Chapter Thirty-Four #2
I open my mouth, but choose to say nothing.
“When you and the lord leave, everyone will pester me for all the details about you. I won’t be able to tell them anything,
or Barwat will punish me. So for the next few weeks, I’ll have sand in my bread. Someone will spit in my drinks. The baker
will accidentally wake me too early each morning. Everyone will put me back in my place, where I belong.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Anyway,
I need to finish cleaning the rug. And my clothes.”
“Rest,” I tell her, jumping at the opportunity to do something useful. “I’ll clean it.”
This time, her eyes widen for a completely different reason.
“Go sit on the balcony in the fresh air.”
“You would clean up my piss? You’re a fine lady and a—”
“I’m really not.” I shrug. “I work at an inn too. I’ve cleaned worse.” Also, my hands itch to work. I always think better
when I’m working.
“But you—”
“I’m not saying I’m just like you. I’ve never needed an indenture.
But do these hands look like the hands of a fine lady?
” I hold them up so she can see my calluses, my short nails, my torn cuticles.
“Now go get some rest. But also . . . keep an eye on things? I mean, keep watch out there or something.” Not that I expect trouble to come through the balcony door.
Surely no one would dare approach us from the very Edge of the World?
“I promise I won’t fall asleep.” She seems a little stunned as she heads out the balcony door.
I call after her, “Just don’t eat any more grapes!”
I know every trick and shortcut for cleaning urine, blood, feces, and mud. But I can hardly use any of them, not without ordering
supplies from downstairs and thus giving away what has happened and possibly getting Dahlia into even more trouble.
So I do the best I can with leftover water from the pitcher and soap and cloths from the bathing area. I scrub and soap and
rinse and think and think and think until I can’t detect a bit of odor. It would take a much more discerning nose than mine
to know that anything happened here.
That done, my mind is still busy, so I offer my spare set of clothes to Dahlia to wear while I launder her shift in the used
water of the barrel tub. Together we rig a clothesline on the balcony and hang it to dry.
Titus sleeps through it all. Good. When he wakes, he’ll be well rested for whatever comes next, and we’ll figure out what
to do together.
When Barwat knocks with the noon meal, Dahlia and her borrowed clothes stay hidden on the balcony. I grab one of Titus’s daggers
and open the door carefully to verify that it’s him, then let him inside with the food tray.
“Made it myself,” he grumbles. “My boy is at your door now. No one will come in or out except me, the boys, and the spark maiden.” He looks around. “Where’d that girl get off to? She’d better not be shirking her—”
“I sent her on an errand,” I say, casually moving to stand atop the wet stain on the rug. “It’s not wise for me to go myself.”
This seems to mollify him, for he nods. “I suggest not leaving this room until the legatat fetches you.” His eyes fall on
Titus’s sleeping form. “Sound sleeper,” he observes. “The poison?”
“He’ll be fine. That giant ox of a boy could sleep through a sandstorm.”
His giant shoulders wilt a bit with relief. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Need anything?”
“Hot bathwater.” If our room starts to smell like urine again, I’ll need the fresh water. “Some clean cloths. Oh, and an extra
uniform for the spark maiden. Don’t want her stinking up this place.”
“I’ll take care of all of that.”
“Does the potentat know what transpired here?”
“I sent a confidential message to the palace through our guild network,” Barwat says. “I’ll let you know when I receive a
reply.”
“Thank you.”
He harrumphs, already backing out the door. In the hallway, I catch a glimpse of a bare-chested man with a head shaved except
for his warrior knot. He wears a curved sword at his waist, and he stands with his back to me, arms crossed. This must be
one of Barwat’s “boys.”
I close the door after them with no small amount of relief. If we’re trapped here until the legatat fetches us, at least we’ll have food, fresh water, and a small amount of security.
“Bria?”
I whirl to find Titus sitting up on the bed, rubbing sleepy eyes.
“I slept too long,” he says, frowning.
“You got the sleep you needed,” I counter.
Something in my face alerts him. “What happened?”
