Chapter Nineteen. In Which There Is Far Too Much Resting
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In Which There Is Far Too Much Resting
Paulo’s home was on the second floor of his bookstore.
A steal, he claimed, with a cheeky glance at Amina, who responded with what Risa assumed was a laugh but actually sounded more like a screaming goat.
He herded the girls to a comfortable room with stacks of books scattered across the floor and lining the walls, and insisted they take his bed.
An alcove of a bathroom was tucked in the corner, closed off by a folding screen that depicted a peaceful scene with mountains and trees.
When Javi asked about his own chambers, Paulo directed him to a lumpy chair in the only other room, the bookseller’s hardened face brooking no argument.
Amina graciously let Risa use the bath first, though Risa suspected it was just because she looked far worse for wear and smelled the ripest.
After spending lots of time vigorously scrubbing away the dirt and grime that came with an escape from a murderous town—two, she realized—long rides on horseback, and a trek underneath a mountain range, Risa sat back in the tub and glared at the ceiling.
She had to find a way to leave. She had to learn to be selfless.
Her mask had begun to crack, even before that stupid kiss.
Her reasons for remaining with Javi had quickly diminished, especially with Amina there to provide actual protection.
Sure, being away from him robbed her of breath and life, but she was beginning to feel like accompanying him any farther was going to endanger him more than ever before.
It had been a lot easier to wave away her bad luck when she didn’t like him much; now she couldn’t even say she hated him.
Breaking her curse was second to breaking Brunhilda’s spell.
She swirled her fingers through the soapsuds still floating in the water. As if Brunhilda had heard her, the spell that tied her to Javi twinged around her heart.
How had she managed to shuck that vile hag’s magic before?
She recalled being very determined to annoy her, but being aggravating couldn’t be the answer for this curse, too.
If it were, she would have broken the curse long ago.
Being aggravating was one of her few skills, after all.
And Javi was maddening enough to trigger her ire.
Or maybe there were other ways. If she slayed a dragon or solved some troll’s riddles three. True love’s first kiss—
She felt a flush start up her neck at the thought.
Scratch that. Not because she was in love with Javi!
No, no, it was because she had absolutely no idea what true love even looked like.
Had no idea what the whole thing entailed.
According to books and songs sung in the town square, it was all about shortness of breath and palpitating hearts and stolen glances—
“Risa!”
What the—
Javi skipped into the alcove but stopped short at the sight of her slinking beneath the surface of the water, hands scrabbling to cover herself.
“I—thought you were finished—” He turned around, forearm over his eyes. “Shit!”
“That’s not how you pronounce the word sorry,” she said, hoping she came off unflustered. Unfortunately, the words sounded breathless and airy, like her heart was planning a daring escape from her chest.
Which it was.
“Sorry!” He stood straighter. “Paulo sent me to give you these.” He lifted a parcel of woolen fabrics over his head.
“Then give them to me,” she said, sinking deeper into the tub until water lapped at her chin.
“Right. Of course.” But he made no move to do so, hovering near the alcove entrance, paralyzed with indecision.
“Well, go on!”
“Sorry!” He spun around twice and hurried over to drop the clothes in a pile by the tub. “Right, here. Clothes.” He stood there, staring at her forehead, as if caught in some trance. She watched the knot in his throat bob and his cheeks turn a fascinating shade of mauve.
“And you still don’t see it, right?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.
She literally had no idea what he was talking about. Risa splashed him with water.
“Go!”
He muttered another swear word under his breath before making a beeline out of the alcove.
Risa waited a beat until she heard some kind of scuffle, then scrambled out of the bath, grabbing a thin towel Javi had left behind.
Once sufficiently dried, she climbed into a pair of old, too-long trousers and a billowing shirt Paulo had apparently donated from his own collection.
She drained the tub, mentally berating her heart to calm itself.
The situation was dire; she desperately needed to leave.
She couldn’t breathe properly whether he was near or not, and she certainly wasn’t going to survive the rest of her days on meager scraps of air until he finally deigned to marry someone stupid enough to love him.
Oh, right. And she didn’t want him to die due to her curse.
Being selfless was harder than she thought.
Stomping out of the alcove, she found Javi sitting beside the princess on the bed, his knees knocking against hers. Something between a giggle and guffaw erupted out of Amina.
