Hook Nose claps his hands together and turns to face me. “Well, now that that pesky business is resolved, we can move on to bigger and better things. Come along,” he says, like I have any choice. Then he spins on his heel and heads toward the docks. I follow, albeit reluctantly, the guard hovering over me providing plenty enough incentive for me not to make a fuss.
I hope Aemon’s all right. It’s his instinct to fight back, but this is a situation where he’d be better off going along with things, or at least faking it for a time. Then again, he’s been faking it for years with Troi, so maybe he’s better equipped to deal with this than I give him credit for. I hoped to see Aemon when we reached the docks, since he left only a little ahead of us, but the river is quiet and there are no boats in the water for as far as I can see. When I reach the edge of the dock, Hook Nose unlocks and removesthe manacles from my ankles and tosses them in the boat before holding out a hand to help me step inside. I consider telling him where he can put that hand, but the words that come out are, “Where are you taking me?”
“I am bringing you to be evaluated.” Hook Nose helps me sit, then positions himself directly in front of me. We’re so close, in fact, that our knees bump from where we’re sitting crisscrossed. “It’s something we do with most newcomers, but the past couple days have been especially busy, so we’ve come a bit later than intended.”
“And Aemon? Where are you taking him?” I’m trying to keep my voice steady and my emotions in check because nothing good is going to come from me getting upset, but the way my voice cracks on that last word gives me away.
The corner of Hook Nose’s lip twitches as if trying to hide a smile. “Your companion is fine.”
“Promise?”
He cants his head again—maybe he’s got a tic—his brows raised and lips pursed, as if to say, “How stupid are you?” Instead, he simply replies, “No.”
Alright, then.
I pretend to study the moss growing along the edge of the river because I really don’t want to look into this guy’s weirdly pink eyes anymore. Unfortunately for me, it seems his mother didn’t teach him that it’s rude to stare because he keeps those eyes locked on the side of my face the entire ride. By the time the guards steer us to another dock, I’m so uncomfortable, I contemplate jumping overboard and swimming the rest of the way.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hook Nose says, as though reading my mind. “Dangerous things lurk in the waters of Wayl.”
I turn to look at him then. “What?”
“Wayl.” He spreads his arms, palms up, indicating the area all around us. “Your new home.”
Something splashes in the water next to me, making me jump.
The boat finally bumps against the dock, and I am on my feet and climbing out before they’ve even secured the darn thing.
Hook Nose chuckles and climbs out after me.
There aren’t nearly as many crystals lighting this area as there were in the city, lending an air of foreboding to the already imposing building the guard pushes me toward. The structure stretches the entire height of the cavern, its spires so tall they merge with the ceiling overhead. It reminds me of some of the ancient doms I’d seen in books in the Duje library, except whereas those were inviting, covered in depictions of the gods and goddesses doing good deeds or blessing their devotees, this is sinister. The figures that climb these walls claw at the air, as if attempting to pull themselves free from the stone still encasing their lower halves. They look down on us, their distended faces locked in an eternal scream, their arms stretched thin like putty. My hands have begun shaking, and I clasp them together, squeezing hard to muffle the tremors. I’m led up the wide staircase and onto a landing to stand before double metal doors, at least twice my height.
I’m wondering if Hook Nose is going to knock, when the door swings open, and we’re greeted by a human man with dark skin and even darker eyes. He doesn’t say a word, simply leads us through a massive foyer and into a hallway with more glowing crystals fixed into sconces on the wall, lighting our way. I’m drawinga makeshift map in my head, just in case I get an opportunity to escape.
But what about Aemon? Could I leave without him? Why does that feel like a betrayal? He’s my captor, not my friend. But he let me go. He let me go and tried to fight off all those fae to save me. Not to mention how he protected me from that man. That has to count for something, right?
