chapter eleven
THE DECORATIVE SCREEN SEPARATING THE bathing area from the rest of the room does little to block my view of Seniia’s staff leaning against the far wall.
Coiled around it, her snake hasn’t budged from its position once.
I eye the white-feathered serpent from the safety of the tub.
Seniia swears it’s harmless, but her words do little to soothe my unease.
I stare at its needle-sharp fangs. Who in their right mind keeps a serpent as a pet, anyway?
Holding my breath, I slip beneath the surface, relaxing in the warm water and the flowery scent Seniia has infused it with. Naked, vulnerable, and in a stranger’s room. What are you doing here, La?na? Have your past experiences taught you nothing?
And she’s not just any stranger. She’s a Reān. A Reān who wields magic. Yet there’s something captivating about Seniia, and it draws me to her like a stray cat to a warm hearth. Besides, even I must admit that magic comes in handy when you’re in need of an instant hot bath.
I break the surface, gasping down a breath.
“Everything all right in there?” Seniia’s voice drifts from somewhere beyond the screen, holding a note of concern.
“I’m fine,” I lie, as she appears around the screen, and although she doesn’t look too convinced, she places a fluffy towel on a nearby stool and leaves it at that.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she mumbles to herself, turning to give me privacy.
Grateful for her discretion, I step out of the tub, careful not to slip on the wet tiles as I reach for the towel.
Before I’ve had time to wipe off the water, a soft, warm breeze sweeps across my skin, as Seniia, still with her back toward me, dries me off with a flick of her wrist. Whatever she did, it leaves my skin tingling.
Flinging the towel around myself, I spin to face her. “What in—”
“Magic.” She wiggles her fingers playfully. Seeing my startled expression, she bursts out laughing.
A high-pitched sound slips past my lips.
I meant it to be a laugh, but I sounded more like a squealing piglet.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m . . . I’m just not used to it.
Not sure if I ever will be.” I look at her, her face so honest, so open, and so wildly different from anyone I’ve known.
“I mean . . .” My shoulders slump. I’m not sure how to explain how I feel without offending her.
Part of me knows the minister is in the wrong, but another part of me instinctively reacts to the merest mention of magic.
How could I not? For as long as I can remember, magic has been equal to death.
“Hey, it’s all right. It’s my fault. I keep forgetting how new you are to all of this.
” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m the one who should be sorry.
” She gathers the clothes she laid out for me on her bed.
“Here.” Her face lights up. “Why don’t you try these on?
” Her gaze flicks across my scarred arms. “I’ve picked out the ones with long sleeves—I thought you might prefer that.
” She pushes the pile into my hands with a reassuring smile.
I step behind her dressing screen again, examining the clothes more closely.
They’re similar to what she herself is wearing: leggings that stop a couple inches above the ankles, a flowy skirt with a split all the way up one side, and a loose linen top tucked at the waist, with wide sleeves that cuff right over the wrists.
The leggings she’s given me have a rich midnight-blue hue, while my skirt and top are a delicate lavender adorned with golden embroidery along the edges.
I appreciate the thoughtfully designed slits, perfect for holding daggers.
I slip the black dagger into one of the available pockets and study myself in the full-length mirror. I must admit the pale purple shade is doing more for my fair complexion than the black has ever done, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? One should not draw attention to oneself.
The top exposes my shoulders through its openings, and the front features a narrow slit that extends below my breasts. My fingers trail my bare neck and shoulders. The way these clothes hug and enhance my curves is somehow worse than being naked.
I peek out from behind the screen. “I’m not sure . . .” I say, cheeks burning, but Seniia will have nothing of it. She pulls me out into the open.
“Look at you!” She beams. “That outfit was made for you.”
I purse my lips, not sure if I share her enthusiasm.
I saw plenty of similar outfits as I walked through Bowen, but seeing one on myself is something else entirely.
I give myself a once-over in the full-length mirror, questioning the reflection staring back.
There’s no way the person I see in there can be me.
There’s a knock on the door, and I fling my arms across my chest and shoulders.
Vilder’s strawberry-blond head appears in the doorway. “You ladies done yet?” he asks Seniia, then looks at me. “Nice outfit.” He gives a nod of approval.
I know I should say something, but all I can do is stare at him, blinking, wishing I were anywhere but here.
