering voices from behind a door caught Wash’s attention. Unease prickled along the back of his neck at the tone.

“I heard he’s been given Horus’s blessing. He even grew wings.” A third voice, almost that of a child, chimed in.

“Impossible!” The first one spat.

“No, I was there. It’s true. His High Husband grew a pair of emerald green wings. He’s been blessed with the god’s power.”

“Sev’s not going to like this.”

“No, I can’t imagine he will.”

Wash’s heart clenched in his chest. The Lord of the South where he had come from was known to be a brutal man.

“What will we do? His Lord was going to marry his daughter into the dynasty.”

“To the King? He thought he’d get that slip of flesh anywhere near the royal bedchamber? The Pharoah has a type of she is not it.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Sev himself could try.”

A snort echoed through the door. Wash realized he had become petrified to the spot, eavesdropping taking all of his attention. He needed to leave, but he couldn’t.

“You know he would never go for that. He wants to be daddy-in-law and pull the strings. He’s tired of being ruled.”

“Not for long. I have word that he’s planning to oust he Pharoah if he can’t marry into the family, and with the wab-husband in place, that option’s off the table.”

“What about concubine? His Highness has several. Sev could just – “

“He’d never go for it. He wants all the power. No. I heard from my sister in Thebesian, if he can’t get his brat married into the royal house, he’s going to march on the capital. Three weeks. In three weeks. You’re shaking your head, no look, in her letter –“

“Leave the city? Is she serious?”

The door suddenly opened to reveal a small woman in a servant’s uniform. Her face paled. “Your High Husband!” Her voice squeaked shrilly.

Wash regained his composure. “Would you point me in the direction of the tailor? I was told he was back here, but I get the sense that I’m in the wrong wing.”

The woman looked him up and down, struggling to keep from gaping at his pistachio green wings. “Ye-yes, Your High Husband, the tailor. He is down this hall. Let me walk you there.”

Wash offered her a tepid smile and followed the woman.

“Did, did you?” The woman kept peaked at him meekly from under her lashes.

“Is there something you need, servant?” Wash reminded the woman of her place, if only to sooth his own bruised ego.

“Ah, no, your High Husband. Here is the tailor.” She opened the door and stepped back to allow him entrance. Wash stepped through the door and waited for her to close it before continuing further into the tidy chamber.

A whithered man sat behind a mound of silks and brocades, carefully stitching under a brilliant magnifying light. “I told you, Kara – oh, I’m sorry!” The man jumped up and bowed at the sight of Wash.

“I came for my collar. The High Lecturn told me it should be down here.”

“You could have sent a servant, Your High Husband!” The tailor admonished before looking abashed.

“It does me a disservice, as a foreigner to the capital and temple, to rely too heavily on the staff when I might need to fend for myself on occasion. I thought it would be good to come to you to commission my own clothing as it is. Simpler for you to take measurements from the source, rather than depend on third-hand knowledge. Wouldn’t you agree?” Wash calculated a beguiling smile and watched the tension ease from the tailor.

“Yes, of course, Your High Husband. You were blessed with such wisdom, and I do look forward to helping. My, what beautiful wings!” The man noticed the draped moth-like appendages. “I have the perfect colours to go with the beautiful red stripe in them.”

Wash eased at the man’s chatter, finding him companionable. Soon he was measured and a log was made for colors, textures, and cuts that would appease him. Fitted back with the silk-lined collar, Wash left the tailor, filled with a warmth from the tailor, and dread from the servants. “I need to talk to Henu.”

Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2023. All Rights Reserved.

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