One Last Look

By Rebecca L. Smith

When the kidnapping of a member of the royal family instigates a declaration of war between two nations, Neal reenters his service to the royal family in a quest to recover him.  His journey into enemy lands is fraught with dangerous magic and revisiting a past he thought he had left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093184

Book preview

Dedication

A special thanks to Angie and Robbie,

my first readers.

One

Ignoring the droning tavern sounds in the background, Neal read the letter for a second time. It was brief, vague in its message, and brisk in its tone. As he came to the end, he fingered the broken seal on the other side. There was no mistaking the seal on this letter. He had known it from his youth.

The urgency in the letter’s implications was a bit confusing, more so than the fact that he had received it in the first place. Being rather secluded in his present lifestyle, he knew little of the political troubles in the kingdom of Coraelia, but he assumed that must be why he was being called. What other reason would the ruling nobility have to summon him all the way out to the palace?

What he really didn’t understand was why it was Lady Bazleon who had called for him, not her husband. What need she would have of him he could not fathom. He had met her when she was a young girl, the new bride of his commander, but he knew little of her personally. He had left the army’s service long before he had the opportunity to get to know her better—not that that was his desire.

Lady Bazleon had been a girl of fourteen when she wed Deacan, her cousin. Because their family was linked with the magic of the seers, it was important to the family to keep the bloodlines clean to retain that magic in its greatest strength. They could view and interpret the auras that people gave off, opening a person’s mind to read many truths they would otherwise keep hidden.

The first time Neal met her, Lady Bazleon had stared at him with her stunning amber eyes for a time, looking deeply into the depths of his soul.

Neal hated being stared at. Few things bothered him more. He had never enjoyed being around someone whose power resided in that action. His commander had been different. He never made Neal seem like his mind was on display, open for anyone to come along and peer into. But when Lady Bazleon looked at him with that calculating stare, it left him feeling violated.

That had been ten years ago. Now she was sure to have grown up a great deal. Perhaps she would have learned not to stare at people so.

It didn’t matter really. Since he had such strong ties to that family, he was obligated by his honor to at least comply with her wishes and travel to the estate to respond to her letter.

Neal rose out of his seat at the square table, leaving his empty dinner plate for the serving maid to collect. He had to work a path through the young men gathered for a drink after their long day’s work out in the fields and the nearby stone quarry. Many of them were drunk by this late hour in the night. Neal had no tolerance for drunkenness and the self-indulgent attitude that often accompanied it.

Neal was a tall man of muscular build with short-cropped dark hair and eyes the color of rich earth. Though he was by no means a young man, Neal was very fit and skilled with the sword he always wore at his hip. He still had the strong, handsome features of his youth, though he had a few inevitable wrinkles that marked his age. The boys who were out drinking at least had the sense to let him pass through without giving him any trouble.

He walked through the darkness outside to where his horse was tethered with a number of others. Being part draft horse, he towered over most of the others. The gray gelding was typically a mellow charger, not one who felt the need to intimidate or show off his greater stature and power among other horses, but he was well trained as a fierce combat animal and had been with Neal since the last two years of his service to the Coraelian military. He fit Neal’s own large build comfortably and was a trusted companion.

It was a pleasant evening, despite the slight chill in the air. The first day of spring was only a few days away, and the landscape was already showing off its colorful mantle of new blossoms, brightening everything the eyes could behold.

Leading his horse by the reins, Neal strode down the empty street, calmly taking in a deep breath of the cool air. The scent of people had died out a bit, carried off by the wind as the day closed. There was only a murmur of sound coming from the tavern and other establishments along the street, occasionally punctuated with a swell of laughter and music.

It was nice being out there by himself. That was how he preferred it—better to be in solitude than caught up in the bustle of people pushing and shoving their way through the street on their way to attend to their own business, not caring for or about anyone else. That was why he waited until night to walk through the city. He usually stayed away from the core of town, keeping to himself in his cottage off in the woods.

It hadn’t always been that way. He used to be different; he used to know people—to have people know him. Those days had died a long time ago. A lot had died, but that was his past and not who he was now. Now he lived alone with his horse and his dog, Val. He spent little of his time at home. Now he did odd jobs, things people didn’t want to do themselves. He made his living off of that and the pension he received from his years of service, and he entertained himself by keeping practice with his weapons. It had been the only thing he had ever really been good at.

