With a deep breath, Veronyka stripped naked, stumbling out of her dirty tunic and pants. She flung herself into the nearest tub, sloshing water onto the stone floor, washing as quickly as she could. She scrubbed furiously, watching the water fill with streaks of grime and foamy bubbles from the soaptree petals. The interior of the tub had a carved bench for soaking, and as she watched, the dirty water was sucked out a hole near the side, while fresh, clean water bubbled up from another hole in the ground. The water stayed warm as well, somehow heated or perhaps coming from a natural hot spring.
The water eased Veronyka’s aching muscles and relaxed her breathing. She hadn’t had a proper soak in a bathhouse since they’d lived in Aura Nova. And considering her secret, it could be some time before she’d be able to enjoy them with any frequency. Her true body was now a burden, and her secret to bear. She’d already had to steal scraps of linen for her monthly bleeding and to hide behind a dressing screen to bind her breasts every morning, causing the other servants to tease Nyk for his “shyness.”
It would be a worthy sacrifice, though, if it gained her a place among the Riders. And with Tristan’s offer to help her train . . . surely she’d be one of the best new candidates.
Veronyka blinked, realizing that she’d lost track of time.
Footsteps sounded from the courtyard beyond, growing steadily louder, and Veronyka’s insides tensed. She leapt from the tub, splashing more water everywhere, and hastily dried herself off. She struggled frantically with the towel, only just managing to drape it around her shoulders like a cloak when the door swung open.
Tristan stood in the entryway, his face obscured by the mist and incense of the bathhouse.
“Nyk?” he said in surprise, letting the door swing shut behind him, the gust of air dispensing the cloud that surrounded him. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I . . .” Veronyka’s voice was so high, echoing in the domed hut, that it hurt her own ears. She cleared her throat and tugged the towel more tightly around herself. “Why aren’t you?”
“Oh—I couldn’t sleep,” he said, walking over to the linen baskets. When he turned around again, he held out Veronyka’s dirty, sweat-soaked tunic. She must have flung it there in her haste to undress.
Face burning, she took it from him with a nod of thanks.
“Are . . . are you cold?” Tristan asked, eyeing her curiously as she clutched her towel tightly to herself. The room was stiflingly hot, and people usually walked around naked inside bathhouses, not wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“I . . . yes,” Veronyka stammered, as a single drop of sweat trailed down her temple.
Tristan nodded dubiously, then took a towel for himself, staring at the rolled-up cotton in his hands.
“What if I sponsored you?” he asked abruptly.
“What?” Veronyka said, hardly daring to believe her ears.
“I’ve been thinking. . . . I have some savings, and when the time comes, I could put your name forward, if you wan—”
“Of course I want!” Veronyka blurted, taking an unconscious step forward. “But . . . why would you give up your savings for me?”
He shrugged, as if determined to keep things light. “Sponsorship isn’t all fun, you know. You’d have to run my errands, help me care for my weapons and armor, clean my rooms . . . all on top of your own training.”
When he finally looked up again, he seemed surprised at the way Veronyka was gaping at him. But how could she not? He was offering up her dream on a silver platter and then apologizing that it wasn’t gold.
She’d take her dream if it were served in a bucket.
“Tristan,” she said with a breath, hands trembling as she adjusted her towel. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he said, smiling hesitantly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He beamed, his dimples reappearing, and Veronyka bit her lip to fight her own stupid grin. A swell of happiness was rising in her chest. She was bewildered by his kindness and kept trying to figure out why he would put himself on the line for her. Then she remembered Sparrow. . . . Not everyone wanted repayment or needed a reason in order to help someone.
Still smiling, Tristan dropped his rolled-up towel next to the nearest pool. Then, to Veronyka’s dismay, he began to peel off his tunic.
She gaped, her heart pumping as she realized what was about to happen. Not only was Tristan not leaving her alone to dress, but he was undressing himself. He obviously hadn’t come to the bathhouse to talk; otherwise he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her. Which meant he planned to stay awhile. To bathe. Naked.
This is normal, she kept telling herself, her cheeks hot. Men and boys bathe together, just as girls do. No problem.
But no matter how she tried to calm herself, Veronyka’s eyes went wild, darting from Tristan’s bare chest to the door, back to Tristan, and around the entire bathhouse. Where was she supposed to look? How was she supposed to get dressed with him here? There was no escape. There was nowhere to hide. When his fingers reached the strings on his pants, Veronyka felt light-headed and stared resolutely at her feet, though she barely saw them. Her gaze wandered up again, as if dragged there by some uncontrollable force.
He wasn’t standing naked before her, but had already immersed himself waist-deep in the pool. He’d walked in calmly, making barely a sound, rather than splashing in as she had. It was a relief to have some kind of barrier between them, even though the steaming water didn’t entirely obscure the dark trace of hair that trailed down his muscled stomach and into the water below.
He submerged his head, and when he came back up, water streamed down his body. He smoothed his hair back and blinked at her. “You should get some sleep, Nyk.”
Then he turned away, sinking onto the bench with his back facing her. He reclined and closed his eyes.
Veronyka sagged against the wall, her muscles trembling. She dressed at top speed, stumbling into her pants and fumbling far too long with the laces. She slipped out the door and ran to the barracks, determined never to have another bath again.
Day 5, Third Moon, 169 AE
Xe Onia, I know you are angry with me, but we can’t fall apart now. This is what they want. Don’t you see that?
I have sent this with Nefyra, my best messenger pigeon. Your response will get to me in two days.
Please respond.
—Avalkyra
I was banished, chased from the very empire my foremothers had built. Was I to give up then and fade away into obscurity? Was I to fall onto my knees and beg?
- CHAPTER 22 -
VERONYKA
TRISTAN’S PROMISED HELP WITH training began early the next morning and continued doggedly over the following days.
Rather than taking her to the target range or teaching her combat moves with knife or spear, Tristan took her running. Veronyka was severely disappointed, but he insisted that fitness and stamina were more important.
And so every morning before dawn, they met in the courtyard. He would lead her over the village walls and up tightly winding stairs to the higher fortifications that enclosed the stronghold. He took her along narrow tracks that ran all over the mountaintop, through bushes and long grasses, and down the steep inclines of the cliffs that surrounded the plateau. Veronyka knew he slowed his pace for her, but it was still the most exhausting thing she’d ever done.