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And I want to. I need to. The more I exercise that power, the more he’ll realize that I am his equal in the end, someone that deserves to rule at his side.
Of course, I’m just a freaking girl from California so I don’t know shit about how to rule anything, let alone a kingdom of the dead, but I can learn.
I will learn.
Starting today.
I’m going to have my first training session with Vipunen.
Come now, Raila says, pouring more fragrant sea salts in the bath she has running for me. The day is underway.
I groan, my muscles stiff from yesterday’s antics, and take a sip of the coffee she put beside my bedside. There’s some poached loon eggs and strips of wild turkey bacon, mountain rye bread with frostberry jam, but I’m too nervous (or excited) to eat.
I gulp down the rest of the coffee—it tastes like the best brew I have ever had, no surprise since Death puts so much pride in his coffee selection—and then get out of bed and go over to the toilet.
Raila gives me privacy while I do my business (I’m okay with being bathed and dressed but that’s where I draw the line), then I step out of my nightgown and into the bath. It’s the perfect temperature and I sink right into the scented water.
You’ll need another bath after you finish your training, Raila says to me, rubbing a black sea sponge over my arms. You’ll have worked up a sweat. This bath will help relax your muscles, making it easier to wield the weapons.
Death had stopped by my room late last night. I assumed he was here for sex, like our night-time dalliances used to be, but to my disappointment, he kept his distance and instead told me that I would have my first session with Vipunen in the morning and that Lovia would take me there. He didn’t tell me much else and that’s probably for the best because I think I’d psych myself out.
But now that I’m up and it’s happening, I want to know everything.
Unfortunately Raila can’t answer any of my questions because she’s never been in Vipunen’s presence at all. It isn’t until I’m almost done with my bath that Lovia shows up with answers—and an outfit.
“Good morning,” she says cheerfully, sashaying into the room with clothes in her hands. Today she’s wearing a peach-colored Grecian gown that makes her cheeks look extra rosy and her tits look perfect. Ah, to be immortal. She stops in front of the bath and holds out a metallic jumpsuit. “I’m here with your new wardrobe.”
I eye the clothes while making a vain attempt to cover up my nudity. “What is that, a catsuit?”
“A catsuit?” She frowns at it. “It wasn’t made by a cat, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, this was made by the seamstress here. She’s a Deadmaiden too, but she’s responsible for clothing us, you know, when I don’t feel like going to the Upper World to go shopping. She has your measurements and is willing to make you whatever clothes you want, in fact she’s already made you a ton. They’re in the closet.” She nods at my wardrobe then grins proudly at me, shaking the suit again. “And this is your custom-made training suit.”
Having worked in fashion, the idea that I have custom-made clothes ready and can get more of them anytime I want, in whatever style I want, is an absolute dream, but I’m distracted by the training suit. It’s all one piece, from toes to hands and fastening at the neck, but while some parts, like at the feet and crotch, are of a slinky black material, the rest is like a combination of chainmail and spandex. It looks tight and uncomfortable and I have no idea if it’s supposed to be some sort of armor.
“Is this supposed to protect me?” I ask. “And what exactly do I need protection from?”
“You’ll see,” she says brightly and then jiggles the outfit again. “We’re on a schedule this morning, so let’s get you into it. You ate already, right? You’re going to need your strength.”
She hasn’t touched her food, Raila admonishes me.
I give her a put-upon look and ease myself out of the bath and while Raila dries me off, Lovia goes over to get my breakfast. The two work in tandem feeding me and dressing me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like a child.
Yet when they’re done, I sure don’t look like a child. The jumpsuit leaves nothing to the imagination and you can even see my muscle definition under the chain mail. To my surprise, it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it feels like I’m barely wearing anything.
“Again,” I say, inspecting my body. My ass looks especially perky. “How is this supposed to protect me?”
