The Project is at 22k, which makes it the longest original fiction thing so far that I have written since I finished my last novel in.....whenever that was, some years ago. Anyway have a snippet again.
They traveled through the long, drafty halls and endless sets of stairs. Constance had been afraid she would not know the door again, so she had asked Merit to put some sort of marker on it. He had put, or more likely caused to be put, a little piece of yarn, tied to the heavy iron handle.
"You can stay outside," she told her guards. "This is the only door."
This dispensed of, she and Lord-willing slipped into the room. They left the door open to cast extra light, for they would need it in these sartorial discussions. They both sat on the floor, as if they were girls, but the chill bleeding into Constance's hips reminded her that this was only an illusion.
"There's beautiful things in here," said Lord-willing. "Some of them are proper clothes, too."
"I thought, just for my wedding..." said Constance.
Lord-willing nodded. "You must be married in the right clothes."
"I'm relying on thy judgement as to what the right clothes are," said Constance, sighing. "I've never dressed myself for something like this."
"Your own wedding?" said Lord-willing. "I should think not."
"Any occasion on which I was a central figure without having regnal garments," said Constance.
"Hmm. Remind me, milady, of the impression you wish you create?"
"That's the other half of the difficulty, of course. My rank as it would be, or my future husband's rank?" Constance shrugged. "A compromise? Supposing I was a rich merchant's daughter and I married a member of the King's Guard. That wouldn't be so ridiculous."
Lord-willing nodded, and plunged her hand into the pile.
Gradually, through iteration, they chose such garments as seemed suitable for a woman of the station Constance pretended to. And when they had picked them all and folded them neatly, Constance rummaged in the chest again until she found three linen tunics, two for a woman and one for a boy. It seemed to her that taking so many garments out ought to leave the chest emptier, but, well, it was a big chest. She closed it and laid the tunics out.
"Milady?" said Lord-willing.
"One for thee--" Constance laid it on her lap -- "And one for thy mother--" again -- "And one for the little boy. I know it's rather large but they grow fast, I'm told."
Lord-willing looked into her lap. "You can't," she said, but as she said it she picked them up and fingered them, feeling the weave.
"It's the price," said Constance. "What I take I must give away. Three garments for me: the tunic, the gown, the coat. Three for thee."
Lord-willing had the tunics in both hands now. She said, "It's not proper. Really it's not," but Constance knew she was weakening.
"Ladies give their old things to their maids all the time," said Constance encouragingly.
"These are not old things!"
"They belonged to my mother."
"You and I both know that old things and heirlooms are not the same!"
"Well, you can always sell them, if you can't get another position immediately," said Constance briskly. She remembered what Merit had said to her. "Think of it as--perks. A pension, perhaps."
Lord-willing's face was uncertain as she lifted it. Constance got to her feet and said, "Come. I shall have to try these things on, so we can get them properly fitted."
In an act of minor cowardice, she waited until Lord-willing was lacing up the surcoat to say, "The bride's side of the home visit is poorly filled. Wouldst thou like to--"
Lord-willing's hands stilled on the laces. "You have family, milady."
"They all despise me," said Constance, trying not to sound like a petulant child. "Which is their right, of course. I did take away many privileges from them."
After a moment, Lord-willing's professional ministrations began again. She had laced Constance up so many times that she knew exactly how to do it without making Constance feel pulled about. It was not until she had finally finished that she said, "You needn't try to buy my attendance."
"I'm not," said Constance. I'm buying something else instead.
"It's not proper," said Lord-willing, which Constance had known she would say.
"Nothing about what I'm doing is proper," said Constance.
Lord-willing stepped back. "Turn yourself around, milady."
Without thinking about it, Constance twirled like a little girl in her first long gown. Then she spun again, slower, because she knew that Lord-willing needed to see how the clothes moved on her.
"It's not so bad," said Lord-willing. "The sleeves of the gown will have to be shortened, but the skirt length suits the occasion."
"Hmm." Constance wiggled a little, testing her range of motion. "This one must have been my mother's; she was taller than me."
"Who else is coming to your home visit? On your side," said Lord-willing.
"It's only Merit," Constance admitted.
Lord-willing considered this. "And your future husband's?"
"I don't know. His immediate family, I suppose. Dost thou think the armholes of the surcoat are too deep?"
"Maybe." Lord-willing stepped closer and gently raised Constance's arm. "Maybe, aye. I think we'll need to speak to milady's tailor."
"I suppose if she can manage to fit those awful ceremonial things, this will be nothing."
Constance began to loosen the surcoat laces, but Lord-willing gave her a gentle push and did it herself. Soon enough, Constance thought, Lord-willing's gentle touch and stern manner would be out of her life forever. She willed herself to remember this, to press it in her memory book like a flower for drying. But somehow nothing stuck. Nothing could be made realer than it already was.
"What position does your husband's father hold in the city?" Lord-willing asked, pulling the surcoat over Constance's head.
"If I remember correctly, he works in the port guard," said Constance when she emerged.
Lord-willing frowned and nodded. "And could I bring my family? My mother, and my brother, and his wife, and their children, and my little boy?"
"It would be nice to have a few more people on my side." Constance half-smiled as she began to remove the gown. "Perhaps we might outnumber the groom."
Lord-willing raised her eyebrows. This, more than anything else, seemed to convince her as to the practicality of her attendance. "Very well," she said. "I'll take your part."
