“Dask—don’t leave me.”
Of course,thatwas when someone knocked.
Gabriel opened the door.
Juliet entered, a silver-trimmed tunic draped over her arm.
“I thought you might need my help,” she said, smiling up at Viktor.
Her gaze rose slowly to Gabriel. “You are very tall.”
He bowed. “My lady.”
Viktor received the tunic with a reluctant nod. “Thank you.”
Juliet studied him with a grandmother’s scrutiny.
“Bathe. Rid your face of—” she tapped her jaw, unimpressed. “It’s enough I must look at my own son’s beard…”
Viktor laughed under his breath, half-amused, half-defeated.
“I’ll return to braid your hair,” she said, already starting for the door.
“Do well,” she added. “My granddaughter looks like a celestial goddess.”
“Of that I’m sure,” Viktor muttered—too loud.
The door clicked shut.
He tore off his boots, grumbling, “Dask, I’d better hurry.”
“Here.” Gabriel gathered his scabbards and belt.
“Thank you.”
Viktor strode straight to the bath.
The lye smelled of cypress.She’ll like that,he thought.
He unbraided his hair, washed the dust of war from it, shaved his jaw clean. At the copper mirror he called the Endowment, drawing water from his hair until it hung dry.
“Ready,” he said, lacing his black leather trousers.
Gabriel rose. “I’ll fetch Juliet.”
He hurried out.
Viktor smoothed the silver-edged tunic.
“They don’t make these back home,” he said, as though the shirt had personally offended him. Still, he slipped it on.
Juliet returned, motioning him to sit. “Tell me, where is home?”
“Westport,” he said shortly, though his eyes softened. “Aerdania.”
Gabriel reappeared, perching again on the bed.
“I know that village,” Juliet hummed, weaving strands at his temple.