“Stop laughing at me!” the prince scolded, though he wore a strange smile Risa had never seen before. Soft and gentle, incongruous with the force with which he pulled Amina’s hood lower over her face.
Risa cleared her throat. Javi shot off the bed, refusing to look at her. Apparently, he could withstand kissing her, but almost seeing her nude was where he drew the line.
“What are you embarrassed about?” She placed her hands on her hips and glared. “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of naked people.”
“That’s not the point,” Javi muttered, shooting Amina a glare for some reason.
The princess let out another giggle-guffaw and briefly pulled off her hood to adjust her hair. She shoved a stack of old clothes into his arms. “I guess it’s your turn for a bath, principito.”
“I am cursed with women who delight in my suffering,” he mumbled to himself, disappearing into the alcove.
Over a dinner of stewed meat and vegetables with rice—none of it exceedingly salty, thank goodness—Paulo and Amina caught up while Javi and Risa refused to speak to each other, let alone look at each other.
After, the girls headed off to bed, Paulo handing Amina a clean linen sheet for the balmy night.
A candle lit Paulo’s small room in orange.
Several shadows flickered in the corners and across the cracked wall plaster, casting the room in an ominous veil.
The window shutters were open, allowing a cool breeze to waft through, and there was a faint drip in the alcove from what Risa assumed was a faulty tub faucet.
“You should get some sleep,” Amina said. “We leave for San Cirilo before dawn.”
The princess began to shed her layers, unperturbed by her audience. First her leather gloves, then her boots, until finally, she untied her cloak and flung it to a dark corner.
Risa watched from the foot of the bed, suspicious of the daggers strapped to Amina’s hips. Javi must have returned the one she’d loaned him.
Amina glanced at her. There was no way to tell what her face was expressing. Without her hood, her curse distorted her features enough that Risa couldn’t hazard a guess.
“Have you never had a sleepover before?”
Risa shuffled to the edge of the other side and took a seat, feet firmly planted on the floor. “No.”
She knew about them. The girls her age had made sure to always announce their shopping dates and sleepovers and parties whenever Risa was within earshot, to ensure that she knew just how uninvited she was.
Once, when she was still young enough to tell her mother things, she considered admitting she’d heard about Emilia’s sleepover that night.
But then she worried her mother might attempt to make her feel better by having their own.
Or worse, have her mother say nothing at all and leave her alone anyway.
Javi could share his life story with all, and Amina might have been lulled into a false sense of camaraderie by the prince’s charm, but Risa had no intention of participating in the ill-advised ritual of sharing details about herself that didn’t need sharing.
She did, however, want to sleep. She unlaced her boots, shucked them off, and set them upright by her bedside.
Paulo had spared a few oversized tunics for sleeping, though even after she changed into one she still felt exposed, tucking her legs beneath the hem until only the tops of her toes peeked out.
She ran her fingers through the snarls in her still-damp waves in hopes of distracting herself.
Amina made a sound in the back of her throat that hinted of secondhand pain. “Stop,” she demanded, crawling over the bed until she knelt behind Risa, slapping at her fingers. “You’re making my scalp hurt.”
With a gentleness that belied her reputation for ruthlessness, Amina picked at the snarls with her own ungloved hands.
“I don’t need your help,” Risa said as she tried to move away.
“I’m aware,” Amina answered simply. “Though perhaps you should engage in asking for it occasionally.”
Risa remained silent and brooding, staring daggers at the book-strewn floor that hadn’t done a thing to deserve it.
“I used to do my sister’s hair,” Amina said after a few minutes of untangling Risa’s. Without the aid of her supposedly magical cloak, the princess’s accent was thicker, her voice on the verge of song. “She had hair much like yours.”
“I’m not your sister,” Risa snapped.
Amina gave her hair a slight tug. “Oh, I know. She didn’t have nearly as much of an attitude as you.”
Risa would not dignify that with a response, but after several moments of Amina working out more knots in her hair, she asked, “How old was she?”
She could hear Amina brighten at the question. “Three years younger than me, and an absolute terror. She drove my parents wild. Climbing trees, getting into trouble. She told everyone she was going to be a witch, which upset them so much they nearly sent her to the dungeons as a lesson.”