13. Camp Willow #2
When Cypress finished her bowl of stew, she circled back around the camp until she arrived at the table the Cook had indicated.
Before she had the chance to wash the bowl and utensil, another of the Small Folk appeared at her elbow, pulling the items from her hands and motioning for Cypress to step away.
“Are you sure? I can wash a bowl.” Cypress said, hesitant to just leave her things without cleaning up after herself.
Cleanliness was nearly on par with nobility– or at least she’d heard Queen Henrietta mutter more than a few occasions when Cade returned covered in filth for afternoon tea service.
Cypress had never been able to get comfortable with servants waiting on her hand and foot. Merely having a handmaiden to assist with the removal of her armor was more than what Cypress wanted.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to recognize some of the faces or names of servants from the days when she’d lived among the other orphans in the dormitories.
All of them were children picked up from the streets and placed under strict housing that did not allow for even a hair out of place, lest they bring shame to the house.
Shaking free of her thoughts, Cypress made her way toward Torren and Ellisar across the camp. She didn’t care if she was intruding. Cypress was ready for bed and to be alone for a few moments.
There would be time tomorrow to worry about her failures and what was occurring at the Keep in her absence.
Torren, of course, caught her approach when she was barely halfway and met her in the middle.
“Is there a bed available for me somewhere here?” Cypress asked without tearing her gaze from the camp and all of the merry fires flickering in the dark, though she watched the men out of the corner of her eye.
Ellisar opened his mouth to reply, but Torren beat him to it. “Over there. Big green tent. Sleep wherever you like inside.”
Cypress nodded her thanks and wordlessly marched over to the tent Torren had indicated.
As soon as she pushed past the canvas panel hung over the opening to function as a door, the noise of the camp filtered away. For only a heartbeat, it was a relief. Then, the silence only left Cypress feeling hollow.
To the side of the tent, there was a sturdy desk, upon which several rolled bits of parchment lay, an ink pot and quill discarded next to them.
The accompanying chair was nothing special, made from simple square lengths of wood for the legs and backrest, the center seat merely a cross-section of a stump affixed to the frame of the chair.
Simple, but effective. Behind a partition, there was a large hammered copper tub filled with water already steaming from the coals beneath the feet.
Neatly arranged beside the bath was a pile of robes in soft fabrics. The robe would fall around her calves, and if it were cinched tight enough, would cover her breasts adequately as well for the evening.
Cypress had slept in less and in more dangerous places than this.
Still, she hesitated, for only a moment. And then, she remembered how long it had been since she had been able to bathe properly, without the use of a cold, fast-moving creek.
Cypress quickly found a drying cloth and then began dropping her clothing one piece at a time.
The water stung against the various scrapes and bruises from travel, and their battle with the Durdiddle, but it was welcome against the ache in her bones.
Before settling in the tub and getting comfortable for a quick soak, Cypress submerged her head, holding her breath tight. She quickly scrubbed her scalp with the pads of her fingers before her face broke the surface of the water once more.
Then, she reclined against the edge of the copper tub, the back of her head resting along the rim. The bath felt nice, the warm water helping to relax some of the tension lining her shoulders, and to ease some of the aches in her joints born from being in the saddle for so long.
Too quickly, though, the rest of the world came rushing back in, as well as her responsibilities to the crown.
Cypress was not here to mingle amongst the Fair Folk.
Nor was she here to lounge about in a tub all evening.
Sighing, she grabbed the block of soap and began lathering it into her hair, paying close attention to strip all the excess oil from her scalp.
Then, she scrubbed her entire body with a rough cloth she’d located next to the larger drying sheets.
Once Cypress was satisfied she’d thoroughly cleansed her body of oil and all the dirt from the road, she dunked under the surface of the water once more.
When Cypress came up for air, she instantly knew she was no longer alone.
Torren was in the tent, his presence noticeable even without Cypress opening her eyes.
The ladies of Caelith’s court would likely have screamed in horror at the impropriety of the situation Cypress now found herself in.
Staring at the side of his face, Cypress merely drawled, “I knew this bath was a trap.”
Torren hadn’t noticed her yet, but when Cypress spoke, his cheeks darkened as he spun around, holding his cloak up to block his view.
“I had no idea you were still in the bath, Lass. You have to believe me,” he said once his back was to her, though Cypress did not miss the desperate grasp of his crotch as Torren whirled around.
“I know, thief. Your manhood is safe.”
Torren deflated comically, so much so that Cypress was unable to hold back the “For now,” warning.
“You are a cruel thing, Lass, you know that?”
“You’re the one intruding on my bath, Thief.”
“Well. When you put it that way. I’ll leave you to it,” Torren said, then made to leave the partitioned area around the bath.
“That would be appreciated,” Cypress drawled at his receding form.
Alone again, Cypress left the warmth of the bath and quickly dried her body. Then she ran a comb made of pearly white bone through her hair, wrapped the lengths in the drying cloth, and donned the soft robe.
When Cypress was dressed once more, or at least as much as she was willing to be while lacking other clean options, she gathered her dirty clothes and emerged from the bathing area.
Torren was reading something at the desk and glanced over at her for the briefest of moments.
“Do we have somewhere I can wash these?” Cypress asked, pointing toward the pile of clothes in her arms.
“Call for a Small Folk. They love to clean.”
“You want me to ask another person to clean my undergarments for me?”
“I do,” Torren said without turning from the desk or the parchment in his hands.
Cypress sighed. “Alright. How do I call for them?”
Torren whistled, and with a small pop, one of the Small Folk appeared in the midst of the tent.
“You called, sir?”
“Clean and mend Lady Cypress’s clothes, please. She will need them on the morrow when we disembark for A'aravos Paravale."
“Certainly, sir,” The Small Folk said with a bow, then turned to Cypress and said, “I’ll take those from you, miss.”
“Thank you,” Cypress murmured, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands now that they were empty.
The Small Folk nodded, then disappeared with a crack, leaving Cypress and Torren alone once more.
“If ye don’t mind, Lass, I’ll be taking a bath as well. Don’t be going around relieving me of my manhood now, understand?”
“I told you, your manhood is safe for now,” Cypress retorted, then asked with an arched brow, “You’re going to bathe in my dirty water?”
Torren pulled a face. “Eugh, no! One of the Small Folk would have taken care of draining and cleaning the tub, as well as refilling it and stoking the flames for me by now.”
Cypress nodded. Even though Torren gave out orders, he was never impolite about it. “Can I ask you something?”
Torren chuckled. “You already have, but I suppose another question won’t hurt.”
Cypress glared at him before asking, “What is your role here? I know you are royalty among the Fair Folk, but do you rule?
“It is not as simple to define it as ruling,” Torren shrugged. Then, after a moment, he added, “I just try to keep these people safe.”
“And what about the killings? If entire villages are being burned, what are you, or Faerie, going to do about that?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Lass.”
Cypress scoffed, but before she could say anything, Torren said, “Now don’t be going and pressing your luck. I can’t lie to ye, but I don’t have to answer your questions.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”
Cypress’s pride wouldn’t tolerate the rebuke. But, she could be patient for just a bit longer. One way or another, Cypress would learn Torren’s true motives.