I lift a hand, and snap my fingers. Water appears in the tub, steam curling off the surface. She startles, then blinks.
“You didn’t have to?—”
“You were looking at the tub like it holds the meaning of life. You clearly want to bathe, now you can.”
She doesn’t move, staring at me. Her tongue sweeps overher lips.
“Are you …” Her throat moves as she swallows. “Are you planning to stay and watch again?”
I remember the last time—her in the water, my eyes on her skin, the way she flushed under my gaze.
“Possibly.”
Silence falls between us, and I wait for her to demand I leave. When she gets to her feet and reaches for the laces of her tunic, heat licks through my veins.
She undresses with her back to me, letting the tunic fall, followed by her undershirt. When she steps out of her pants, my eyes track over the bruises on her legs, the new muscle in her shoulders and arms, and I wonder for a second if things would have gone the same way in the forest that day if she’d had the training she does now.
She climbs into the tub and sinks down until the water reaches her collarbone. A sigh escapes her, and some of the tension seems to bleed out. I stay where I am, leaning against the door, and for a while neither of us speak.
She tips her head back against the rim of the tub, eyes closed, letting the heat of the water work into her muscles. I watch the firelight play across the water, across her skin, and then I push off the door and move around behind her.
Her eyes fly open. “What are you?—”
“Relax.” I kneel behind the tub and reach for the soap on the edge. “Tip your head back.”
She hesitates, tensing up.
“I’m not going to hurt you,Moirthalen.”
“I know that.” But she doesn’t relax.
“Then tip your head back.” I gather her hair in my hands, lifting it away from her neck and shoulders.
It takes another heartbeat or two before her head slowly tipsback again, resting it against the rim of the tub. I let her hair spill down the outside, dark and wet. A glance to the side, and I have a small table with a pitcher of clean water. On the floor, I form an empty basin.
Dipping my hands into the water, I pick up the soap and work it between my palms until it lathers, then slide my fingers into her hair.
She goes rigid. I ignore her, working the lather through the wet strands, my fingertips pressing against her scalp in small circles. After a moment, some of the stiffness leaves her.
“Sit up.”
I move to the crown of her head, then down to the nape of her neck, where the muscles are knotted tight. When I press my thumbs into the tension there, she makes a soft sound, not quite a moan, but close.
“When did you last sleep properly?”
“I don’t remember.”
I work the knots with my thumbs, feeling them slowly release under the pressure. Her eyes drift closed, and she sighs. Her shoulders drop another inch.
I rinse the soap away with the pitcher of water, and work more into her hair, then rinse it again. With each pass, she relaxes a little more, until she’s leaning back into my touch, her lips parted.
“Nella won’t talk to me.” The words fall from her lips in a whisper. “She won’t look at me or eat with me. She doesn’t say anything other than ‘yes, my lady’ and ‘no, my lady.’” Her voice wobbles. “We’ve known each other since we were children. I’m closer to her than I am to my sister, and now she looks at me like she doesn’t know me at all.”
I rinse her hair again.
“She’s scared. Iknowthat. And I don’t know if it’s just beinghere, or if something happened that she’s not telling me.”
My hands still in her hair.