We head down a set of stairs that, judging by the narrow walls and lack of ornamentation, I’m assuming is for the servants. The air grows hot and clammy as we descend, and with every step my panic builds, like a tightening spring, about to snap. I try to focus on slowing my breathing, the way Jael showed me, but this is feeling a lot like when I was taken to the palace dungeon. Hook Nose opens another door and gestures for me to step through. I hesitate a moment before I notice the steam wafting out of the doorway. Not really something I’d expect from a dungeon—unless they’re boiling people alive, but that would most likely be accompanied by a great deal of screaming, so I’m fairly certain I’m not about to be tortured. Even so, my steps are cautious as I approach the threshold and poke my head through. It’s a long room filled with interconnected pools of various shapes and sizes, brimming with steaming hot water. The rocks surrounding the pools are various shades of white, cream and brown, so different from the dark gray stones that have dominated the landscape since we were brought here.
“Take off your clothes and wash up,” Hook Nose says. “You’ll find soap and scented oils set out around all of the baths. I expect every inch of your body scrubbed clean. Your clothes are hangingon the wall.” He gestures to something that looks like a white slip dangling from a hook embedded in the stone.
“Where is the rest of it?” I ask, fearing the answer.
“That is the rest of it. Now get moving. We can’t leave him waiting.”
I’m about to ask who “he” is, but the words die on my tongue as Hook Nose looks me up and down, his lip curled up in distaste. “Leave those rags on the floor. A servant will collect them later.” And with that, he pivots around—military-style—and heads back the way we came. The door shuts behind him with a resounding thud, and I’m all alone.
The stubborn part of me wants to sit here and do nothing, just to irritate the crotchety bugger, but there are three days’ worth of dirt and sweat coating my body, making me itch in places you don’t want to scratch in mixed company, and I’m so achy every movement is a chore.
I need this bath desperately. So, with a little twisting and a lot of cursing, I manage to get my corset unlaced, and I peel—literallypeelbecause it is stuck to my body—off the rest of the dress. I dip a toe in to test the water. It’s borderline boiling, but unless it’s going to literally melt my skin off, I’m getting in, so I sit on the edge and slip into the water. Good gods, that’s hot, but also amazing. It stings my skin and is turning me an alarming shade of pink, and the steam is so thick, I have to feel around the edge of the pool to find the soap and oils Hook Nose was talking about. I should probably learn his real name before I slip and call him Hook Nose by accident. Something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate that.
When I’ve completely scrubbed off all the sweat and dirt—and possibly my first layer of skin—I get out, dry myself and pad overto the dress that was set out for me. Snatching it off the hook, I hold it out to arm’s length, so I can take a good look at it.
I’m not exactly sure how to even make sense of what I’m seeing. It looks like a child’s slip with little bits of golden thread woven into the smoky gray fabric. I hold it against myself, noting how the hem barely reaches the top of my thighs. There’s no way this thing is going to cover my big butt. There has to be more, right? I scan the walls and floor, even though I already know this is all that was set out for me.
The door squeals open and I crush the dress against my breasts to hide my nakedness, but it isn’t Hook Nose who enters. It’s an elderly human woman with rheumy blue eyes and gray hair pulled into a severe bun. In her hands, she carries a mass of what looks like golden rope, but as she draws closer, I realize that isn’t quite right. The material is flat and thick like leather but covered in golden scales that resemble a snakeskin, and it isn’t all one piece but two. There’s a hoop that could be a belt and a long length of rope I can’t even begin to discern the purpose for.
“What is that?” I ask, hoping she understands Ferinees because I still haven’t given away that I can speak their language. But she doesn’t respond, not a peep. Even worse, she doesn’t look me in the eye, which is terribly unnerving. Why won’t she look me in the eye? The old woman takes the fabric from my hands and motions for me to lift my arms. When I do, she slips the dress over my head. The material is exquisitely soft—I’m guessing silk, but so thin the outline of my nipples is plainly visible. It does cover my backside, barely.
Just don’t raise your arms, Katya.