When he came to the end of the road, Neal turned to his horse, stroking the gelding’s gray neck with a firm, familiar touch. All right, Reese, he said to his friend, let’s go home. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.

The horse tossed his head at hearing Neal’s gently spoken words. His black tail swished idly at the air, waiting patiently for them to be off. He turned his head to the side, rolling his eye to look back at Neal as he put his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up into the saddle. When Reese felt the command to go, he started off at a brisk walk, eager to be away from the town.

With his fingers between his teeth, Neal let out a long whistle, piercing the silence of the night with the shrill call. After a moment, he heard Val coming up at his right side. Reese turned his head down toward the large black dog, snorting a greeting to his companion. Val’s barrel chest expanded as he took a breath, returning the horse’s greeting with a rumbling groan. Turning his attention back to the path, the horse responded to Neal putting pressure to his sides, commanding a quicker pace. The horse started into a trot, angling straight for the path through the woods. He knew they were going home.

The ride was long but pleasant. The peaceful sounds of the night drifted through the air, music to Neal’s ears. He loved these woods. He loved any wood, for that matter. Wherever he was, if he could be in the forest, he could always feel as if he belonged.

As the squat little cottage appeared out of the trees off to the side, the horse instinctively veered off in that direction, following a subtle path toward the quaint house. Tall oak and evergreen trees shaded Neal’s home all around and a carpet of grass and short shrubs covered the lawn all around except where the path cut through. The towering trees with their trunks spotted with lichen and moss didn’t crowd the cottage but let cool moonlight shower down upon it from openings in their outstretched branches. Returning home was always a welcome respite from his often strenuous work.

Once Reese carried his rider to the small stable behind the house, stopping at the gate, Neal swung down off his horse and opened the gate for him, letting the horse go into the single stall. Neal followed behind, relieving Reese of his saddle and tack. He took his time brushing and currying the animal as he always did, speaking idly to him as he worked. He picked the hooves clean and made sure Reese had water and feed before starting toward the house.

His home was a humble place. It was made up of two rooms, the smaller being his bedroom. The walls were simple logs and the fireplace plain stones. There were a number of windows to let the sun’s light in, but otherwise the cottage was an ordinary house with nothing to make it extravagant.

It was built to accommodate him and his schedule, requiring little upkeep. His habits were not interrupted by constant tending to his surroundings; he could live his life as he was accustomed to living it. The animals knew the routine, and followed it well. There was a time and place for everything, and they knew their place.

After Neal had fed his dog and started a small fire, he sat in his squeaky old chair and pulled the letter out from his shirt pocket. He stared for a long time at the broken wax on the cover, the seal of the house of Bazleon.

The seal consisted of three symbols: an arrow, a blade, and a drop of blood. The arrow pointed up, its blade and feathers only shown on the left side. The Bazleon family tree, after their magic was born in them, had started from the children of a well-known archer, and thus, the arrow was part of its seal. The blade crossed through the upper half of the shaft, curving in the slightest arc as it stretched just askew of horizontal. It didn’t actually look like a real blade. It was more like a line with a broader, blunt end on the left side. It symbolized protection, the protection that the nobility provided the people of Coraelia as well as the men and women whose duty it was to protect the nobility. He had once been one of those men.

The drop of blood in the upper left-hand corner was the final piece. It was the symbol that the bloodline was pure but, more importantly, that the magic of the Bazleon house was pure. It was their duty to maintain that purity for the sake of the people and the world. A world without magic would be a disastrous place, a place of death and misery.

Neal had seen the seal too many times to count. It was mainly used for urgent messages, and in the field, it was invaluable. It was impossible to counterfeit the symbol because magic protected it from false recreation. The seal was carved into the rings worn by seven key nobles in the Bazleon family, and the seer’s magic was used to mark their letters with a trace of a spell, seen only by them through their gift. If a letter was received in the field where his commander could verify the seal, false messages were quickly discovered and destroyed.

Val’s growl of displeasure brought Neal out of his brooding. He looked up from the letter in his hand to see his dog seated at his feet, his amber eyes staring up at him.

What? Neal asked his friend.

