Chapter 5
The violet of my eyes wasn’t solid. It was made of lilac and purple streaks that swirled and danced like flowing water along the outer edges of my irises.
The vibrant hue slowly melted into a stunning gold that was both warm and cool—what I imagined real gold might look like—toward my pupil. It, too, looked like a liquid pool.
I pulled away from the mirror, and the colors lost the intricate detail that was almost beautiful. From here, they were startling and wrong.
The grime and dirt shading my skin weren’t helping matters.
I’d nearly yelped when I first found the mirror in the room.
My hair, naturally streaked with dark blondes and light browns, was matted and greasy in the haphazard braid.
Indigo circles hung heavy beneath my eyes, and my cheekbones seemed hollow, making my normally heart-shaped face appear long and narrow.
My lips were nearly void of color, and my clothing was a torn, dirty mess.
I walked across the generous room to the bath, which sat beside a roaring fireplace.
With its massive bed and soft maroon rugs, this room was the nicest space I’d ever set foot in, and I’d done so looking—and definitely smelling—my absolute worst. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
And neither was the fact that I was given such a luxury as a captive.
I supposed the inn didn’t have any dungeons for Harthon to throw me in. Yet, it likely had a stable and plenty of closets. Still, I’d been placed here.
I quickly stripped, mindful of the hour I had until Callen entered.
To me, baths had always been like yeast: nice to have but an unnecessary delicacy.
At home, I only ever used a basin and cloth to freshen my body or dipped in the village stream when no one was around.
Bathtubs were incredibly expensive, and few in the village had one.
Besides, no one wanted to spend hours warming water over a fire only for it to turn cold before they could truly enjoy it.
I nearly moaned as I stepped into the hot water, submerging my body and head so quickly that it spilled over the sides.
Glorious warmth melted into my skin, soothing the aches and soreness that blanketed my body.
Palming the lavender soap that’d been provided, I began the tedious process of scrubbing the filth from my hair and skin.
I watched in gross satisfaction as brown suds fell into the water, replaced by white foam as the dirt washed away.
Nicks and scrapes burned as I passed over them, but I didn’t gentle my touch, knowing any exposed flesh was probably filled with grime.
My bandaged wrists were my last task and the only thing I dreaded.
I unwrapped the white fabric, revealing two thick, angry red rings where my skin had rubbed off.
A few sections had been spared, but the rest was open wound.
Grinding my teeth into my lip, I hissed as I dunked the area.
When the soap touched my first wrist, it felt like I’d thrust it into the fireplace itself.
A strangled noise tore out of my throat, and I pulled the soap away.
Whether it was Harthon or someone else, my door was likely guarded. The last thing I wanted was to be heard wailing in pain from a bath.
Wounds like this needed to be cleaned. I knew that. They were the kind of injury that exposed enough flesh to bring infection and the unpleasantness that followed. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Perhaps it was a blessing that I’d been unconscious as Harthon wrapped them.
I snorted at that and reclined, letting my arms dangle over the edge of the tub. No blessings came from Harthon.
With the crackling fire keeping the tub warm, it was no surprise that I fell into a blissful state of half-sleep. Sometime later, a sharp knock on the door jolted me into action. Callen. Water sloshed as I shot upright and jumped from the bath, scrambling for something to cover myself with.
“Hey Fish Eyes, I come bearing gifts,” he called from the door. The door that was slowly opening.
I dove for the towel set on the floor beside the tub. I’d just barely wrapped it around the essentials when he strode into the room, a tray in one hand and a stack of fabric in the other.
He paused, taking in my form. Then he laughed.
I tucked my dripping hair behind my ears, well aware I was standing in a massive puddle.
“I suppose I should have asked if you were decent before barging in,” he said, striding to a table beside the bed. He deposited the items and faced me, planting his hands on his hips. His grin was annoyingly big.
“That is the expectation. Like, from everyone in the world.”
“I pride myself on my ability to defy expectations.”
“Is that something to be proud of?”
“It’s worked out for me thus far,” he replied.
I tightened the towel. “It’s going to stop working out for you soon if you don’t stop finding this so funny.”
He raised his hands in surrender, but amusement still sparkled in those green eyes. “Hey, I’m here to deliver you some delicious food and nice, warm clothes. You should be grateful you got my pretty face instead of North’s.”
