So, after running the bath, she stripped out of her clothes and sank into the hot, soapy water. Setting immediately to work, she rigorously scrubbed the salt and grime from her hair.
Gross. Safire scrunched her nose, soaping her hair as she wondered how Eris could have borne kissing her likethis.
The thought brought a rush of embarrassment.
Maybe that’s why she left so quickly.
At the thought of Eris, Safire remembered something the Death Dancer said just before they anchored in Axis’s harbor.
I’ll get no trial.
Safire stopped scrubbing.
She hadn’t believed her at the time. But now, as she thought of Kor and the other dead pirates, she wondered if Eris was right.
If Safire managed to capture her for the empress—as she’d promised to do—would Leandra execute Eris as easily as she’d executed Kor?
And if so, she thought, sinking down into the water to wash the suds from her hair,could I really deliver her to her death?
Despite the warm water she soaked in, Safire shivered.
She lay still, considering the dilemma over and over, trying to find a solution. The bath was so warm, and Safire was so tired, that after a short while, she fell asleep.
She woke to a sound in the bedroom. Bolting upright in the now-cold water, it sloshed over the tub. Safire sat perfectly still, listening as she gripped the cool ceramic sides. But no sound came from the room beyond this one.
Slowly, she lifted herself from the bath and wrapped herself in a towel, peering through the doorway.
At first, she saw nothing unusual or out of place. It was only as she began toweling her hair, scanning the room for a second time, that she saw the dress hanging over the chair in front of the vanity. A dress that hadn’t been there before she got in the bath.
Safire approached, all her senses on high alert. The dress was sky blue and she ran her fingers across the tightly woven wool threads. She looked for the weaver’s mark, but all she could find was a tiny silver star embroidered into the sleeve of the left wrist.
Lifting the fabric, she pressed it to her face and breathed in.
It smelled like the sea.
Like Eris.
Her skin prickled at the thought.
Safire lowered the dress, looking slowly around. But there was no other sign of the Death Dancer walking her rooms while she bathed.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the dress was a gift from the empress, as a thank-you for the information she’d given. After all, Eris would never venture inside the citadel of the enemy she’d been running from for seven years.
Whoever gave her the dress, it was the only thing Safire had to wear, seeing as her only other clothes were in a grimy, salt-encrusted pile on the floor.
She had only just pulled the dress over her head when a knock came on the door.
“Commandant?”
Safire recognized the voice. It belonged to one of Roa’s personal guards. A young woman named Saba.
“Yes?” Safire called as the dress cascaded down her.
“The dragon queen is wondering where you are.”
Safire frowned as she reached to fasten the button at the back of the neck. “Clearly I’m right here,” she said, swinging open the door.
Saba stood before her, dressed in her soldat uniform with the dragon queen’s emblem proudly displayed across her chest: a white hawk in a circle of jacaranda flowers. “The banquet started a little while ago,” Saba said, her dark brown curls circling her head like a cloud.
