Page 162 of Starside

But I’m still exhausted. And … they clearly helped us. Trust, I think, must sometimes be worth it. So I follow her through the ornate, strange room and into another.

The bath is a massive sparkling geode filled with steaming water, with flower petals and sprigs of lavender swirling on the surface.

“These will help with your pain and injuries,” she says, motioning toward the nature. “The plants have healing properties. We already put some on your forehead while you were sleeping.” So that’s why I feel strong enough to stand. It must have counteracted the poison somehow.

“Here you go,” Gallie says, offering an entire tray of different soaps. “Use all of them. Please.” There are roses and valerian woven through the thick pieces, but even then, they don’t smell half as good as Raker’s. “And this.” She places vials of oils and liquids on the lip of the tub. “You need to wash your hair like twelve times,” she says, before Este shoots her a look. “What? She ruined my comb. It was from a siren!” She holds up what looks like snapped sea glass.

I don’t know whether to laugh or scoff, but Este grabs her sister by the arm and drags her through the towering bathroom doors. They whisper shut.

And then I’m left alone.

I look around the room. It’s made of bark, leaves covering the walls, ivy crawling across it.

There are no windows. I lock the doors, just in case.

Then, carefully, I take off my clothing.

My skin is raw and dry. Dirt has crusted around my ankles and wrists. I slowly lower myself into the bath and tense, before sighing in relief.

Este was right. The bath does help. I pour what looks like honey into my hand and smell it. It’s sweet and rich, a nectar that glides across my skin effortlessly. There are a thousand sparkles inside. It makes my body gleam.

The next is purple, like Gallie’s dress. I put it in my hair, sliding my fingers against my scalp, then washing every strand.

Another smells like the sea. It’s a thick paste, with salt and dark sand. I use it to get the dirt off. I scrub and scrub, and for a moment, I enjoy.

This journey is not about pleasure, but right now I let myself sit back and breathe. I’m alive. I’m here in this mysterious, glittering place. I’ve made it this far.

Another brush has been left by the tub. I comb it through my hair, starting at the bottom. It takes several minutes, and winces, but finally, under the oil’s command, it goes smooth again, the knots forgotten.

I mourn the bath the second I step out of it. A cloud of a towel is waiting on a stone surface. It wraps completely around me, like a blanket, and is as soft as one. Only when I frown at my pile of dirty clothing do I wonder what I’m going to wear.

I don’t wonder for long. The door creaks slightly as I poke my head out into the room, relieved to find it empty.

A pile of dresses is stacked on the bed.

Este and Gallie must have noticed the modesty of my clothing, because all of them are long-sleeved and high-necked, unlike theirs, which showed plenty of skin. A warm seed forms in my chest at that notice. At that consideration.

My hands run through the fabrics with wonder. They feel liquid. They glow as if drenched in moonlight, almost as brightly as the ones the woman who saved me wore.

Who was she?

I choose a dark blue one that molds to my form but feels like I’m not wearing anything at all. It’s a balm against my tired, aching skin, and puddles at my feet. I decide to go barefoot, not in a rush to be in my cramped boots so soon. Instead of braiding my hair back into my typical style, I shrug and keep it down to dry.

The moment I step out of the room, Gallie and Este stop speaking. They’ve been waiting there.

Gallie blinks. “Wow. The oils work wonders.”

Este squeezes her arm. Her face brightens. “You look vibrant, Aris. You always did, but now …”

“I’m not covered in dirt and mud?”

She smiles. “Exactly.” She motions me forward. “Come. They’ll want to see you.”

Right. The mysterious Elders she mentioned before. I follow the sisters down bridges that cut through trees and are suspended with dangling vines.

I see him first.

Raker, his sword on his back despite the rules. I almost smile, imagining his fury when he woke up without it. I pity the blacksmith.