Val cocked his head to the side, as if asking a question.

It seems as if I’ve been called away on business, Neal told him. It’s going to take at least two full days and part of a third to make it out to the palace. I hope you’re up to the journey.

Val snorted and got up to lie back down by the fire.

Neal chuckled at him. Yes, you’re right. You’ll be fine. You’re a lot younger than I am. He unfolded the letter and held it up to the light. Listen to this, Val.

Dear Lieutenant Slayden,

Your immediate presence is requested by the Bazleon house. Your assistance is needed in a matter of great importance. Please respond with haste. We will await word of your arrival in Meridian.

Sincerely,

Laurie Bazleon

Neal lowered the letter and puzzled down at his dog. Now what do you suppose could be so urgent that they feel like they need me—of all people—to travel out to the palace? They have a whole army to call upon. Why pick on an old soldier like me?

Val lifted his head and looked back at Neal. He wagged his tail as his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth in a strange smile.

Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious. Surely there are men better suited to this task.

The dog lay back down and let out a long sighing breath.

He had heard a few rumors about a stirring to the north. The Montilay held a grudge against the people of his land. They were a greedy, self-serving lot, only concerning themselves with their own prosperity. He had also heard there was trouble with the nobles.

With spring fast approaching and the traditional festival that celebrated its commencement, the nobles were sure to be hiding a lot of secrets. He disregarded the rumors he heard about them; they were likely to carry little truth.

Neal rose from his chair and started packing for the trip. He didn’t know what to expect when he arrived. There was no way to know how Lady Bazleon would act, what kind of audience it would be. He didn’t even know if it would be she alone to speak with him or if he would be present before a group of the nobility. He only knew what was in the letter, and that wasn’t much.

He resolved to simply pack what he normally did for a long trip. It wasn’t his fault if he arrived without the proper things, when Lady Bazleon hadn’t told him what he needed or even what he would be doing. He would deal with that issue when it presented itself.

Neal laid his pack out on the table in the first room of the house and went into the second room where he kept his bed. He took off his boots and put them in their spot, making a note to himself to remember to take an extra pair of laces for them before he left. He had his usual stores of supplies ready and would be able to pack with relative ease in the morning. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, hanging it over the end post on his bed to be handy when he awoke.

Val sat outside the doorway, watching his master as he stared down at his bed for a moment, looking at the empty side he still kept open. He had long ago been left the only occupant of that bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it behind him.

Neal broke his gaze and stepped out again to the other room, heading toward the remnants of the fire. He banked the coals and set up the screen to keep any stray embers from rolling out onto the wood floor.

The coals popped and hissed, their colors dancing in the wavering visage of heat’s menacing glare. Neal stared into the fire, remembering a time when fire had given him nightmares. He had a burn scar on his back, the skin of his shoulder blades and, up near his neck, a bumpy landscape of waxy looking flesh. He had fallen prey to the cruel flames when he was younger, and now he bore the scar, his memory holding tight to the feel of white-hot pain searing through his every muscle, melting away his flesh. His back had never been the same, never been as flexible to move as freely as it had before. He remembered all too well the helpless feeling of pain, the frantic agony plunging his senses into confusion.

The feel of wet warmth on his hand pulled him back from the haunting memory, drawing his attention away from the fireplace. Val looked up at him with curious eyes. Sometimes it almost seemed as if that dog were more than just a dog. He seemed to know so much, to understand more than a dog should. Val was not born of any specific breed. He had the lean look of a Labrador mixed with a heartier sort of frame. He was very muscular, a fact that was highlighted by his short black fur. His snout was neither blunt nor sharp, and his ears were just long enough to fold forward.

Let’s go to bed, Neal said to the waiting face. It’s too late to be up.

He checked the door to make sure the lock was secure and went into his bedroom, climbing into his bed. The sound of wind rustling the new growth on the trees whispered a promise of worse weather to come, the sky agreeing, with its broken blanket of dark clouds that intermittently blotted out the nearly full moon. It was likely to rain during the night. Neal had seen the clouds moving in as they had come home. Hopefully the storm would pass before he had to start out on his journey.

