She took a deep breath and then another.
Waiting. She knew it well, and would know it better still before the end.
And experience told her that it would pass all the better after a bath.
Better at least than stare into a fire and think of others once shared. For stories and warm lips against hers, desperate with longing and a brief moment of rightness so sweet she could nearly taste it even now.
Better a bath than to remember all she once had and would never know again.
Two
Penryn stared at the bath, flummoxed at its use. It was not merely a simple tub stationed in the middle room waiting to be tended. Henrik had not mentioned anyone coming to provide the water for it, and claimed the small space held everything she could require. There was even a washbasin stationed within with the same strange metal-workings that confused her by the bath.
It was not wholly dissimilar to the strange device she had seen within the cottage weeks before, and even now she readily recalled the deep groan it had made when she had attempted to use it.
She reached out, hand at the lever, and braced herself for a similar sound.
And gave a tug.
Not a protest, simply a gush of water.
She blinked at it in surprise, the torrent full and ready. The ingenuity was not lost on her, most especially given the height of the tower. She would be amazed at pipe-work transporting water from a well at all let alone straight into her bath.
The amazement dulled slightly when she reached out to touch and found it cold. Surely these people did not enjoy icy baths. They could not be so wholly different from her kind.
Or so she hoped.
There was another lever, and she gave it a quick tug before taking a step backward, waiting for some sign that she had brought about some disaster, yet the water merely continued to flow, the pitch of its descent changing only slightly to suggest that she had succeeded at... something.
She dropped her hand back into the water and smiled to herself. Warm. Not terribly hot, but warm enough that she would not mind submerging herself within.
Belatedly she realised there was a chain with some sort of metal plug for the bottom of the tub, and she chastised herself for the waste when she had allowed so much water to escape already.
Satisfied that the bath had been conquered, she went to the washbasin and made use of its levers, merely to show herself that she could adjust to this new dwelling, and quickly too.
The chamber pot was another matter entirely, one she was grateful she did not yet require, bolted to the wall with a similar lever of its own.
There were large towels available for drying oneself, and she took one closer to the side of her tub before she began the tedious work of divesting herself of clothing. This door had a bolt on the inside, and for that she was grateful, as she would not have to endure any intrusion until she permitted it.
Her boots were first, the leather tight and cracked in places. They were fine, sturdy things, but even they were not immune to the perils of the road and unfavourable conditions. Her stockings came next, her feet feeling terribly naked and exposed when she made her first step on to the hard stone. Leggings peeled downward and her overdress and tunic were more difficult to manage without twisting her ribs and causing tugs of pain with her every breath. She also had to undo Grim’s careful bindings on her wrist, and for that she was most sorry.
But better it be her than be forced to watch a healer do the same, hear his comments on any insufficiencies.
She did not think she could bear to hear any criticism of what Grimult had done for her.
She folded everything into a pile, the cloak last of all, covering her bundle in a swathe of crimson.
There was a small table beside the tub, bottles of lotions and potions awaiting her perusal, and she shuddered a little at the prospect of being truly clean.
She was tempted to think of her last bath, one shared and lovely and intimidating all at once, but she pushed the memory of it away quickly lest it threaten to consume her.
She sank into the tub less gracefully than she would have liked given the weakness in her wrist. But she did so without great damage to herself and that was something.
The water still flowed, unrelenting warmth trickling over her in the most delicious of ways.
And despite how inappropriate the thought, she wished this too might be shared. Perhaps the ache would lesson in a few weeks, when she could plausibly imagine him back home, back where he belonged. Forgetting her.
When she did not have to think of him cold and alone, walking endlessly until he could at last take flight instead.
He was beautiful in the air, though she had never told him so. She had experienced it once and watched it the second, and the power and grace at his disposal was enough to leave her breathless.
She sank beneath the water, dunking her head and hoping that she could collect herself before her solitude was no more and she had to pretend yet again that people like Grim did not exist. That wings were made of stone and lined this very building in a watchful myth.
Yet even so, she wondered if her deceit was worth anything. These sages might have breached their contract already, in more terrible ways than the one she already knew.
Everything might be for nothing.
And then she
