Chapter 31
Sticky Aftermath
After our pleasure-filled nap, Thaddeus slipped out to fetch some food, aiming to satisfy my grumbling stomach until dinner.
Waking in the sturdy embrace of his arms, limbs tangled, stealing kisses just because we were within proximity, had been a strange and delightful sensation.
With Eithan, it was different. Now, with something to compare it to, I realized those moments of pleasure we’d shared stemmed from convenience, rather than any deep-seated feelings, and I think he mistook familiarity and comfort for love.
This newfound intimacy helped me understand that, while I did love Eithan, it was in the way someone loved a dear friend. I’d never grasped the difference between loving someone and beinginlove with them until now. Not that I could claim either kind of love for Thaddeus yet, but the depth of connectedness between us had already surpassed what I’d experienced with Eithan. I was glad for what Eithan had meant to me during that time of my life, and I missed him dearly. But looking back, he seemed so young, green compared to the men I’d found myself surrounded by—andthe one currently sharing my bed. In a way, I’d outgrown him. Trauma and grief aging me well past my years, I supposed.
A knock rapped on the door. Presuming it was Thaddeus, arms too full to turn the handle, I opened it. A tall, awkwardly lanky female with shimmering pale-green skin walked past me into the room.
Her movements were…unique; arms swinging as if they were dragged down but more slow than labored. There was an unconventional grace about her as she crossed the room swiftly, her large strides making up for her languid movements.
Her feline eyes bore into me, and I decided to leave the door open. She sniffed the air, and her nose crinkled before she turned to open the windows. Turning back to me, her sharp gaze judged me from head to toe. I pulled my robe in a little tighter.
“Your stench and person are that of a swamp, child,” she said, tone clipped, if not annoyed, and I remembered the voice from the other night—she was the servant who’d tried to get me to bathe.
“Close enough,” I said.
She tsked, but whether it was at my response or my current state, I couldn’t tell.
“Bath. Now.” She snapped her fingers, pointing to the lavatory. “The feast is an hour hence, and you are far from suitable. Not to mention, I had to bird-dog you. Why are you not in your own chamber?”
Thinking why I was here and not there, a chill scampered down my spine as the memory of Amos in that suite flooded me. She must have sensed my fear, because her look softened as she said, “Very well. I will have your garments relocated accordingly.”
Moments later, we stood before the bath, and she held out her hand to me. It took me a moment to realize she was expecting my robe. I steeled myself, remembering that, if I were highborn, I would be unabashed by a servant attending me.
Obliging her silent demand, I handed it to her, feeling utterly exposed.
A gasp left her, and she lurched toward me. “What in all things Lumnara?”
I looked down to see what she was referring to. Right, I’d forgotten that the oily black substance still stained my fair complexion. Although, it was no longer oily and had morphed into a dull film that had fused to me like a second skin.
“I’m not sure,” I said, and she cut me a sharp look. What did she expect me to say, Amos’s power splattered everywhere, and its guts are stuck to me?
She brought her long, bony fingers up to one of the larger splotches on my chest, prodded it, and ultimately hissed as if sensing evil. Brows furrowed, she pointed to the bath. “Get in,” she ordered, then left.
I did as she bade and sank into its warm, comforting depths.
No sooner had I drifted off then the female returned.
“Sit up,” she demanded.
I bristled at her tone, nearly quipping a retort, but held my tongue—we weren’t in the human realm anymore, and there was a very real possibility that, in the grand hierarchy of things, mere mortals were vermin that belonged below the bottom rung. Although, it could have just been her. Regardless, I did as she asked and sat up enough for the water to sit just below my collarbone—the same delicate feature Thaddeus had dragged his tongue across mere hours ago.
“I require the marks above the surface,” she said, shattering all traces of that delightful memory.
Awkwardly, I slid onto my knees, propping myself higher for her, my breasts now exposed and taut from the temperature change. More than anything, I wished Ava were here instead of this brisk, demanding, unkind female.
She twisted a jar open that appeared to contain some sort of salve and rested it on the side of the tub. Leaning in, her fingers probed around the black stains, her brows scrunched in concentration as she assessed.
Finding what she was looking for, she reached down into the bag next to her and pulled something out.
The instrument came to a fine point, like a knitting needle, but indefinitely sharper, and not for knitting at all. Pointed end poised, the bony fingers of her free hand prodded the largest patch on my upper chest above my heart. Pressing her finger down, she dug the needle into my flesh.
I gasped at the pain and jerked away. “What are you doing?” I yelped.
