Page 60 of Ashen Wings

I don’t say anything, but when Jace pulls me to his chest, I lean into him further. Then his arms wrap around me, drawing me in closer. “How about a hot bath? You’re freezing.”

“That sounds nice,” I murmur, entirely infected by the warmth his damp skin provides.

He carries me to the washing chamber and sets me on the settee beside the tub.

I force my thoughts quiet by focusing on Jace, like each task is a check on my mental list.

He turns the knob and the faucet flows freely with steaming, clean water. When its full, he finds the lavender oil and lets a few drops fall. The sweet scented haze lingers between us, coating the silence in herbal remedies and unspoken understanding.

Only for a night, I’ll allow myself this comfort—his comfort—solely because by sunrise I need to have collected myself. I can’t be a sobbing mess when I return to Thaye. There’s still too much to learn, too much intel to gather.

For now, though, I’ll break.

I’ll offer myself this reprieve, and by morning I’ll gather the pieces like I always do and lock back in.

“I’ll give you a moment to get in.” Jace disappears back through the door. When I’ve undressed and sunken under the silken water, he returns—a change of clothes and wooden hairbrush in hand. “When was the last time someone’s taken care of you, starling?”

I bite my lip. When was the last time? Before Finnick found me? Before my mother died? Before Smoke’s invasion? Throughout the course of my adult life, no one has ever cared for me. Never once have I allowed someone close enough to even offer. “I…”

“Only with your permission, of course,” he says, seating himself beside the basin. The lip of the tub is high enough that he’d have to lean over to even glimpse my body submerged under the swirls of bathing oils, but I shift unsteadily realizing I’m entirely nude, entirely exposed before Jace fucking Ashborne.

“It’s been a while,” I say finally.

“Then let me,” he whispers, his eyes softening.

“Okay.”

Jace kneels at the base of the tub and runs his hands through my hair until he finds the clip holding it in place. My breath shallows with each gentle stroke of his fingers, shaking my strands free.

“After the war, I was so angry at my father and his council for their decision to close our borders.” He works the brush through each knot, gently smoothing the locks in place. “I lived with that rage for so long. It ate at me until there was nothing left, if I’m being honest.”

My eyes flutter closed, my attention hanging onto every word. Jace retrieves a glass bottle of hair wash and uncorks it. Its soothing, minty scent wafts around me as he runs his fingers over my scalp, massaging away the tension.

“But it was Isra and Roe who finally pulled me back.” His hands run through my hair, gently coating every strand with soap. “I’m telling you this, starling, because you’re not alone in your rage…your darkness. There are others you can lean on when things get too difficult.”

“I’m not one to rely on others.” I fold my knees into my chest.

Jace looses an amused huff and dips his rinse cup under the surface. Water trickles from my scalp down my spine as he washes my hair clean. My pulse calms with each warm trail of suds and my thoughts quiet enough to find the ground again.

“Lean back,” he commands with one final rinse. “Do you want me to plait it or would you prefer it loose?”

My brow raises. “You know how to plait hair?”

“Yes,” he says, sectioning my strands into thirds. “My mother taught me when I was a child.” He doesn’t offer anything more than that, but still even the smallest detail of his past feels like one step closer to cracking the hard-coated shell Jace wears around himself. I tell myself I don’t care to know what lives behind those devastating eyes, but my heart pangs.

Gooseflesh peaks up my arms as he runs his fingers over my scalp. The gentle tugs as he weaves my hair down my spine with expert precision send flutters of calm through my raging mind. The tension in my neck, my shoulders, even my jaw release and I melt into the tub, entirely exhausted.

“Jace?” I ask, tipping my chin toward him.

“Yes?” He secures my hair and dries his hands in a cotton cloth. Candlelight flickers around us, draping his features in amber hues. He looks so normal in this light. Not the King of Shadow, or a rider bonded to the continent’s most lethal of dragons. Leaning over his stool, one hand draped lazily at the tub’s edge, he’s simply a man.

“Thank you,” I say, and wholeheartedly mean it.

“It is my honor, starling,” he replies. “I’ll give you some privacy to get dressed.”

When the tub has drained and I’ve wrapped myself in a robe, exhaustion unleashes its fury. My muscles ache with the release of angry tension and my pulse tires until it’s sluggish and begging for rest. I can’t pretend the darkness won’t come clawing again tomorrow, nor will that little voice slinging vicious thoughts stay away, but for now there’s silence.

And that’s enough.