Her face was kind and her eyes shone with honesty, but I didn’t trust her.
“She’s one of the best healers,” Anderz said, standing as well. He offered her a nod as two servants followed her in hauling a tub between them.
A strange sense of longing bore into my chest. I hadn’t experienced a proper bath in years. I relied on streams, rainwater, and tidepools full of curious sea life. More often than not, I went without. The idea of having a warm soak with no danger of floating down a stream and drowning… I glanced at Sainte, who studied the servants hauling buckets of steaming water.
“It is my sole purpose to verify that you’re well,” Gilead said. “You will have the Rites of the Gods to get through soon. We must ensure you are fit to compete in them.”
“You mean, make sure I’m not carrying a bastard?” I accused.
A servant stumbled in shock, and harsh whispers berated her for reacting.
The healer only folded her hands in front of her. “If you were with child, you would be in no condition to complete the challenges, that is true.”
I sighed, peering at Anderz and Sainte, then at the tub being filled with steaming water. “A look-over, just to see I’m as fit as a fiddle, then a bath?” I was ashamed at how my voice came out as a whine.
“Well, perhaps bathing should be our first order, then I’ll examine you.”
I conceded to Gilead as a seamstress entered with Bernita. She took measurements while Sainte and Anderz retreated to the far corner, muttering to one another. I couldn’t help but wonder what plans they were plotting behind my back.
Moments later, the men left with Anderz promising to stay close by if I called. As soon as they departed, I shed my clothes and eased into the steaming tub, wincing at the heat. Halfway in, I froze, my gaze fixed on the two maids and Gilead lingering in the room, faces drawn with shock.
“Is this not how it is done?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s just—they haven’t seen so much dirt on a living soul in quite some time,” the healer offered with a reassuring smile.
She tucked her sleeves up and selected a jar from the many set out along the table. The maids nodded emphatically at her excuse for their stares and I shrugged, slipping further in, hissing as the heat pricked at my skin.
“This is… actually pretty clean,” I squeaked, forcing myself lower into the scalding tub. This wasn’t as great as I remember it being.
I scrubbed, oblivious of the water which was now a murky brown.It was so saturated with debris and grime that bubbles barely formed in it. Gilead cameover to help, which I objected to until she rubbed some sweet-scented oil onto my shoulders. My protests died out as she worked loose, tense muscles that had been tight and nervous my whole life.
“Tell me, where have you been all this time?” she asked, pulling me out of my lull.
“Somewhere safe.” I ducked beneath the surface, coming up only when my lungs demanded air.
“I meant no offense, Your Highness.”
Gilead stood at the ready with a towel warmed by the fire. I stepped out of the bath and took the warm sheet gratefully, wrapping it around myself.
“You’ll also be pleased to hear I’ve begotten no bastards, nor am I with child now.” I stepped over to the hearth, which crackled and popped with comforting heat. “I bled on the way here.”
“As a healer, it is my duty to care for you,” she said, comb in hand, then motioned to my hair. “May I?”
I scoffed with a shrug. “Not much to work with.”
“Why did you cut it?” A note of sadness lingered in the question.
Behind me, the maids began emptying the tub, and I took a slow breath. What could I tell these people? Without Sainte, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Perhaps I ought to act as the proud, conceited nobility I witnessed in Port Siren, and simply ignore the healer.
“It was easier,” I hedged. “Not everyone can keep long hair clean.”
I stretched my fingers toward the crackling fire while she brushed out the mats and tangles. The sensation of someone combing through my hair was strangely comforting, a rare luxury. Memories sifted through my thoughts of nannies combing, braiding and primping. The bluish-black hue, along with our vibrant green eyes, served as a potent symbol of our royal lineage. From a young age, I was taught that it was a divine blessing, a mark bestowed by the gods to identify Wynterborne rulers. Places like Landing’s End didn’t follow such beliefs. The populace had the liberty to select their leaders.
Not that it benefited them.
The witch who concocted the potion to lighten my hair always warned me about angering the gods by concealing their gift. I never bought into her warnings, as I’d never encountered a god, nor had one ever spoken to me.
The priests and temples only exerted control over the population, dictating orders and laws. And not just in the religious sect, but the government as well. They stripped away the people’s freedoms. It didn’t sit right with me. Too many individuals sacrificed everything to worship in a temple, only to endure a lifetime in the slums.
