AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I try to let myself be soothed by her matronly mannerisms and the cheerful way she speaks the common tongue. “That’s all right, Sigrid. I --”
My words are cut short by the large bath that is filled almost to the top. I am already frazzled, and the still water mocks me. The deep tub was clearly built to accommodate the average Jokithan.
But for me...
I place a hand to my throat, swallowing hard, fighting back the images that come unbidden.
Disobedient soldiers, spies, and anyone who was disloyal… I see their wild eyes and hear their pleas as they are locked in a cage and lowered into the raging seas.
Shipwrecked trespassers who have nowhere else to turn are forced to swim to the continent.
None of them make it. Even if they can swim, their bodies are dragged down to a watery grave by Sharks, or, even worse, the Mayima, the cursed sirens off the coast of Delphine.
A single mother — starving, begging, desperate — walks her crying babe into the Cerulean Sea and allows the waters to take them. Any fate is better than watching your child waste away, slowly and painfully.
A bubble rises from the drain breaking at the surface of the bath, but all I hear is the gurgling, final breaths of each of them, the sounds of death and drowning. My mind spins as each of these gruesome scenes play on repeat for me until I can’t take it anymore.
“Remove half of this at once,” I croak out, not caring for a moment how rude I sound.
Sigrid freezes, her head tilting to the side.
“Pardon, Mistress?”
I try to collect myself, to come up with a reason that makes sense, but it’s all I can do to speak in a halfway reasonable tone.
“Remove at least half of the bath water,” I repeat. “Please,” I tack on belatedly.
Sigrid tsks and mumbles under her breath in Jokithan but does what I ask before leaving the small room. She’s probably gone to complain to Einar about my manners.
Not that he would have room to judge.
I rub my temple again, close the door behind me, and lean into the dark spruce frame.
I’ve never been so far from my sisters, and I can’t help but wish they were here to help me figure this whole mess out.
I undress and climb into the tub of steaming water, bracing myself. Most people find baths relaxing, but they are nothing short of torture for me.
Sigrid comes back in as I’m methodically washing each inch of my skin. She doesn’t even hesitate before kneeling down on creaky joints to start in on my hair.
“Thank you,” I say after a moment.
She nods, and the veil moves with her forced breath. But whatever words she is about to speak are cut off when I get to my stomach.
I immediately regret not sending her away. The water has washed away the balm that concealed the carefully hidden row of scars along my abdomen. Madame could have made them disappear with one of her concoctions, but she insisted they were a healthy reminder for me.
I forget about them most of the time. It’s easy enough when I refuse to look at them, but here they are now — white, stark slashes against my tawny skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the hideous sight of them and the visceral memories of the man who gave them to me. They are a harrowing remembrance of the night my innocence was stolen. With one quick glimpse of them, I can practically smell the peppermint leaves on his breath all over again, and I want to be sick.
Shivering, I swallow hard, and belatedly attempt to cover them with the small washcloth in my hands.
The servants in Villa Paradís were accustomed to seeing much worse than a handful of healed wounds here and there, but that isn’t how I want to be seen here.
Sigrid’s hands still, but she says nothing. When she eventually starts applying the oils to my hair again, her touch is softer. Maternal.
And I’m not sure how to interpret it.
When she finally finds her voice, it’s not to ask about the scars, as I expected. She says something else entirely.
