Chapter 33 #2
See? I tell myself. Not the traitor. But then who is?
The innkeeper pauses his sweeping, clutching his broom as he glowers at me.
“Excuse me, is there anywhere to wash up here?” I ask him. Now would be a good time to know goblin manners. Too bad that’s something the elders don’t teach in Nettlerock.
“Human,” the innkeeper gruffly greets me. He points at the counter, where four large folded cloths sit. “The Aedrosian said humans require ‘sheets’ for their. . .” He scowls. “Their modesty. You and the fae folk—each of you may take one to the bath.”
I dare to get my hopes up that it’s more than a pail beside their well. “Thank you.” I grab a sheet, then pause. “We need one more.”
The goblin grunts. He doesn’t look up again.
Well, the others will have to deal with it when they decide to bathe. Snooze, you lose.
My first stop is the carriage to grab a change of clothes.
I spy Enbarr lying in the field grass, the morning sunlight warming her white coat.
Just as exhausted as we are, I think with sudden affinity.
Then I walk back into the village, admiring the pastoral landscape.
It’s so different from Nettlerock’s dense, towering forests.
The snow-capped Krelthars sparkle in the distance, and to the south, shallow hills dip back and forth until they fade into the southern horizon.
Two goblin children chase each other along the crumbling stone wall. My heart sinks as I’m reminded of Nikolai’s children. He loved them so much.
Their mother watches me as I pass, but doesn’t pause from spinning goat wool into mohair. She doesn’t call out to her children to warn them away from me, nor call out as I climb onto the wall.
Where did I see the well? It has to be around here somewhere.
Then I spy something else—a stone and timber building with steam wafting behind it. Thank the Gods Vekhara is more advanced than Nettlerock in this regard. After the guild, I’ll always loathe the cold wooden basins we call baths back home.
I approach the bathhouse, holding my clean clothes to my chest. The building is a single story, with one wide door that my magic pushes open as I enter.
The small room has benches for changing, two spigots at shoulder-height with pipes leading into the floor, and opens to a fenced-in courtyard.
There, a stone-lined pool wafts blissful curls of steam.
“You rinse first under the spigot, then enter the baths.”
I jump and drop all my clothes. “Shit!” I hurry to gather them off the floor.
A familiar laugh echoes from the pool. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Desmond calls out.
When he pushes himself out of the water to sit on the edge, droplets roll down his chest and the scar that cuts across it.
A soaked-through white bath sheet is firmly tucked around his waist and covers him down to his knees. Covers is a generous word.
My cheeks warm as I swerve to look away.
Only now do I notice his clothes, stacked in two neat piles on the farthest bench.
“The innkeeper didn’t tell me you were here.
” If I had known, I definitely would’ve found something else to do.
I may’ve shared a bed and a horse with Desmond, but sharing a bath is a line I’m not willing to cross, body covered or not.
“I thought the heat might help me relax,” he replies. Out of the corner of my gaze, I see him glance at his unsheathed sword, within arm’s reach even though the steam is likely detrimental to it.
“I’ll come back when you’re finished.” I walk backward in a slow retreat.
“Wait.”
Hesitantly, I look at him.
He points at the pool, water dripping down his arm and along the crescent on his wrist. The movement curves the dark trail of hair that leads from his abdomen to underneath the sheet that hugs every inch of his skin, including the generous bulge between his thighs.
I freeze, feeling every bit like I should avert my gaze.
If Desmond notices me staring, he doesn’t betray a thing. “The sooner we’re both clean, the sooner I can train you. I won’t look while you change,” he says.
I shake my head. “You’re my employer. It wouldn’t feel right.” My stomach twists at just the thought of it. Seeing him wet and nearly naked already feels like a violation of something. Our vow, perhaps. It doesn’t matter that there wasn’t a word about nudity in it.
An amused smile dances across Desmond’s lips. Then he turns his back to me. For a moment, I stare at his scars. Knowing that he endured them to save his friend makes me admire him more than I already did.
“Employer. I’m surprised that’s still how you see me,” Desmond says.
“Why?”
He shrugs, his strong shoulders flexing. “You aren’t afraid to tell me when I’m wrong, and you sure as Danu don’t like to follow my orders. I thought it meant we were a little beyond employer and employee. Something like. . . friends.”
His disappointment thrums through me, and I hate it. There is nothing wrong with Desmond wanting to consider me as a friend, so why am I bothered? “We aren’t not friends,” I reply, then wince. Smooth, Cynthia.
The disappointment sharpens into sorrowful regret. I almost take back what I said, anything to take that pain away from him, but he changes the subject. “I’ll be honest, you don’t smell like sunlight anymore,” he says softly. “Neither did I, five minutes ago. Rinse off and come in.”
He’s right. I reek of sweat, my hair is matted, and my legs itch from insect bites. My clothes are dusted with dirt and while this would be normal back home, I’ve gotten used to being clean. I want this damn bath.
Besides, Desmond will think I’m an uptight prude if I retreat now.
My pulse quickens as I undress, more skin meeting the cool air with each piece of clothing I set on the bench.
I can’t help but sneak looks at the firm planes of Desmond’s back and his broad shoulders.
His warm-brown skin glistens from the steam, and I reach out as if I could trace patterns along his raised scars, even from here.
I stand completely nude, mere yards behind him, and have never felt more nervous in my life.
Focus, Cynthia.
“So, rinse first?” I ask, approaching a spigot. I’m trying hard to keep my anxiety out of my voice.
“That’s the idea.”
I twist the knob under the spigot and yelp as cold water spurts down my body.
He laughs. Asshole.
“You could’ve warned me that it’s downright freezing!”
“And where would the fun have been in that?” he teases.
My magic yanks the knob the other way so hard that the metal creaks. The water stops, and I grab my bath sheet, muttering under my breath.
“What was that?” Desmond asks. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking.
“I said you’re insufferable!”
“Is that a step up or down from intolerable?”
“A step up from what?” I unfold the sheet. It’s the same white linen as his, unnervingly thin. Once it’s wet, it’ll be as see-through as gauze. After wrapping it around my torso, I knot the two ends against my chest together like a sleeveless dress. It covers me down to my upper thighs.