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“Well, the good news is there are beds,” Aine said as she stomped up the cellar stairs. “The bad news is even if the water worked, I would not set foot in that bathing room to save my immortal soul.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe it is that bad. Your standards are simply too high.”
A ghost of a smirk played across her lips. “Go see for yourself. If you are willing to wash here, I will pay you—” She broke off, coughing, and frowned.
I turned away as I walked up the stairs, already knowing what must have happened. She’d likely been about to offer me something she no longer owned, as whatever it was had been burned up with the flames. As soon as she’d begun the lie, the pain would have been excruciating.
As it turned out, Aine was not wrong about the bathing room. It was little more than a hole in the floor in the cellar, and though I did find a wooden tub that I suspected might have once been used for laundry, there was no other option as far as washing. By Aisling, and I’d thought the showers in the servants’ quarters to be revolting. Now, I would have taken a lukewarm shower with goat milk soap any day if it meant I could get this blood off.
I returned to the main room of the tavern, grimacing. “She’s right.”
“Ha!” Aine said with a bravado that did not reach her eyes.
“There’s got to be a stream or something around here,” I said a bit desperately. “They cannot simply not bathe in this town.”
“I don’t know about that, little monster,” Bael replied. “There was quite a smell when we arrived.”
No. I refused to accept it. I could not sit in the blood and guts and ash for another moment.
“Well, I’m going to find a stream or…something.”
No one moved. Finally, Bael, looking a bit bemused, said, “Fine. I’ll take you.”
“Don’t look so disappointed,” I grumbled.
“Oh, I’m not. I am simply trying to avoid another town burning to the ground.”
“What—”
But my question was drowned in the sound of a slamming door, and I jumped, realizing that without my even noticing, Scion had disappeared upstairs.
52
LONNIE
THE WAYWOODS
The gods must have had quite the sense of humor because it seemed that no matter what I did, I couldn’t stay out of these damned woods.
Much like how I couldn’t keep from drawing attention to myself any more than I could keep from drawing breath.
We walked for what felt like quite a while before the sound of the water rushing led Bael and me through the trees to the bank of the small stream. I dragged my feet through fallen leaves, hating to admit to myself that I was scanning the area for any sign of Scion’s black armor or perhaps Quill, swooping between the trees.
Why, I had no idea. He didn’t say he was coming with us, yet I felt…strange…leaving the dark prince behind.
“You’ll be glad of the distance soon, I’m sure,” Bael said mysteriously.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that I doubt you want an audience.”
I wanted to ask, “To what?” but I was fairly sure I already knew what he had in mind. So, instead, I tossed him a smirk and asked, “Like you, you mean?”
“I’m not an audience member, little monster. I’m a participant.”
“You are not afraid of me, then?” I asked.
The question was mocking, but there was real vulnerability behind it, and I thought Bael must have known that because there was no humor in his voice when he replied. “Never. The only thing that scares me is the thought of you getting hurt.”
