I’m glad to see that his character remains steadfast and kind, that he hasn’t been both brainwashed and heartwashed. “I have Antoni.” I have Meriam. And against all odds, I may even have Justus. Of course, I don’t list those two other potential allies. “If you can get out of Luce, Cato, go.”
Save yourself . . .
“I took an oath to protect the Crown, Fallon.”
“A magical oath?”
“Magic isn’t everything.”
So he truly is here by choice . . .
“Anyway, bathe in peace but don’t dawdle. And don’t—”
“Try anything. I told you I wouldn’t.”
And I won’t, not without Antoni, and not without knowing where Zendaya of Shabbe is being hidden. Yes,is beinghidden. If my mother were hiding of her own volition, she would’ve emerged the second my father was revived for there is no way she could’ve resisted being with him.
I peel the shirt off my torso, then roll my pants down before doing away with my undergarments. The bath water is cool. If only Cato’s element was fire.
As I lower myself into it, thin bar of soap in hand, I contemplate biting the tip of my finger to pry blood. Perhaps if I dripped some into the water, it would heat. What if it affected it some other way, though? What if it turned water into acid? What if I couldn’t staunch the blood flow and I cast some catastrophic spell?
With a sigh, I decide against experimenting and make the best of the clean water. After scrubbing my skin and scalp raw, I sink beneath the foam to rinse off. Although the bathing chamber is quiet, there’s nothing like the quiet of being underwater. Another Shabbin trait?
My lids flip up as a thought rockets through my mind. Am I immortal now? Well, as immortal as a Shabbin can be?
And then my lashes reel higher because a man stands over my bath, and he’s staring down at me.
Fourteen
Icross my arms over my chest and sit up, sputtering. “Couldn’t wait to see me?”
Dante shifts his jaw from side to side as though grinding walnuts between his molars, husks and all. “You were not to be left alone.”
“You may enjoy having spectators while you bathe, but I don’t.”
“Get out.”
“You first.”
He squats, long fingers gripping the edge of the copper tub. “Such a selfish girl. Never thinking of your little sailor. Brambilla, bring me—”
“No.” Making sure the door is closed, I shoot to my feet, and although I loathe baring myself to this man almost as much as I loathe taking orders from him, I do as he asks. Since he stands in the way of the towel rack, I tip my head to it. “Will Your Majesty please hand me a towel?” My dulcet tone hardens Dante’s already tetchy expression.
He grabs it from the rack, but doesn’t lob it at me. He holds it at his side, fingers clenched around the faded gray terrycloth.
I reach out for it, but he pulls his arm back. “Dante, please.”
“You’re my wife.”
I cross my arms over my puckered breasts and scowl. “Not according to Lucin law.”
“Since when do you care about Lucin law?”
Since right this moment.
Dante’s gaze skates down my naked body. It isn’t the first time he’s seen me naked, but unlike that day on Barrack Island, his stare feels like a violation. A violation that strengthens my resolve to sink his spurs into the soft tissue of his neck.
“If it’s of great import, I’ll have Justus find us a priest to—”
