Page 92 of Crown of the Courtesan

My stomach churns again, and I try not to clutch and rip at my once-gray eyes.

“What did you see?” Valora asks, echoing Ashland as she hands me a pouch of water. I drink greedily. It sloshes and mixes with the putrid mess down the front of my clothing as Ashland folds his arms, still watching me.

I wipe my mouth, choking on my answer. “It’s General Metalla’s men, just like I told you. They’re transporting the missing women in a prison wagon along the Hetaira. Some sort of power is assisting them. Their horses move too fast—unnaturally fast—but they’ve stopped for the night.” Tears spill down my cheeks, blurring my vision. “I’m so worried for them. They’re hurt and scared⁠—”

“The river runs along the Port of Alexandria.” The hood of Valora’s cloak whips free of her head, and she murmurs, “I’ll bet anything they’re being loaded onto ships as cargo.”

Ashland swears before turning to his closest soldiers. “Feed and water yourselves. Rest while you can. We leave in one hour.” He strides to the camp, ensuring everyone hears his bellowing orders. I sit in the grass and watch as he inspects horse hooves and directs the men assembling tents to switch to disassembly.

I don’t budge from my spot.

My soul is still trapped on that wagon.

“Come on, girl, it’s time to move. You’re covered in sickness.” Valora tugs on my arm. “There’s a hot spring on the other side of this hill. Go wash up. It’ll make you feel better. You don’t know when your next chance will be.” She rummages in the crossbody satchel she’s wearing and pulls out a yellow bar of soap, pushing it into my hand. It smells of lemons—just like her.

But washing up wouldn’t erase the horror I witnessed. The terror of those women would still be imprinted in my mind, no matter how clean my skin might feel.

Despite that, Valora is right. I’ll stink even worse tomorrow if I don’t comply. I rise to my feet and stumble in the direction Valora pointed.

A single ray of moonlight pierces a gap in the trees, giving me a brief glimpse of where I’m headed in the ivory woods. As I draw closer, steam rises from behind an outcropping of rocks and leafy ferns, marking a short path to the water. I stop there, pull my boots off, then my stockings, and lay them neatly on a boulder for safekeeping.

Swiveling around, I search for the presence of anyone else, but there’s no one except the silvery, luminescent insects that fly about the hot springs’ flora, illuminating the water. Everyone is too busy readying for the hasty departure, the noise and commotion traveling over the night air.

I sigh with tired relief, stripping out of my soiled clothing. With the help of a rock and the soap Valora gave me, I scrub my dress as clean as possible in a shallow pool near the entrance. However, the stain is stubborn, and I’m near tears by the time I give up and hang the dress from a tree branch.

I return to the edge of the pool to brush my teeth and wash my hands, but afterward I pause as the water deepens to my ankles, my toes digging into the silt. The warm, calming sensation makes me stand still, releasing some of the earlier stress. My breathing slows.

Studying the camp’s noise, I figure there’s still a small amount of time left, but not much. I hurriedly unlace my stays, carefully avoiding dropping Cliodna’s diary from its hiding spot into the mud. When I’ve taken off the remainder of my underclothes, I leave them with my stockings and boots. Cold air nips at my naked skin, sending shivers up my spine.

I quickly glide into the balmy depths and float on my back, scrutinizing the constellations, trying not to think of anything at all. My fingernails dig into the soap bar, creating indentations, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

After a deep, deep inhale, I submerge myself and let the water surround me, keeping one hand secure on my circlet.

I won’t lose it again, I think, over and over, as I stay under, holding my knees, wondering if this is what it feels like in a mother’s womb.

My lungs itch until I’m unable to bear it. I reemerge, breaking the water’s surface, my hair wrapping and clinging to my neck and bosom.

“Ah, fuck!” a man with a deep northern accent yells.

The soap slips through my hand and falls to the bottom of the hot springs. With a gasp, I dip and hide my naked body under the modesty of the rippling water.

“I wasn’t aware you were here,” Ashland says, his tone surprised and slightly annoyed as he turns his back to me and averts his gaze.

“The dress hanging in the tree and the clothing stacked on the rocks gave you no clue?” I hiss, keeping the water level at my chin as I study his muscled shape. If possible, he seems even larger than usual, framed by only the moonlight.

“It’s dark, and I was in a rush.” He shrugs.

I scoff, but continue to look at the prominent definition of his tight torso and broad shoulders. My cheeks grow hot, and perhaps not because of the steaming minerals.

His face tilts slightly. The dim light outlines his nose as he peers down at the water. “How did you even know about this spot?”

“Valora instructed me to wash up. I didn’t argue.”

“Yes, she would, wouldn’t she?” he mutters, more to himself than to me. Then he twists around to face me, asking, “Are you feeling improved at all?”

My brow furrows in confusion.

He clears his throat. “Are you still ill?”