Chapter 26
A week later, Theo turns.
I am summoned to his chambers in the early hours of the morning when a few stars are still stubbornly twinkling in the orange sky. When I arrive, he is lying in his bed in a familiar bloody state. I hurry over to him. Even though I have become accustomed to this routine, concern still floods my mind. His turning has become less and less frequent, and I worry it is the calm before the storm.
“Theo.” I grasp his hand. “I am here.”
He smiles weakly at me, his cheek pressed against the pillow.
“A silver lining to this curse,” he wheezes. “You have a reason to visit me.”
“I would visit you regardless.” I brush his matted hair from his forehead.
“Ah, yes, the agreement.” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards, and I roll my eyes at his ability to tease even during intense pain .
“Let me fetch the lavender tonic,” I say, but he stops me as I move.
“No, wait.” He licks his chapped lips. “It is a little easier tonight. The pain is less sharp.”
I eye him dubiously.
“Are you quite sure?”
“I am. But…” He winces. “I am rather sick of sleeping covered in blood.”
“Oh.” I look him over. It was often low on the priority list to clean him up when he was suffering so greatly, and he usually waited until morning to wash. “I see. Shall I take you to the washroom?”
“Truthfully, I would like the castle baths. But I do not know if I can make it that far.” He glances at the door.
“Do not worry about that. I will help you,” I say, standing up. “The hot water may ease your pains also.”
He gives a heavy sigh and waves a hand weakly.
“Very well,” he says. “I trust your judgement.”
I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and stand. The baths are not far, only a few minutes’ walk away, but in Theo’s current state, it will likely feel like a lifetime for him. I scoop an arm under his upper back and lift, helping him onto his feet. He groans, gritting his teeth. I hope I am right about the hot water.
We inch through the halls, taking regular breaks so Theo can catch his breath. I sense the guards eyeing us, but pay them no mind.
“Not much further,” I soothe him and recall a story I read in dragon text long ago to distract him. “Do you know the dragons of old built many communal baths?”
“Indeed?” he breathes. His face is pinched, but he cocks an eyebrow, intrigued.
“They believed the water had healing properties, as it was so vital to life,” I continue. “They carved great bathhouses out of the side of mountains, bathing in the hot water secretly buried there. Supposedly, there are still some that remain. It is said the hot water springs were the inspiration for dragon magic as they learned how to heal themselves through it. Healing turned to other forms of manipulation, which turned into shapeshifting.”
“Faeth,” Theo mumbles, putting the pieces together. I nod encouragingly.
“Faeth. The ability to change yourself through prayer.”
Theo ruminates on this quietly, some of the tension easing from his expression as the story distracts him.
I feel the warmth emanating from the castle baths before we reach it. Steam pours from between the gaps in the doors, swirling against the cooler air in the castle.
“We have arrived, Theo. You made it,” I tell him, but he is only able to give me a shaky half- smile.
We stumble into the baths, quickly closing the door behind us to keep the warmth in. The air is hot and humid, and the steam is thick. There is a marble runway around the entirety of the large room, shelving various bottles of soaps, shampoos and empty jugs, with steps descending into the baths. Candles, protected from the moisture, hang in glass boxes from the ceiling. The water looks inviting—clear and blue against the white marble—as the steam dances across the surface.
Theo is only wearing his drawers, roughly pulled onto him by the guards when he turned back, so we do not bother to undress him. I help him as he stumbles down the steps into the hot water. His legs nearly buckle beneath him, but I catch him in time, wrapping my free arm around his waist. He is heavy, but I am determined.
“M-My apologies,” he gasps, grimacing.
“I want to hear no apologies from you,” I tell him firmly. “Your only focus is healing.”
We reach the water and, using every muscle I can draw upon, I ease him slowly in. He inhales sharply through his teeth as the hot water touches his feet and then moves further up his legs until finally settling at his chest as he sits. Crimson swirls through the water like red paint as the blood is soaked from his skin. He tips his head back and sighs.
“Yes,” he says, eyes closed. “This is helping. Perhaps the dragons were onto something.”
Relieved, I sit on the step above him and submerge my feet and calves in the water. I wiggle my toes, savouring the sweet burn of the water.
The blood is gently sloughed from Theo under the water, but the part of him above the surface stays stubbornly stuck.
“Would you like me to help clean your face and neck?” I ask him. His eyes flutter open and find mine.
“If you would be so kind,” he replies, a hint of his spirited smile on his lips. “But you will need to come in with me.”
“I am fully clothed.” I laugh.
“In your nightgown.” He shrugs. “It will withstand some water.”
