“These are the women’s baths of the Shark’s Keep,” explained Zinnia, her hand extended towards the green waters. “All women who live in the keep bathe here, both the noble and the common. Please disrobe.”
I realized no one wanted to fully expose themselves, at least not yet in this strange world. I did not blame them, but I decided to be the first, shedding my shoes and clothes and descending the steps before I could overthink my choice, earning an approving glance from Zinnia. Out of sight, tucked inside the palm of my hand with my little and ring fingers holding it so, was the hagstone and the tin comb.
Submerged to our waists in the warm water, Zinnia had passed small cakes of soap to each of us and we sloughed off the dirt, hay and grime of the last few days. Helena was stiff in the water and blood seeped out from between her legs. I stood next to her and whispered, “you should take out your strips. They have been in for so long. I will ask the woman for fresh ones.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you,” she said.
I sloshed up to the steps where Zinnia and her staff were sorting through baskets of white linens, one of the women gathering up our dresses.
“Lady Zinnia,” I said, striding out of the pool, water sluicing down my body. I was so warm and clean, I did not mind my nudity.
“There’s no need for lady,” said Zinnia. “Just Zinnia. I have earned this position through hard work, not my bloodline.”
I nodded, maintaining as much dignity as one can in no clothes. “One of us has begun her courses. Do you have the linens for that?”
“I do. Tell her to come see me when she is done bathing.” Zinnia handed me a linen to towel off with and said, “I have laid out shifts and stays for each of you. And I have sent one of my girls to get you dresses.” She waved towards herself. “Keep women wear this black. All four seasons, in different thicknesses. I know your current dresses were clean but they do not fit you.”
“That is most kind,” I said, wrapping the linen around myself, somewhat hobbled by holding the hagstone and comb. Why was I so insistent on keeping them?
“There are pins, combs and brushes in this,” said Zinnia, gesturing to a smaller basket. “You will eat soon and then meet the Shark King. Please arrange your hair in an orderly fashion. Dry it as much as possible.”
I hesitated. “Is the king fastidious about such things?”
Zinnia frowned. “He is the Shark King and he is unknowable. It is safest to present oneself as respectable as one can in the throne room.”
“I understand,” I replied, which was a complete untruth.
We ate in the keep kitchens, another vast room full of hearths, worktables and bustling with a staff of what seemed to be five dozen. Small slotted windows through the bluff rock allowed for some daylight to creep through and I guessed it to be the high point of the morning. I could tell it was a cloudy day and I prayed, to what god I did not know, that it was not a portent of our fate.
They fed us fried fish, goat’s cheese, wedges of tomato and sliced pears and peaches drizzled in honey and the same savory nuts Stefan had foraged in Nyossa.
“This is delicious,” said Mischa, having forgotten who was feeding us.
“It’s perch,” said Zinnia, nearby with a pitcher of water, topping off our tin drinking cups. “It was caught in a river not an hour’s ride away. A freshwater fish when we often eat fish from the sea. A delicacy.”
“A delicacy for prisoners of war?” Quinn dared to ask.
Zinnia grimaced, but her frustration was not with Quinn. “It was intended for his highness, but our king decided on another meat to break his fast.”
Mischa burst out laughing. “This is called perch?”
Zinnia nodded, confused.
Mischa continued to laugh. “That’s what that long-haired bastard is called,” she explained her amusement. “Perch. The man is a fish.”
Maureen, having been sad and silent after her mother’s attack, started to giggle, as did Catrin and River.
“Are you referring to Sergeant Perch?” asked Zinnia. “Of The Procurers?” She seemed to be offended by their laughter, as did her three staff.
We fell silent, all of us, even Mischa.
The inner corridors of the Shark’s Keep were a dark gray-blue, the inner rock of the bluffs a different shade from the black outside. Sconces carved out of pale green stone provided light in sections of the corridors not lit by narrow windows that overlooked, sometimes the thrashing sea or the busy city streets. It took us some time to travel down first one, then a second, then a third corridor, following Zinnia and one of her women, the other two behind us. I held Helena’s hand, trying and failing to keep track of the turns we made.
We passed well-dressed people, mostly men, talking and walking without rush as well as servants, both men and women garbed in black, walking at faster clips than the people I assumed to be some kind of nobles.
All of us had wrung as much dampness from our hair as we could, braiding it back and Mischa, Maureen, Helena and I had fallen back into the habit of a scribe’s braid crown, the hair evenly placed in a braid around the head so as to put less weight on the scalp or in a knot at the back of the head. When one is bent over a desk all day, the comfort of the neck is considered.
They had outfitted us in clean shifts, stays and the black cotton dresses Zinnia and her women wore, but without the half aprons. I was relieved to find pockets in this dress also and slipped the hagstone and comb inside. My dress fit fine but was again, taut across my chest. These dresses also had a square neckline, but this came higher up over my breasts than my dress from the Sibbereen farm women. My mind flashed back to Alric and his wandering gaze and the way my skin had girlishly blushed under it. Shame flooded me again. What did some arbitrary man’s attentions, out of all of the attention I had experienced, between the ages of sixteen and now, matter?
