But her own shirt was going to be a problem, dripping wet as it was. “No one would mind if you borrowed another blouse from the storage room,” Nalyx said, as she attempted to wring the fabric out.
Gantalla laughed. “I’m not sure they’d have any clothes that were appropriate for a long walk to Palashran.”
He paused. “You’re leaving town, then?”
“I need to go,” Gantalla said, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been here too long already.”
Nalyx nodded, not quite sure why he was suddenly feeling so bereft. “Let’s go have a look, anyway. Not everything the seamstresses make is black and lacy.”
In the storage room, he waited while Gantalla looked through the racks of clothing. She pulled out a blue blouse… then returned it to the rack when she saw how low cut the front was. A cream shirt was next, but it was so sheer as to be almost see-through – something Nalyx would have appreciated, but as Gantalla had pointed out, not suitable for a long trek on the road. But then she spotted something that seemed to pique her interest. She pulled it out and held it up. It was a blouse in a deep, forest green colour, and Nalyx supposed for a moment that the seamstress must have been having an off day when she’d made this piece. It was loose-fitting, designed to hang off one shoulder, but the bodice was high-cut, and would cover Gantalla’s modesty far better than most of the clothes here.
“Looks good,” he said, then, when she hesitated, he turned around, putting his back to her.
He listened to the rustle of fabric as she changed, then a minute or two later, she said, “Okay.”
He turned around again, and for a moment, he felt a touch of disappointment. The blouse was indeed perfect for her purposes, and a rogue part of him curled in distaste. “Looks great,” he said. The blouse covered her breasts entirely, and the wide waist hid any hint of the curve of her hips. And against the brown of her trousers, the colour looked perfect.
“It’s not bad,” Gantalla said, balling up the fabric of her shirt and giving it another quick wring. She looked at him expectantly, but he made no move towards the door. He didn’t know what to make of her, and he decided it was time to voice his opinion.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, working hard to not make it sound like an accusation.
“Doing what?”
“Helping me. The armour, the clothes, the bath. Why?”
She looked confused. “Isn’t that what the serving women are supposed to do?”
“Well, yes, but mostly they just…” He stopped, realising how crass his next statement might sound.
“Have sex with you?” Gantalla filled in for him.
“It’s not that simple,” Nalyx said, feeling himself flush. “It’s not like they don’t get anything out of it.”
“Jewellery? Gifts? Coins?”
Nalyx sighed. “I suppose it has a certain mercenary bent to it,” he admitted.
“And oddly enough, that’s why I’m helping you now,” Gantalla said. “I, um… I might have…” She looked down and Nalyx followed her gaze, not seeing anything odd. “I took a pair of boots from the armoury this morning,” Gantalla said, and suddenly, Nalyx recognised the pair on her feet. They were the same style that all the warriors wore, fashioned by one of the cobblers in town. He hadn’t noticed them before. “I needed new shoes, and I’ve already spent most of my money. I suppose I thought this would be a good form of payment. I’m not a thief. I just…”
“You just needed a pair of boots.”
“Right.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Most of the serving women had learned a strong sense of entitlement, and though most of them wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of warrior’s boots, if they’d felt they needed them, they would have just taken them, payment be damned. Gantalla’s sense of integrity was both baffling and endearing. Nalyx smiled. “I’d say you’ve earned them. And thank you. Most people wouldn’t have been nearly as considerate as you’ve been.”
Gantalla smiled and led the way out of the bathhouse. “So what’s next for you today?” she asked, as they meandered back towards the barracks. The women at the fountain had finished their task by now, and had no doubt wandered off to cause mischief elsewhere.
“I need to go back to the hospital,” Nalyx said. “To get my bandages changed.” The nurse yesterday had told him to come back each day, not only to get the wrappings changed, but so they could assess how well his hands were healing. As a warrior, he needed to be able to grip his sword, and any infection or scarring would hamper his ability to fight.
“I’ll come with you, then,” Gantalla said.
Nalyx raised an eyebrow at the offer. “I thought you needed to be on your way.”
Gantalla shrugged. “I’ll make sure you’re seen to first. One more hour isn’t going to make much of a difference.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gantalla held the door to the hospital open, allowing Nalyx to step inside, then followed him in. The entrance hall was wide, with a desk on one side of the room and a long row of chairs on the other. A number of other people sat on the chairs; a man with a bloody bandage around his leg; a woman with a swelling on the side of her face; a pregnant lady with two young children fidgeting restlessly in the chairs beside her.