I roll my eyes good-humouredly.
“Very well.” I place my hands palm down on the step and push myself off, sliding into the water next to him.
It is hot but not uncomfortably so. After a second or two, I acclimate and the warmth seeps into my bones pleasantly. I turn to Theo and scoop water into my hands, pouring it over one of his shoulders.
“Closer,” he murmurs, looking at me through half-shut eyes. “Please.”
“How close?” I whisper, reaching across to pour more water on his other shoulder.
As an answer, his hands move under the water to grip my thighs. In one swift movement, he pulls me across until I am kneeling over his lap, my thighs on each side of his. I gasp with the sudden movement and his eyes open fully.
“Is this alright?” he asks, his hands still on my thighs. His fingertips press pleasingly into my skin.
“Yes,” I breathe.
I slowly move my hands from under the water up to his bare chest, washing away the angry red. He closes his eyes again, tipping his head back but keeping his gentle grip on me, holding me to him. I move further up until I run my fingers across his collarbone, feeling the dip between the ridge of the bone and his neck.
I continue up slowly and start to work on the sharp angle of his jaw. The skin is not as smooth here, spiked with fair stubble that I, for some reason, enjoy even more. I dip my hands in the water, washing his jaw of blood before returning to his face. His eyes remain closed, his expression peaceful.
I look at his lips, chapped and bloody, and a bout of nerves springs up inside me.
“Theo?” I whisper. “Are you still awake?”
“I am,” he replies without moving.
“Would you like me to keep going?”
The corners of his lips tug upwards.
“Please,” he says.
I hesitate briefly before obliging. Making sure my hands have been cleaned and soaked, I bring my thumbs up to his lips and brush them slowly, moving from one corner to the next. I move gently, mindful of his aches and pains, washing away the last remnants of blood. I think about how his lips would feel against mine.
I linger a few seconds too long and have to tear myself away. His hair is still matted with blood, so I use that as a reason to move on. I lean to grab one of the smaller jugs and a jar of sweet-smelling soap.
“Keep your head back,” I tell him, voice hushed. It does not feel like a place for raised voices—too quiet and intimate.
“As you wish,” Theo murmurs and his thumbs begin to stroke the fabric over my thighs. My nightgown is already thin and being under the water has made it feel as if it does not even exist at all. I exhale and focus on my task.
I dip the jug in the water to fill it before carefully tipping it over Theo’s hair. A river of red runs from the step into the water. I slide my fingers through his hair with one hand while pouring water with the other, pretending I am trying to get the blood off when, really, I want to feel the thickness of his hair between my fingers. Theo’s lips part as he exhales softly.
When his hair has been soaked, I scoop two fingers into the soap and apply it, using both hands to lather. I can feel his scalp beneath my fingertips and apply some pressure as I move.
Theo groans as I do so .
“Is that painful?” I ask, immediately releasing him.
“No.” He gives the tiniest shake of his head. “It is wonderful.”
I smile and resume massaging the soap through his hair, working it up into a red lather.
“You are wonderful,” he breathes, nearly indecipherable.
My heart fills. Smiling, I pull one of my hands away to pick up the jug. I re-fill it and pour fresh water, rinsing the suds and blood away. After several repeats, his locks are shiny and clean, the colour of dark honey again. Despite being wet, his hair is thick in my hands, and I run my fingers through it once more.
“There,” I say. “You are cleaned.”
Theo opens his eyes then and keeps his gaze on me.
“My thanks,” he says, and one of his hands releases my thigh. He brings it up to the side of my face, cupping my cheek. I know what he wants to do, and this time, I want him to do it. He slides his hand into my hair, tenderly gripping the back of my head, and I allow him to pull me in towards him.
His lips are still wet from the water but soft and warm against mine. I melt into him, my back arching as I press my chest against his. My hand finds the nape of his neck, and I hold him there, wanting and needing him closer.
When his lips part mine, I give no resistance. His tongue slides against mine briefly, shooting a jolt through my body. A warmth spreads inside me which has nothing to do with the baths. Theo’s grip tightens a fraction on the back of my head, his fingers tangled in my hair, and a gasp escapes me. There is barely an inch between us and still it feels like I am not close enough. I press myself closer and Theo responds in kind, his arm wrapping around my waist. The world melts away around us. I only pull back when I am breathless.
Theo looks at me with a lopsided smile, his eyes somehow glazed and sharp all at once, his cheeks tinted pink. He traces the pad of his thumb across my jaw.
“You and I,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine.
Looking at him there, beautiful and kind, I know I am in love.