He heard the wooden wind chimes singing a melancholy tune as the wind jostled them involuntarily, causing them to cry out as they collided with their companions. He ignored the sound as he often did. He had hung them when he built the house because his wife had loved them. He didn’t have the heart to discard them; they held too much meaning for him. He would keep them and always hold onto the memory.

Before getting into bed, Neal sat down at its edge and prayed quietly to himself. He often prayed during hard times when he needed guidance. He sought relief from his grief that felt like a wound that would never heal. It was a balm of sorts to lay his soul open to someone, and it always brought some level of comfort.

Thank You, God, for giving me strength, he whispered. It was a prayer he had always said after battles, a small comfort after soiling his hands and his conscience. At least God had given him the strength of body to persevere and the strength of heart to live on.

When he finally did lie down for the night, with Val lying on the floor near the foot of the bed, he stared up at the dark ceiling, his mind wrestling fitfully with thoughts about what lay ahead. The idea of going back to the palace had stirred up melancholy memories of a troubled past. He hadn’t returned to Meridian since he had retired. He had left that part of himself in the past and had tried to move on. But there were some memories that he would always be tied to.

Something in the pit of his stomach warned him that he was about to get himself into more trouble than he wanted. What could he do, though? He had a responsibility to tend to. Retired or not, he was loyal to the nobility. When he entered their service, he had given his oath to protect the Bazleon house and the people of Coraelia with his life. Though he had given many years to them, he still held that oath dear. His reasons for leaving the service were years in the past. Duty was calling him back.

Val stirred at his spot on the floor. He let out a low groan, almost as in frustration.

What’s the matter, Val? Neal asked him. Can’t sleep?

Val sat up and looked at his master. Neal could barely see his dog in the dark room. His amber eyes caught the faint light from what was showing of the moonshine trickling past the tattered curtains hanging across the window. The white blaze on his chest seemed to be a patch floating in the air, suspended in darkness.

Neal propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at the glowing eyes. Come on up here, friend. We’ll suffer together. He patted the bed by his side, and Val hopped up there to lie down next to him.

Neal stroked the dog’s dusky fur, smiling at the agreeable sound that escaped Val’s throat in response to the familiar affection. It was almost like having a child sometimes, the way Val responded to things that would happen or things Neal would do or say. He seemed to have such a human personality.

But Neal knew that he was not destined to have children. Lady Fate had proven that to him long ago, smiling her mocking smile as she watched it all happen. She had not helped him then; she would not help him now. He could only help himself.

Neal lay back down on his side, facing the empty spot now occupied by his dog. He closed his eyes and willed for sleep to overcome his stubborn senses. After a time, it did.

Two

A nd you are? the stout man at the entrance asked, looking up at Neal from behind the barred window on the door.

The two guards to each side of Neal kept a close watch on his movements, not willing to allow a man who came armed with such a wide variety of weaponry to take any opportunity to stir up trouble. My name is Neal Slayden. The Lady Bazleon sent word for me to come to the palace.

The gatekeeper gave an impatient sigh. And do you have documentation to prove this?

Neal pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to the gatekeeper through the bars. Her name and her seal are on this letter. He waited for the man to confirm that the letter was authentic.

With a grunt of acknowledgement, the man handed back the letter. Yes, Master Slayden. You are expected. He offered a polite smile. The lady has been awaiting your arrival for some time now. If you please, he opened the door to admit Neal, closing it behind him. The guards went back to picking through the rest of the gathered crowd, pulling aside those who seemed suspicious. I shall send word to Lady Bazleon at once that you have come as requested. He called a messenger over to him, instructing the boy to run ahead in order to inform her. She will meet you in one of the offices in the east wing.

The gatekeeper turned and looked off toward a group of servants and runners. Maddy will show you the way.

Hearing her name, the servant girl turned from the group she had been chatting with and smiled at him, nodding her head of short blonde hair to acknowledge that she had heard him. She stepped over to them, giving a curtsy to the gatekeeper. Yes, sir? How may I be of service?

Take Master Slayden to the offices where the lady Laurie holds her meetings. She will be waiting there for him.

She bowed again, turning to Neal. This way, sir. It’s not too far.

Neal turned back to the man. Excuse me, sir, but my horse and dog are in the temporary stable still. May I put them somewhere a little more long term?

