Torin was silent for a moment as we worked before he shook his head just as we were encasing the pillows in fresh cases.
“No. I didn’t want to take that liberty.”
I hummed softly as we replaced the blanket and fluffy monstrosity the Lord of Lishahl called a comforter.
“That’s . . . rather noble of you,” I said, turning down the covers as Torin crossed his arms.
“She means more to me than anything else. Surely you know that by now.” He pinned me with a gaze that spoke a thousand words and held a myriad of emotions.
“Yes, Torin. I know that now,” I said quietly.
“Good.” He nodded his head. “Because I’m going to burn the world down for her, if she’ll let me.”
Deep in our conversation, we didn’t hear the water shut off or the tub drain, so we both jumped in surprise at Ellowyn’s clear voice.
“No one will be burning anything for me,” she stated, voice hard and unyielding. “I will be doing that myself.”
Chapter Eleven
Ellowyn
The lavender-scented steam from my impossibly hot bath cascaded in lazy tendrils from the open bathroom door into the gaudy bedroom. I’d avoided the scent for so long, not wanting to be reminded of what I’d lost when I was taken from Hestin. But now that I’d closed the door on the relationship with the people who raised me, I could simply enjoy the fragrance for what it was: a relaxing aroma.
I padded quietly across the room, towel clutched to my chest as my long hair, dark and wet from my bath, stuck to my exposed back. I’d washed quickly yet thoroughly, the water turning a shade of brown so dark that it was nearly black from the ash and bodily fluids that clung to my skin and hair. I’d drained the tub twice before deciding to wash my hair under the running spigot.
The myriad of foul things that matted the strands of my hair together would have disgusted me in another life. Now, though, I was grateful that I was even here, even alive, to wash my hair.
So many others were not.
In flashes that burned the back of my eyelids, I saw hundreds die again as I relived the battle. The worst was the memory of Tine’s death. My breath froze in my chest, movements stuttering as images of Tine lying motionless on the ground with a hole the size of a fist in his chest, Talamh slumped over his form, keening for the gods to bring his brother back.
I shook my head, forcibly banishing the images back to the deepest, darkest parts of my mind where they could be dissected and processed later.
Or never.
Peytor avoided eye contact with me as I walked toward the ostentatiously carved espresso wood armoire that dominated the wall opposite the bathroom, choosing instead to fix his gaze somewhere on the equally ostentatious ceiling.
“Who designed this place,” I grumbled, already annoyed with whichever lord or lady thought that gold filigree overeverythingwas a wise design choice.
“The Lord of Lishahl’s third—” Torin began, but Peytor cut him off.
“I think it’s his fourth wife. Didn’t the third like that powder blue?”
“Oh, maybe you’re right. I thought that was his second wife?”
“No, the second wife was emerald green. Something about a certain Mage’s eyes . . .”
“Probably why that wife didn’t last long if she was thinking about a different Mage’s eyes,” Torin chuckled.
“Hmm. Yes. None of them seem to last very long, do they? I wonder what the fifth wife will prefer. They’ve almost run through the rainbow.”
I stared, mouth slightly agape, as water dripped from the ends of my hair to puddle on the stone floor around my feet.
“Close your mouth, Ellowyn. No one wants to see your throat,” Peytor chided, adopting Mother’s imperious tone.
I chuffed a laugh even as a sense of unease grew at the thought of our parents. At some point, I’d have to tell him they were kept beneath the manor in Vespera and explain their many crimes. I held little doubt that it would shatter his illusion of them completely. Peytor had amuchdifferent relationship with our parents than I, and I didn’t relish destroying that love. My brother was good and deserving of love, even if our parents weren’t.
“I don’t mind, actually,” Torin said, and I frowned slightly, thinking he was reading my thoughts, but quickly ducked my head into the armoire when I heard Peytor gagging.
