“Not exactly, no.”
We began descending a sturdier staircase that spiralled around the outside of the second tree. As we reached the bottom we moved on to another bridge that led to the final platform above the house. We rounded the balcony and went down the final set of spiral stairs, its wooden steps groaning beneath our feet, and I thanked all things great and powerful when we set foot on the house’s upper terrace. Willow continued to walk with me indoors and paused outside the washroom door.
“If you need anything just call for me, I’ll be able to hear you. Take these.” She passed me a few tins of balm. “And rub them on all bruised areas.”
“Thank you,” I said before entering the room.
I was hardly prepared for the splendour before me, however. Compared to my little chamber at home which consisted of a steel tub and some buckets, this place was something else. In the centre of the room was a trough filled with hot coals. I approached it, taking a ladle of water from the bucket below, and poured it over the blistering things, watching as steam filled the room. There were more mirrors similar to the one in my room, all of which were decorated with the same intricate engraving. The semi-circular bathtub was pressed against the stone wall but despite the two pipes above it, it was devoid of water. I looked around for boiled water or buckets and my eyes fell upon two cords which sat just above the tub. One had the letter ‘H’ drawn behind it and the other had the letter ‘C’. I pulled the left cord and watched as one of the pipes began spouting water. The water steamed in the spotless tub and I pulled the right cord to bring the temperature down. I’d never seen anything like it.
Once the bath was full and at the right temperature I slipped into it, wincing against its initial heat. The nightgown and robe were left near the door and for the first time in what felt like forever I let my hair down. I groaned as the pressure on my skull was released with the final hairpin and plunged myself into the warm water.
Over the next hour I proceeded to detangle and wash my hair, scrub my hands and feet and carefully wash the rest of my aching body. I’d made the painful mistake of leaning back on my shoulder and so resorted to resting on my front before the lip. The water became tepid, and then cold, until I finally decided it was time to get out. I wrapped my body with a towel and looked for a pitcher to scoop the water from the bath. At the bottom, however, I found a little metallic object and pulled it, jumping back as the water disappeared. Bizarre.
I dried myself and picked up the balms Willow had left for me. Upon applying them to my skin I couldn’t believe how miscoloured and bruised my legs were. The slight mint and herbaceous smell of the balms was soothing and I worked my way across my body. When I went to massage my side, however, I’d underestimated the tenderness of the area and the sudden soreness made me double over. I gasped, clutching my body as if it was going to break into pieces, and tears stung my eyes. That night felt so long ago. According to Willow’s testament I’d been unconscious for over a week before I’d had the nightmare, but my body needed more time. I limped to the mirror and wiped away as much of the condensation as I could. It was only then that I saw the true extent of the trauma my body experienced that night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MY ENTIRE SHOULDER was purple and blue. From the top of my arm to the base of my shoulder-blade, against my pale skin it looked alien. The same went for my broken ribs as I lifted my arm up carefully, wincing at the strain it put on my torn muscles. I could’ve sworn the imprint of Thomas’s boot was still visible in the broken blood vessels beneath. The most striking bruise of the lot, however, was the ghostly imprint of Gabriel’s hand atop my neck, its thumb still pressing against my windpipe as if waiting to finish the job. Its nail marks matched those on my face with striking precision. I stroked my cheek and wondered whether the mark would scar.
I finished rubbing in the last of the balm and moved to retrieve my discarded garments, instead finding a neatly folded dress in their place. I hesitated, feeling its delicate underskirts before slipping the dress over my head and fastening the upper bodice. Its fabric was soft against my raw skin as the off-white sleeves lay neatly on my shoulders. Simple lace sat above my breasts, sheltering the majority of my cleavage, but compared to the years of high-fitting dresses and men’s shirts I still felt exposed. The bodice was rose-red and adorned with delicately threaded green and gold embroidery, and the material met at the bottom of my waist in an inverted peak. I couldn’t make my mind up about the skirt however, whether it was blue or black, it looked different in different light. Regardless, it was beautiful and I’d never worn a dress like it; I certainly didn’t deserve to wear one now.
“It suits you,” Willow said from behind me.
“Thank you, but, I really can’t accept this. The last dress I wore was destroyed.”
Willow threw her hands up. “It wasn’t expensive and we can’t put you back in the dress we found you in, nor can you walk around in a nightgown day and night.” She entered the room and wrapped my hair with a thin towel. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with it. Do you like it?”
“Of course, it’s finer than any day-dress I’ve ever worn,” I started, brushing the material with my fingers, “and it is far prettier than any of the clothing in Wetherdon.”
Willow chuckled. “I suppose our fashion is different to that in your neck of the woods. Then again every area has its individual quirks and customs.”
“Yes, though I’m not quite used to wearing dresses, I’m afraid.” I bit my tongue. The last thing I needed to do was to isolate myself in a stranger’s household.
“Oh? Is that so?” Willow gathered the tins of balm and ushered me out of the door. I waited for the ridicule to begin. “Lavender used to be that way as a little girl. She complained that skirts were nothing but a hindrance, ‘especially when climbing trees and riding horses’, she used to say, despite the fact she’d never done either of those things. Then one day she came back from the village wearing a dress. Daeus above, I could’ve died from the shock of it.”
“Lavender?”
“My daughter. You would have seen her briefly last week.” Willow sighed and shook her head. “She turned seventeen last month. I suppose there’s still room for improvement in the case of manners.”
“I did think you two looked similar, though you don’t look old enough to have a daughter that age,” I blurted.