wooden bench and more shelving. Steam from the baths had seeped into the room through a connecting door at the far end, giving the air a damp, velvety warmth. As I had requested, a stack of washing and drying cloths had been laid out on the bench, together with a ceramic pot of rough milled soap, combs, and, most importantly, fresh clothing. I picked up the neatly folded top layer of the first pile: a long woman’s tunic, the brown weave close and soft. Below were the accompanying ankle-length trousers and a stack of underthings. A similar pile sat beside it.
“Clean clothes for both of us.” I grinned at Vida as she closed the red door behind us. “Tunic and trousers. Finally!”
Vida eyed the second pile. “A set for me, too? Really?”
I nodded, gratified by her wide smile of pleasure. She did not smile very often around me.
It did not take us long to shed the now dirt-encrusted clothes we had been given in the city. I averted my eyes from the curves of Vida’s naked form. It had been a long time since I had bathed in a communal bath. For nearly five years my maimed body had made me untouchable, forcing me to bathe alone. I looked down at my now-straight leg and smoothed my palm across the strong lock of bone and muscle and unscarred skin that formed my hip. It still filled me with wonder.
I picked up one of the washing cloths from the pile and held it modestly across my groin, then collected the pot of soap. “Vida, you bring the rest of the cloths.”
Eagerly, I slid open the door to the baths, the heavier heat settling against my skin. Although it was humid outside, I still longed for the cleanliness that came only from hot water. A long wooden partition down the middle of the room separated the men and women’s bathing areas, but it did not reach the roof, and steam had collected near the high ceiling in a soft haze. At the far end was the women’s bath, a large sunken pool with pale drifts rising into the still, thick air.
But first, the washing station. I crossed to the narrow trough that stood along the wall with a series of low stools and small buckets in front of it. A terra-cotta pipe trickled continuously into its catch, the sound like a tiny waterfall.
I chose a middle stool, placed the pot of soap beside it on the wooden floor, then picked up a bucket. One deep scoop the length of the trough filled it with water on the satisfying side of hot.
Vida closed the dressing room door. “Shall I wait until you are finished, my lady?”
I lowered the bucket to the floor. “No, join me.”
Vida smiled and bowed.
With full buckets and plenty of soap, we got to work. Vida picked the remaining pins from my heavy, oiled hair, the remnants of Moon Orchid’s careful styling finally gone. Then I returned the service, freeing Vida’s hair from the intricate Safflower braids into a frizz of kinks.
“That feels good,” Vida said, digging her fingers into her scalp. She giggled as she felt the volume of hair around her head. “I must look like a wild woman.”
I crossed my eyes and held out the thick tangle of my own hair. “Or a madwoman.” Vida’s giggle broke into a snort.
We dumped buckets of water over each other, the streaming heat slowly softening the days of collected grime. I worked up a lather from the rough, grainy soap that smelled of sweet grass, and massaged it from my toes to my crown, scrubbing with a cloth and sluicing with water until the suds that ran off my body was no longer gray. Beside me, Vida did the same, softly humming an old folk song that I vaguely remembered from the salt farm. We hummed the chorus together, breaking into laughter as our different versions ended in a clash of notes.
“Shall I wash your back, my lady?” Vida asked.
“Yes, please.” I shifted around on my stool, then felt the wet, sodden warmth of a cloth against my back, and the gentle pressure as Vida worked it along my shoulders and spine. I sighed as tensions melted under her firm scrubbing. It had been more than four years since I’d had the pleasure of “skinship”: that sweet, gentle bond of physical freedom and camaraderie that came with bathing among other girls and women. I had not realized how much I had missed it.
Eventually, we were both clean enough to enter the bath. I led the way down the three steps, the water rising from ankle to knee and then hip in delicious stings of heat. I sank down and found the stone sitting-step along the edge. Vida waded in and, with a sigh, sat opposite me.
“Thank you for this, my lady,” she said.
“You must be excited to see your father again.”
She nodded, lowering her strong shoulders farther into the water. “And you must be excited to be reunited with your mother.”
I shrugged. “I have not seen her since I was six. I will be a stranger to her, as she is to me.” I paused, then finally gave voice to my thoughts. “Perhaps there will be no feeling between us.”
Or perhaps she’d not had enough feeling to keep me, so long ago.
Vida shook her head. “She is your family. There is always a bond.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I cannot remember what it is like to have a family.”
Vida tilted her head. “But you have had people who have cared for you? Who care for you now, like Lady Dela and Ryko.”
“I’m not sure Ryko would still want to be in that count,” I said dryly.
But Dela definitely cared. When I was small, there had been Dolana, at the salt farm, before she was taken by the coughing sickness. And later, of course, Rilla and Chart. Even my master, in his own cold way. In all truth, I wished it were Rilla and Chart who had been found by Tozay’s men, and not the stranger who was on her way. I missed Rilla’s common sense and sharptongued affection and Chart’s lewd humor. I sent a swift prayer to the gods to keep them safe. And to bring them to me.
Vida raised her leg in the water, contemplating the pale row of toes as they emerged above the surface. “It is obvious His Majesty cares for you, too.”
I pretended to peer into the water to avoid her amused glance.
“And Lord Ido,” she added.
That brought my head up. “He does not care about me.”
“He watches you all the time,” she said. “He is a handsome man, don’t you think?”
“Not as handsome as His Majesty,” I said firmly, but I smiled, too. I did not want to curb Vida’s sudden friendliness. This was the skinship I remembered: women’s talk, and laughter, and the gentle teasing about life and love.
“Perhaps. They are handsome in different ways. His Majesty is …” She paused, obviously searching for the right word, then gave a small shrug. “Beautiful, in that way that touches the spirit.”
“And Lord Ido?” I prompted.
“Lord Ido is
I nodded, meeting her grin. It was a good description.
She shot me a sharp look. “Are you attracted to him?”
“Of course not.” I shook my head, but I felt my face flush.
“I can see why you would be. You have a lot in common.”
“No, we don’t!” I said quickly. “He is a traitor and a murderer.”
Her gaze dropped from mine. Although I sat in a hot bath, I felt a chill: in Vida’s eyes, I was also a killer.
All our ease gone; what a fool I was.
She cupped her hands and splashed water over her face, breaking the silence.
“You are the last two Dragoneyes,” she said, smoothing back her wet hair. “It must be a strong bond. And he has more than just his dragon power.”
I frowned: her phrasing seemed familiar. An echo of another voice within the words. I half rose from the water, driven by a terrible intuition. “Did His Majesty tell you to talk about Lord Ido?”
She shook her head. Too fast. “No, my lady.”
I stood up. “He did. I can see it in your face.”
“No, my lady.”
“You are spying for him!” I raised my hand, wanting to slap away her betrayal.
She shrank back against the wall. “No, my lady. It was not His Majesty! It was Lady Dela. I’m sorry. I didn’t