I tell him everything, every single detail, even the bits that I’m fairly certain will expose me for having lapsed judgment.
When I finish, he gets to his feet and starts packing up our belongings. “We’ll be ready by the time the legatat fetches us.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“We’ll leave anyway. I’m getting inside that palace, no matter what.”
“We could go right now.”
“I’m going to give her today to come up with a plan. But after that, I’m done cooperating.”
I bend over to lift my pack.
“Bria?” he says, and I look up. “You did well.”
Relief hits me like a wagonload of bricks, but I don’t have time to bask, because a knock sounds again.
Titus’s giant bow has been leaning against the wall. He grabs it, nocks an arrow, and draws. He stands back, aiming at the
doorway, and nods at me to open the door.
It’s Barwat again, who is remarkably sanguine about the arrowhead pointed at his eye.
“I’ve brought fresh water and clothes,” he says, and gestures for his boys to enter with their empty buckets.
It takes several trips, but they scoop out all the cold, filthy water and replace it with clear, steaming, rose-scented water.
Barwat hands me fresh cloths and a clean shift for Dahlia.
“Any word from the palace?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Titus has relaxed the draw on his bow. “You killed someone I would have liked to interrogate.”
Barwat stares at him unblinkingly. “It was the best decision I could make for me and my household.”
Titus’s face softens ever so slightly. “How is my horse?”
“Well cared for. I’ll have the spark maiden deliver him to the palace stables when it’s time. So that neither of you has any
reason to return here. Ever.”
With that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.
“You should probably check on Dahlia,” I tell Titus after they’ve left. “Make sure there’s nothing more that needs healing.”
He agrees and steps out onto the balcony. I take the opportunity to sample every bit of food on the tray—pomegranate arils
with cream, warm bread topped with butter and honey, more orange nectar. Then I park myself in front of the food tray, arms
crossed just like the guard outside. Titus won’t be getting a single bite of this meal until I’m sure I’ve taken no poison.
Titus reenters, Dahlia in his wake.
“My shift is already dry,” she says. “I can give you back your clothes.”
“No hurry,” I tell her. “But I did have Barwat bring you an extra uniform.” At her horrified look I add, “I didn’t tell him anything! Just that I wanted our servant in fresh-smelling clothes. Which, I promise you, we don’t care about at all.”
Dahlia cracks a small smile.
Titus reaches for a piece of bread, but I swat his hand away. “Not until we’re sure it’s safe.”
“You’re not my food taster,” he says testily. “I never wanted—”
“Oh, stop. For once, let me do my job without crabbing about it.”
He opens his mouth to retort but settles for “Yes, my lady.”
Dahlia clears her throat. “Should I go now, my lord?”
“Yes, Dahlia,” Titus says. “Thank you. Oh, take some bread with you, if you like.”
She doesn’t hesitate to grab a chunk, and she pops it into her mouth as she exits the suite.
I’m glad she’s confident the food is safe. Still, I’m going to make Titus wait a spell.
“Where is she going?” I ask Titus.
“On an errand,” he says vaguely. At my pointed look, he adds, “You’ll find out soon enough, I promise.”
“Will she be all right? When our milk cow, Juniper, got into some bad alfalfa and seized, she couldn’t walk for a whole day.”
“I gave Dahlia a thorough healing.”
I consider pressing for more answers, but I decide I don’t have the capacity for it right now. I plunk down onto the bed and
let myself fall backward. It’s barely afternoon, and I feel exhausted.
But not so exhausted that I want to sit in this room, fretting and unable to do anything productive.
“It’s strange,” Titus says, and the mattress sinks as he sits beside me. “The last year has been so full of urgency. Ever
since Cerastes came to me. And now I’m stuck here, waiting.”
“It’s horrible.”
“I think I might hate it.”
I sit up, realizing there’s a question I’ve never asked Titus. “What were you going to do? I mean before Cerastes chose you.
Were you going to be a king and rule most of the known world? A monster slayer like your mothers?”
He smiles, and my heart turns into a squishy cream puff at how joyful he suddenly seems. “I was going to be a mighty hunter!”