6 #2
‘Today is yours to spend as you’d like, but there is a ball tonight. Use the event to your advantage. Study your opponents and find a champion. Many gods marvel at your strength of will.’
They won’t if they learn I spent the night outside with monsters because I was too afraid to look at a painting.
I read her words again to be sure there are no duplicitous, hidden messages, and find none.
She wrote about this ball like it’s a tactical battle.
Study my opponents? Find a champion…
My shoulders sag. I thought she’d represent me, but it doesn’t appear that she will. Morrigan wouldn’t give me that instruction if she intended to champion me.
I take a deep breath and place the letter on my bed.
While my blanket hides the image that gutted me last night, there are hints of it all over the room.
There’s not enough linen in the place to cover them all.
Carina and I are featured in the lionesses cast in bronze on the legs of the bed frame, on the broken and whole legs of the table, and proudly painted on the wooden chest.
I walk over and fling it open to find a trove of new clothes nestled inside, all of them white. Flowing gowns in every style, bodysuits, tunics, pants, and undergarments. They are a far cry from my normal black uniform.
My dark duffle lies in the corner beside the chest. I’d left it in the bedroom of Morrigan’s Olympian home, which means she must have had it delivered here.
When I drag the zipper across, the bright green quetzal feather Cillian gave me rests on top of everything. I take it out before rummaging for the oldest, softest shirt I can find.
The room in the back of the house is an enormous bathing room, tiled from ceiling to floor with turquoise. A stack of neatly folded towels sits in the corner of a long counter inlaid with a basin of fresh water.
Across from the basin is a shower. I’m not sure how to use it. There’s a fixture on the ceiling, but no knobs on the wall. No hand pump. And farther into the room, there is a toilet.
Abuela’s water comes from a well drilled deep into the earth.
We conserve all we can during the dry times – which is almost always.
But desert rains are a deluge of power, flooding riverbeds and making everything burst green for a time.
For days after a storm, even though our well’s water carries the red rust of finally quenched earth, we enjoy the bounty.
Abuela would love this tile, this sunlit room, and the sound of the sea drifting through the windows.
How the water moves and glitters day and night.
Cillian has likely seen even finer things than this oikos holds.
I can’t even fathom how beautiful the home he will one day build for his family will be.
My thoughts always slide to my family. I miss them even though I haven’t been gone from them for long.
I sigh. I really need a shower. And to shower, I’ll need to remove my leg.
I could stand and maneuver into the little space, but it would be easier if I had a crutch. And since I didn’t bring mine from home, I need to try to make one. I’ve made do before…
I locate a broom in the far corner and gather up pieces of the broken table. Taking a linen towel and tearing it into strips, I fashion a crutch that’ll support my weight. I drag a folded chair into the washroom and sit on it, working to free myself of this… outfit.
The bodysuit tears a few inches along the side seam as I remove it, but once it’s off, it is a glorious comfort. I toss it over my shoulder and hear it land in a heap across the room.
I remove the leg Daedalus repaired, as well as the thick sheath I wear to protect my skin.
It has a pin at the bottom that fits and locks into the prosthesis, keeping it secure.
That’s the one thing Daedalus didn’t have to fix.
Pure, blissful relief washes over me as I sit in my skin for a long moment.
Grains of sand fall away when I stand.
With my new crutch, I carefully move into the room with the showerhead and search for a way to turn the water on, when it suddenly begins to flow.
It’s cold at first, but it soon warms, then turns hot.
Not hot enough to burn, but it steams the room and makes me sigh.
I press my eyes closed, basking in the steam billowing around me.
We don’t have heated water at home. In the desert, we don’t need it.
But it feels incredible, easing the aches from my muscles.
A shelf built into the shower’s corner holds jars of soaps and lotions that lather and smell like jasmine. I can’t imagine how much they cost. I wash my hair and body and sweat and sand swill down the drain.
The water stops when I move out from beneath the fixture. I dry off as best I can while leaning on my crutch and tug on the clothes I brought from home; underwear and a shirt I stole from Cillian a long time ago that’s long enough to be a dress on me.
My leg’s sheath is sandy and sweaty, so I rinse it in the basin and carry it into the bedroom to dry in a sunny patch on the table. Some of the windows in the oikos are tall. They let in the sea breeze when I open them.
I should probably stay awake and worry over what’s coming next, but I don’t have the energy. I want to rest for just a little while. Besides, trouble knows where to find me if it’s impatient.
The bed is pillowy. Soft and comfortable. The instant my head hits the pillow, I fall into a shallow, terrifying sleep.
In my dream, there’s an extravagant ball being held under the stars. Cut flowers adorn every surface and music pours from the heavens. I waltz with monsters.
And become one, too.
I wake covered with a soft linen blanket exactly like the one pinned to my wall. My hair is almost dry. It’s late afternoon, by the rich rays of sun beaming in from the west-facing windows.
Who came in here while I slept?
The folding chair I’d left in the washroom sits beside my bed. On it, there is a tray of fruit and fresh cheese, and a full carafe of cool water sits on the floor. The remnants of my splintered table are gone.
How did I sleep through someone doing so much, so close to me?
It’s unsettling.
Niall knocks on the doorframe. “Sorry to wake you. I wanted to make sure you knew there’s a ball at sundown.”
He must have come and helped me. In a way, I’m glad it was him and in another, I wish it hadn’t been.
I nod. “Morrigan said there was one tonight. She didn’t say what time, though.”
“She came here?” He steps inside. Just one tentative step.
“No, I got a letter. You didn’t?” I ask, sitting up.
He shakes his head.
Something was off. “You didn’t notice Ceann ársa?”
I thought Niall was right outside, snooping on me and August when the big bird flew in.
His brows lift. “He was here? How’s his wing?”
I clear my throat. “It’s fine. Morrigan healed him.”