Page 83 of Carousel

She leads me all the way down to Deck 2 – where the staircase ends.

I double-take the brass plaque on the wall. Definitely says 2.

“Is there no Deck 1?”

“There is,” she says. “But it’s the Osimidite Chamber. It’s off limits.”

She swings open the door opposite, which lets out a hot wave of air and steam. We head inside, through it.

There’s no separation. Men and women are using any of the large, soapy copper tubs they want to. Just as Cosmer had warned me, there doesn’t seem to be any shame here. Some are soaking themselves, or standing waist-deep and talking, or even just walking around through the steam, their full bodies on display. It’s a lot of skin.

Riss stops by a smaller bath, occupied only by a young Rhavnan woman with long black hair. She’s lying back against the copper rim, heavily lidded eyes half-closed. I realise I recognise her. She was the woman sitting opposite me at dinner yesterday, who had seemed, if anything, humoured by what she was witnessing.

The memory instantly makes me wary of her.

“Okay if we join?” Riss asks her.

The woman shrugs.

“Thanks,” Riss says. “Ara, this is Meg. Maybe you met her yesterday.”

As Meg makes no attempt to speak to me, I just nod.

Riss strips off efficiently. No hesitancy at all. She climbs up and slips into the bath and even swims a short lap before turning back to me.

“What are you waiting for? They don’t keep these open long.”

The water does look inviting. Deep and frothy.

I pull off my clothes as quickly as I can and jump up the rungs to get into it.

I perch on a metal seat jutting from the tub, my legs stretching out. Warmth rapidly fills my bones, soothing my muscles, still sore from training.

“This is great,” I say.

“Right? The osimidite under us keeps them hot. And they have some kind of potion for the bubbles.”

I rest my arms over the edge of the tub.

Riss glances at them – and gapes.

“Hey,” she says, with delight. “We match.”

She holds out her forearms to me – which are covered in extremely familiar small, round red marks around her elbows.

The sight shocks me. Completely, utterly shocks me.

I can hardly breathe as I hold out my own forearms to her.

We place our scars side by side. They could be twins of each other.

What in the name of the Sisters does that mean?

“I always thought these were scars from pox.”

Riss laughs. “They’re scars, yes, but they’re not from pox. They’re old track marks, from needles.”

I don’t think I’ve heard this Hevallan word before.