His polite smile returned. We shall take care of them, Master Slayden. They will be put in the palace stables. You need only to ask for them, and the servants will retrieve them for you when you go. We will take care of your possessions and bring them to you when you require them.

Neal nodded his thanks and followed the servant girl, leaving the man to return to his job of filtering through guests wishing entrance to the festivities of the Spring Festival, which was commencing that afternoon and culminating in the welcoming of the first day of the season at dawn.

The palace was as grand a place as he remembered, tapestries lining the walls and statues posted at nearly every corner. Lamps hung at even intervals down the corridors and in rooms that they passed, offering illumination to rooms that lacked the light of the sun. The carpeted floors softened their footfalls as Maddy led him to the east wing at a quick pace, turning back to him occasionally to make sure he followed.

Men and women strolled through the halls or busied themselves with cleaning things here and there or carrying items from one place to another. He saw mostly servants about, distinguished as such either by their livery or, in the case of the women, the length and style of their hair. Only women of higher social status were permitted to grow their hair longer than jaw length without having it tied up. He saw few women of any rank among those going about their tasks.

One girl carrying a large bouquet of flowers nearly collided with him as he turned a corner, not able to see him past the tall lilies in the vase in her hands. She blushed and apologized frantically for nearly running him down. With a warm smile, he assured her that it was all right and went on his way, making note to be more careful turning corners in the future while at the palace.

When they finally arrived, Maddy asked him to wait while she went in to inform the lady that he had arrived. He did as she asked and leaned against the wall, watching the people passing through the hallway. Maddy came back out and instructed him to go on in. She smiled as she watched him start toward the door and then went back down the hall, returning to her post.

The office was lit by a number of windows, their drapes drawn back to admit the sun’s rays. As Neal approached the lady, her desk sitting atop a small platform, the haze of sunlight behind her that blurred the edges of her form melted away, and when he stopped before her, he saw at last the woman who had summoned him.

She sat with her wrists lazily draped over the upholstered arms of the chair, her shoulders resting against its back. Her honey brown hair framed the elegant features of her face, tumbling down over her shoulders. She had grown into quite a beautiful woman.

Neal bowed at the waist, introducing himself. Lady Bazleon, I am Neal Slayden. How may I be of service to you?

When he straightened, she was staring at him, watching his eyes. He stared right back, waiting for her to speak. Her calculating stare was irritating. He knew what she was doing. Her magic was proclaimed to the world by three deep red stones strung on a thin silver chain that ran back into her hair. She was using that magic to analyze his character, to read what kind of man he was.

She was oddly riveted to her task of observation, as if in a trance, and it was grating on his nerves. Her stare seemed only to bother him more as the seconds rolled by.

Finally it was more than he could bear. What is it about me, Lady, that you seem to believe requires such close scrutiny? Shall I turn for you so that you may get a better view of me?

She blinked twice, shaking herself out of her reflection. You are not proud of your past, she said softly with her silky voice.

Neal felt his face redden with indignation. He fought to keep his voice steady and his tone respectful. My past is not on trial here. I did not come to discuss what was, but to be an aid to you in order to remedy what is.

She smiled, the charm of her features brightened slightly by the gesture. Her eyes didn’t move from his. On the contrary. Your past is precisely the reason I have called upon you.

Neal’s brow twitched into a frown. He didn’t know what she meant by that, and he nearly didn’t want to ask. Finally, though, he said, Did you plan to inform me, then, what secret has prompted you to call me away from my life, away from my work, and back to this place where I am put under the scrutiny of your magic—without my consent?

You are not a patient man, she said. And I was using my magic to confirm what I suspected of you.

And what was that?

That you are precisely the man I was seeking. Lady Bazleon leaned forward slightly, her smile subtly leaving her face as she commenced with business. "Your service in the past has influenced our decision in choosing you to help us, if you are willing. You may refuse if you wish.

You served under my husband a number of years ago. I was still quite young then, but I knew I liked you. The first time I saw you, you were filled with a sense of duty. You took pride in what you had earned in your service to the nobility. A sad smile took over her expression. Now I see that that pride, that sense of duty, has dimmed, weakened by this tragedy that haunts your past. You have changed, as by all rights you should have, but I still see that strength deep at your core. You may have buried it some over time, but it still thrives within you.

