His expression softened. “Even if one believes a lie, the truth still remains. Now go enjoy your bath. It’s the least you deserve.”
Her cheeks so hot she feared they might blister, Magdala spun around and blundered into the washroom, slamming the door behind her.
The washroom wasn’t large, but it was lavish, with a marble floor and gold-leaf crown molding edging the ceiling. The walls were painted with ornate dragons in red and gold, curling through the branches of birch trees laden with snow.
A deep copper bathtub stood in the center of the room, filled with fragrant, frothing water. Lavender buds floated on the surface.
Looking around bashfully, as though Asherton or Zephyr might pop out of a corner and surprise her, Magdala slipped out of her clothes and climbed into the warm water. The cares of her day melted into it like ice in a hot spring. She held her nose, ducked her head under, and emerged smiling—no one could see her in here, so there was no need to scowl.
A dish of soaps stood on a little brass table beside the tub, and she spent far too long selecting one, finally choosing agreen bar that smelled of balsam. It smelled like Asherton. She held it to her nose and inhaled.
She knew she was taking an embarrassingly long time, but she’d neverenjoyeda bath before. At home, they couldn’t heat enough water for a whole tub, so baths were freezing at worst, tepid at best. Their soap smelled of goat’s milk.
Magdala giggled like a naughty girl, imagining her father’s reaction if he knew that his daughter was luxuriating in a hot bath in a young man’s washroom.
The sound of Asherton’s feet hushing on the carpet outside the door brought her back to her senses. With a heavy heart, she stood and took a towel from a rack at the head of the tub.
He had said she was lovely. Not that she cared what he thought, but …
Glancing in the mirror, Magdala raked her eyes over her body. Her hips and shoulders were too wide, covered in silvery lines from her first year as a stone mason, when the muscle packed on fast, stretching her young skin. She was large-breasted and blunt-edged, cultivated to run and leap and spar. To hold back a line of furious villagers.
Asherton was graceful and perfect. He was lovely, not she, so he must be lying, playing her somehow. Luring her into a false sense of security before he … what? What was his endgame?
Maybe she wouldn’t give Asherton the amenite, or if she did, maybe he hadn’t killed Julian and it wouldn’t matter. Either way, if he was crowned, he would rule Allagesh andElegy would be empty. If she won his trust, protected him, he’d probably be happy to reward her with the house.
A pang went through her at the thought of her father on Elegy again. What would happen to Anton and Wendell and the bloombudder frogs Zephyr and Asherton had worked so hard to propagate?
Her mind muddy, Magdala swathed herself in a towel as thick as lamb’s wool, cloudy soft, and stepped out of the bath.
As she pulled on her loose cotton pants and shirt, Magdala wondered if, once she was mistress of Elegy, she would finally be allowed to enjoy being a woman.
When Magdala returned to the prince’s chamber, she found him sitting on the windowsill, moonlight limning his etched features. She paused to study him.
“Feel cleansed of your sins?” he asked.
“Get away from there,” she replied. Her voice came out sharp.
“I’m alright, Mags.”
Shaking her head, she crossed the room, seized his shoulder, and dragged him off the windowsill. The instant his feet touched the floor, the glass shattered. A shot cut the night. Asherton dropped to his knees.
Magdala was on the floor before her mind could catch up to her body, her arms wrapped around Asherton’s shoulders. She arched over him, shielding him. A tremble ran down his back, and then he stilled.
“ASH!” she screamed. She sat back on her knees and turned him to face her. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” He ran his hands down his body. She searched him up and down, breathless, waiting in terror for blood to soak through his clothes. But he was unharmed.
“Bloody idiots,” Asherton spat. “That whole time you were out of the room and now is the time they decide to shoot at me? They could have hit you!”
Magdala peered over the windowsill. A shadow streaked across the grounds.
Magdala didn’t bother with the stairs. She threw the window open, climbed onto the sill, and gripped the drainpipe.
“MAGS!” Asherton shouted after her. “You’ll break your neck!”
“Lock yourself in the washroom,” she ordered. “Do not come out until I return.”
“Let me come with you.”
