About Sisterland by Martina Devlin Page B

to reveal a bronze underskirt, which echoed the bronze on the sleeves. In her other hand, she had a cobalt-blue gown overlaid with silver netting. “But feel free to rummage about, if you prefer. The dresses have side lacings, so they can be tightened or loosened. You’ll find most sizes fit you. Quite practical, for such impractical things.”
    Constance took the dress with a bronze underskirt, and laid it against her body, utterly beguiled.
    The attendant put a hand on her hip, and studied Constance. “Nice. Now try this one.”
    “Aren’t there any mirrors?”
    “Upstairs, where you try them on. But if you ask me, the blue looks best.”
    “All right, I’ll take it.”
    “Come back if you don’t like what you see in the mirror,” said the attendant. “Oh, and you’ll find more suitable footwear upstairs.”
    In the minstrels’ gallery, Constance made her way to an empty alcove, and slipped off her clothes. She stepped into the dress, and tugged at the lacings. When she stood back and checked her reflection in the looking glass, the transformation startled her. How elated she looked! Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled.
    A glance round the alcove, and she spied several pairs of soft-soled pumps. Off came her boots and socks, and she tried on a shoe. Too tight. She tried another. That would do.
    Outside, in the gallery, a page was playing a strange string instrument. Constance didn’t know its name, but the music was haunting. She leaned over the balustrade to watch four other pages dance a stately gavotte. Skimming the room for somewhere to be inconspicuous, she spotted a bench piled with cushions in a relatively deserted area. She made her way there, almost tripping on the hem of her gown, and sank down on the seat. She closed her eyes, a sensation of wellbeing building inside her as she listened to the music.
    “I’m glad to see you looking so relaxed. That’s the purpose of the readying room.”
    Constance opened her eyes. It was the Mating Mother.
    “So, can I have my girls fetch you anything else? Or –” she paused, delicate – “are you ready to mate?”
    “Right now, mother?”
    “Do you need more time to collect yourself?”
    “No, time won’t change anything. I’m ready now.” The sooner she did this, the sooner it would be over.
    “Top girl! Let’s go. I’ll escort you to the mating floor.” The Mating Mother caught Constance by both hands, and pulled her to her feet.
    Her grip was inexorable.

Chapter 6

    Holding her by one hand, the Mating Mother led Constance out of the readying room. At the doorway, Constance looked back, and realised what was odd about it. There were no windows. In fact, she had yet to see a window in the Tower. It delivered privacy: nobody could see in. But nobody could see out, either. This was a self-contained world – not just a castle in Oblong, but a castle in the air.
    By the staircase, the Mating Mother pointed to the doorway on the far side of the banisters – the quiet area to which Constance had been drawn on arrival. “That’s the respite room. You rest there when it’s all over. Though don’t worry, it’s not really an ordeal. The meets are trained to make themselves agreeable. Which is yours?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Which skin?”
    Constance realised the Mating Mother had opened the drawer by the stairs in which skins had been left.
    “You don’t want to show your naked face to a man, do you?” The mother tapped her own light-brown cheek.
    “Of course not, mother.” Constance found her skin and attached it.
    “Follow me.”
    Constance swallowed.
    They mounted the stairs, as far as the second floor. Constance copied the way the Mating Mother hitched up the trailing gown with one hand, bunching it to one side. The mother left her train to fend for itself. It rustled, thought Constance, as if it had secrets to share. They went along a wide corridor lit by subdued beams, the walls bare except for a coat of paint. The only echo of the