Neal cleared his throat, not wanting to hear any more. He sought to get her off the topic she was on. And what use am I to you?

She sat back again, her expression slipping into a blank mask of resignation. My husband has been taken, stolen from us. I need your help to get him back.

Neal straightened in surprise. This was not at all what he had expected. Who took him? Where is he? Worry began to seep into his mind. Deacan had been a dear friend to him when he was in the service. He had always been more than just a commander. He feared for his old friend’s life.

"The Montilay have taken him to their homeland, and as a ransom, they want the forests separating our lands, the Venagren Wood. They have threatened to attack the Parlenai and take over the eastern border unless we agree. If we refuse, they will kill my husband and slaughter an entire race of innocent people.

They seek to start a war with us, and they are striking first here, in my family, at our hearts. We were given until their Festival of Wizards’ Fall.

Neal quickly calculated how much time they would have left after the Montilay’s annual celebration of the Parlenai slaughtering the wizards at the end of the Old War. It was only six weeks away from their own Spring Festival. He still did not understand fully what it was that she wanted with him.

And why are we going to go after him? Are you surrendering your land to them?

A scowl darkened her face, making her earlier smile look all the more pleasant in comparison. I will not surrender to them.

Then what is it you plan to do?

We will first go to Hoviny Valley; we will warn the Parlenai and ask for their help. They were once warriors. They will not be taken easily. Once they are forewarned of the attack, if they choose to help us, we will take some of their men with us and drive a sword into the Montilay’s hearts. I ask only that you travel with me, that you act as a guide and as protection.

Neal raised his eyebrows as he considered what she had said. This is a bold move you have planned.

I do not take threats lightly.

And why do you need me to guide you?

Her smile returned. Because I know I can trust you. I can see your heart. You are a good man, and I know you loved my husband. You will not allow this to happen. I can see that much.

A little girl ran into the room, her long hair flowing in a stream behind her as she trotted up to Lady Bazleon. Mother, you must come and get ready for the banquet. She threw her arms around her mother’s neck. You must come now. The servants say that it will take a while to get you ready. She pulled back, straightening her skirts.

Lady Bazleon smiled down at the young girl. Krista, what have I told you about interrupting?

The girl’s bright eyes winced closed as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. You said not to do it.

I believe I told you to stand to the side and wait for me to call on you, did I not?

Yes, Mother. Krista reopened her eyes. I’m sorry. I’m just so excited about the festival tonight. I will not forget again.

I will come in a minute, when I finish with this. Go and tell the servants to be expecting another, will you, dear?

Krista glanced over to Neal and turned her attention back to her mother. All right, Mother. Don’t be long. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before trotting back to the door from where she had entered.

Lady Bazleon’s amber eyes followed the girl out, turning back to Neal only after her daughter had closed the door behind her. She smiled at Neal and shrugged apologetically for the interruption. It is her first year attending. She is understandably excited. Her smile slipped away again. I didn’t know when you would arrive. It will take the evening to get ready for our departure. Since tonight is the banquet, why don’t you join us?

I would prefer not to.

Come now, Master Slayden, don’t be difficult. It’s going to be a grand event. You look as though you could use a party.

Neal’s posture stiffened. Thank you, but I will decline. I will pledge my service to you and will help you find and reclaim Deacan; however, that will not change my answer.

If you accept the job, then you must attend. I assure you, you will not regret making the decision. Besides, I am without an escort. Her face hid the pain that statement held behind it. I would be very grateful if you would take up that post for the evening.

Neal nearly winced at the way she hid her emotions behind her mask of courtesy. He still didn’t want to go and tried again to offer an excuse. But I must take care of my dog. I doubt you wish him to join me at the banquet.

Your dog will be cared for by our servants. They will feed him and see that he is kept in the stables where he will be safe. If you wish, he can stay with you in your room tonight. You will need to stay here at the estate for the evening. Arrangements have been made, and a room is waiting for you.

Neal’s mind went blank; he could think of no excuse that she could not defeat. When he said nothing further, Lady Bazleon stood. Her movements were stunningly graceful, no motion wasted in her precise actions.

It’s settled, then. If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your room for the evening. The servants will assist you with whatever you require and our seamstresses will come to clothe you in more appropriate attire. She glanced