“Best not to wake her. A bath, perhaps?”
Socair was reminded of the ale and noticed her own stink. She felt a pang of regret at having not noticed before entering the baker’s shop. He had been kind not to mention it and even more kind not to simply turn them out. A bath was well overdue.
The room was not lacking in doors and it was only on the third attempt that they came into what Spéirbaile’s people called a bath. A large slate pool along one wall and black granite benches polished smooth along the other with buckets and rags.
“What are we meant to do with this?” Socair turned with her complaint and saw Práta undressing.
She forgot often how beautiful a woman Práta was and cursed her mind for being so preoccupied with other things. It never ceased to stop her where she stood that she might admire the smoothness of her skin. Even her freckled shoulders had a unique elegance to them that Socair found alluring. The smell of ale fouled the wandering of her lusty mind and she looked back at the buckets before undressing herself.
“I have heard the same complaints of visitors to Abhainnbaile,” Práta said. “We are meant to wash ourselves with the rags first.”
Socair watched as she grabbed a bucket and filled it with water, taking it to the bench.
“All this space for two? What is the purpose of it?”
“It does seem a bit much,” Práta said, motioning Socair to the stone. “Come, I will wash you.”
Socair sat and as Práta washed her a thousand objections ran through her mind. Did they not cycle the water often? Was she being bathed in the filth of some poxy old noble? She felt she should not bring the complaints to Práta, who seemed not to mind. She was worrying overmuch, no doubt, at a custom that simply seemed strange to her. For her time in the Bastion, Socair knew she had not truly come to understand the way of even the elves of her own city. She knew structure and order and very little else. It had meant a disastrous meeting with Briste and that Rianaire had gotten her way without Socair knowing what words could possibly push her into a corner. Lost battles.
When Práta had finished washing her, she gave Socair a kiss on the neck. “Your brow is knit.”
Socair sighed. “It is like to become permanent if I keep up as I have been.” She grabbed a rag from the bar along the wall and stood. “Your turn.”
Práta sat on the stone and watched as Socair washed her. “What is it that bothers you so deeply about talking with politicians?”
Socair pulled the rag gently over Práta’s light skin, tracing behind it with her fingers and staring absentmindedly at the lines her touch left in the rag’s path. “I do not know their rules nor how to play by them.”
“Must you play by them?”
She leaned forward, pushing her chest to Práta’s back and laid her hands on Práta’s breasts. Socair breathed deep of her lover’s faint scent and sighed deeply out. “Mustn’t everyone? Is that not the nature of their game?”
Práta placed her hands on Socair’s and pulled the rag over the front of her own body and down her legs. “What is the purpose of rules to a game?”
Socair let the rag fall and pulled her hand gently up against Práta’s crotch, pressing into her. “That it might be fair.”
Práta arched in response and let the slightest hint of a moan escape. “And if you care nothing for fairness? Only to win?”
Socair understood but she had had enough of words. She spun Práta and laid her on the bench, kissing her deeply. Práta gave no complaint and they lost themselves in passion for what felt like hours. She had needed it as much as Práta. So much time spent wound tight, they had each forgotten the other. The love they made was almost desperate, holding just a bit too tight and feeling it nearly too deeply when they came from the pleasure of the other.
When they had exhausted themselves, they washed each other again, laughing at having wasted the time before. Socair went first into the large stone soaking tub and Práta followed, sliding up to her.
“I am beginning to understand the appeal of these baths,” Socair said, smiling.
“You will become spoiled at this rate.”
“I may. Though, I will be sure to blame you for forcing it all on me. I’d have slept in the stables.”
There was the creaking of a door from the main room. Práta had heard it as well and had given her room, so Socair leapt over the edge of the bath and made for the door. She flung it open to find the room empty. Nath had gone and the hallway door was standing open. Socair grabbed the closest thing to hand, a dry shift and thin pants that sat on the floor at the edge of the bed. Práta came to see what the noise had been.
“Nath has gone. She can’t have got far.”
Práta nodded and Socair bounded from the room and into the hallway. She ran down into the lobby as quickly as she could manage, looking left and right but not seeing the girl. The clothes were thin and quickly wet themselves against her body. In spite of it, she pushed herself out the door and found Nath there in the middle of the street, the doorman standing next to her, both looking up. Tiny flakes of white were falling from the heavens.
Nath turned at the sound of the door and looked at Socair in wonder.
“What is it?” Nath said the words and turned her eyes
