Page 59 of Bride of Ash & Dust

There’s a final scrape, and the sound of the rain is suddenly louder. A moment later, there’s a thud. Boots, I think, are landing on the floor. In this room.

I hold my breath. Think, godsdamn it.

Whoever just climbed through the window, they’ll expect me to be in the bed. Asleep. Unarmed.

The scraping starts again. Whoever just came in through the window must be closing it behind them. My throat feels tight, and my hands shake as they hold the blanket to my chest.

I need to move. Now.

As silently as I can, and praying to whatever gods might be listening that the scrape of the window closing hides the rustle of the sheets, I slip to the far side of the bed. The bed’s heavy curtains are soft and cool as I gently nudge them back, then drop to the floor. The massive mirror glimmers in the darkness, a faint pool of light on the wall. It’s too dark for me to see the reflection of the person who just climbed in the window.

The scraping sound stops. The window must be closed. There’s another gust of wind, another flurry of raindrops against the glass, and then the whisper of footsteps on stone. Whoever is in this room with me, they’re walking quietly.

I dig my fingertips into the bedpost and remember the knife on Zarek’s thigh with a pang of longing. Gods, I wish I had a dagger right now. Or a club. Or anything heavy, anything solid⁠—

My breath catches as the footsteps pause in the middle of the room.

There is something.

There’s a chamber pot beneath the bed. Two chamber pots, actually, one on either side. I haven’t used them, because there’s a private latrine in the bathing chamber, and I can’t imagine why anyone would use a chamber pot when there’s the option of a latrine instead.

The footsteps resume. Gods above, it sounds like they’re heading directly toward the bed.

I press my foot under the curtain, dragging my toe along the stone until I touch the cold metal edge of the chamber pot. The footsteps pause again. I hear a deep breath, almost a sigh. It sounds so close I can almost feel their breath on my skin.

I close my eyes. For a heartbeat, I imagine a massive, bearded man with a sword in his hands, poised just outside the bed’s curtains, ready to stab me through the heart.

Then I drop to my feet, reach under the bed, and grab the chamber pot. The person makes a startled sound, almost a grunt, as the chamber pot drags on the stone.

“Don’t ever hesitate,” Petrys told me, the first time we met in the forest. “They won’t expect you to fight back, and that’s your greatest strength.”

I don’t hesitate.

I raise the chamber pot in the air, leap forward, and bring it down.

A man cries out, then shoves me back onto the bed.

“Fuck,” he curses. “What the hells?”

I can make out the dim outline of his figure, silhouetted against the windows. He thrusts forward. I jump to my feet, raise the chamber pot⁠—

It freezes in midair. I try to yank it away. The man pivots, and suddenly, I’m pressed against the bedpost, a man’s hand on my wrist, his knee between my legs.

“Lilias?”

Oh, gods. I close my eyes as my cheeks burn.

“Husband,” I manage to say through gritted teeth.

Zarek laughs. His body presses into mine, hot and hard against my breasts.

“Did you just hit me with a chamber pot?” he asks.

I try to pull away. Zarek’s leg presses between my thighs in a way that makes me very aware of how little I’m wearing.

“Did you just climb in through the window?” I snap.

He laughs again, soft and low. His breath is hot against my neck.