“Oh, come on now, La?na.” Seniia laughs. “No one will bat an eyelid, I promise.” She hands me a pair of golden slippers. “Put these on.”
Vilder sinks into one of the plush velvet chairs and drapes his long legs over its armrest, taking in the modest yet elegant room.
The two beds with deep blue coverlets against opposite walls, the vanity table between two floor-to-ceiling windows—one of them cracked open, letting in the distant sounds of music and laughter from the festival below.
“Your room is so much better than mine.”
“Of course it is.” She turns toward me. “Why don’t you sit down so I can braid your hair?”
With a wary glance toward Vilder, I make my way across the spacious room, my feet sinking into the plush carpets as I head toward the vanity table.
The leggings cling to me like a second skin and do absolutely nothing to hide what’s beneath, not to mention how my entire leg is exposed with every step I take.
I needn’t have worried, however. Vilder’s too busy having a staring competition with Seniia’s feathered pet to pay attention to me.
“I could sense your wielding,” he says, pulling his gaze away from the serpent. “You are not supposed to wield elēn until you’ve started training—you are aware of that, right?” He quirks an eyebrow at Seniia.
“As if anyone upholds that.” She adds a layer of blush to my cheeks, although I don’t think I need any assistance in that department.
“Until I lay down my oaths, I will do as I please, thank you very much.” Her face takes on an expression of mock innocence.
“Unless you would like to carry buckets of warm water for my bath?”
“I’m sure they have fire wielders amongst their staff. No need to bother me.”
“Semantics.”
He snorts. “Hardly.”
When she’s done, my kohl-rimmed eyes and pale pink lips are as foreign to me as these lands.
I study myself from all angles. Seniia has skillfully twisted my long hair into an elaborate braid adorned with petite flowers, and to top it off, she lightly dusts our skin with a layer of golden shimmer, giving us a radiant glow.
She appears like a goddess, while I probably only appear out of place.
Vilder stands, stretching his tall frame. “About time.”
I let my eyes flutter shut for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. You can pull this off, La?na. I’ll look exactly like the others, after all. Nothing to worry about.
BY THE TIME WE MAKE it outside, Niia hangs pearlescent and pregnant high in the sky, enveloped by her four children.
Save the Celestial Moon, only the pale green moon, Tiran, if I remember correctly, is at a full circle, the other three being at various stages of their cycle.
Together they bathe the world in a soft pastel-colored light.
As we weave our way down the narrow alleyways toward the square, I notice how every street is adorned with greenery and gold garlands and how silk ribbons are woven between buildings, shimmering in the warm light of the floating lanterns.
And the smells. Fragrant clouds of exotic spices waft through the air, filling my senses and making my mouth water in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I gasp as we step into the main square. How is this possible? Above us is an arched ceiling entirely made out of floating flowers and glowing lanterns suspended in midair.
“This is my favorite festival.” Seniia claps her hands. “Do you like it?”
I smile at her. It’s hard not to. “I do,” I say, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat. Although it’s obvious that it’s made from magic, it’s all so vibrant. The colors. The . . . life.
I watch in fascination as humans and Reāns alike hold on to the ribbons hanging from the tall pole as they twirl and dance their way around it. Why would anyone want to deceive and kill when this is possible?
A mature Reān crosses the square with her small vendor wagon, handing out samples to females as she passes.
“A cup of lunar sanga, priestess?” She bows her head to Seniia as she approaches. “Fresh batch for tonight’s celebration. Ethically sourced.”
Seniia accepts one with a graceful nod.
I inhale deeply—whatever it is, it smells wonderful, like rich spices and honey.
“Can I have one?” I ask.
Seniia throws me a sideways glance, but the matron lights up.
“Of course, m’dear.” She hands me one of the delicate clay cups, and my mouth instantly waters at the scent of cinnamon, honey, and something else I can’t quite place.
The cup is tiny, so I down it all at once, the way Seniia just did.
I lick my lips. “That’s delicious. What is it?”
Vilder clears his throat, and Seniia winces, but the matron just chuckles.
“Spiced blood, m’dear. Keeps ya strong while ya bleed.”
I blink. The Reāns are drinking blood. The minister was right all along. Still, they don’t appear to be dangerous.