“North?”
“Big. Bald. Bearded. Second-in-command.”
My eyes widened. If that terrifying brute of a man had barged in here instead of Callen, I absolutely would have fainted right back into the tub.
“Exactly,” Callen said, watching my face.
“But I know you’ve had a rough day, so I’ll get out of your way.
” He thumped a heavy hand on the pile of fabric.
“This is fresh clothing. Linens for your wrists are somewhere in the pile. And this,” he gestured to the steaming tray, “is your food. It’s amazing, so eat it while it’s hot. We leave before the sun rises.”
I said nothing in response, overwhelmed by his casual demeanor. Wasn’t he supposed to be third-in-command?
He gave me a nod as if I’d thanked him and walked to the door. Just before the wooden slab closed behind him, I remembered what he’d called me before.
“Fish Eyes?” I called out to him.
He poked his head through the doorway. “You know, those shimmery scales on a fish? That’s what your eyes look like.”
The few small fish I’d ever seen in our drinking stream looked nothing like my irises.
“Fish Eyes is not my name. It’s not going to be my name.”
“Too bad, Etarla. We don’t get to choose our names,” he answered on a laugh, shutting the door before I could yell.
Fish Eyes? He knew my actual name, and he chose to call me Fish Eyes?
Callen wasn’t friendly. He was an aggravating man-child.
The annoyance faded quickly as I went to the table and found water and a massive bowl of stew.
Meat, potatoes, and some other root vegetables were piled high in the dish.
It was more food than Koerlyn had ever given me and bigger than most dinners I ever made.
The meat looked like beef, rather than the lean rabbit or squirrel I usually ate.
A hunk of bread came with it, and I eagerly bit into it.
I stuffed a spoonful of stew in my mouth next.
Salt and herbs touched my tongue, and I collapsed in the chair.
Skies, this was paradise.
I shoveled away half the food before lowering my spoon to actually get dressed.
Digging through the pile, I placed the bandages aside and separated the items. I examined the dark blue tunic, black leather vest, fitted trousers, and light gray cloak.
Each piece was thick and built of better, softer fabric than any of my own clothes.
And they all blessedly smelled of rosemary.
They really were fresh, like Callen said.
I pulled on the trousers and tunic, surprised at their near-perfect fit. It was as if someone had measured me before selecting the clothing. Considering how long the draught had made me sleep, being measured was a very real possibility.
An image of Harthon, with his rugged features, holding a tiny measuring string popped into my head. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it, sitting to finish my food.
Exhaustion washed over me as I took my final bites and finished the water. It took effort to stand and walk to the bed. I didn’t bother to pull back the heavy blanket before I collapsed onto the soft, straw-filled mattress. Between the heat of the fire and my thick clothing, I would be warm enough.
You should wrap your wrists.
The wise thought was a whisper through my mind, quickly forgotten as my eyes fluttered shut.
* * *
“Fish Eyes, you have two minutes to be decent before someone busts in here. See? That’s me meeting everyone’s expectations and giving you fair warning.”
The obnoxiously loud voice dragged me from the heavy weight of sleep.
Cool air brushed my cheeks and hands, and I opened my eyes to find the windowless room nearly black, the fire having died at some point.
The urge to sink back into oblivion was tempting, but Callen had made my two-minute warning clear.
I went to rub my eyes with my hands. Pain burst on my wrists as the blanket tugged on open skin.
Oh, no.
Now fully awake, I was careful to keep my arms in place as I shifted my body to better see my wrists. My stomach plummeted as I saw the open wounds—the ones I really, really should have wrapped—stuck to the fibers of the blanket. They’d been pressed there all night.
“One minute and counting!” Callen’s sing-songy voice came from the door.
There was only one solution, and if I didn’t do it myself, Callen or…or Domus forbid Harthon would force it on me.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and yanked.
I fell back on the bed, muscles tense as the skin erupted into flames. A string of silent cusses hissed out between my lips. How small wounds could hurt so much was beyond me. I’d prefer another bout with that river to this. Tears welled, even as the sharp edge of pain dulled into a throb.
“Thirty seconds!”
“I know,” I muttered, swatting at the tears and forcing myself to my feet.