THE VILLAGE GREEN in front of the meeting hall was bustling with townsfolk, milling around the small contingent of Mereni warriors and acolytes who had accompanied Leader Magoldis. I pressed my way through the crowd, relieved that I was no longer the most interesting source of gossip in the village.
The warriors were split roughly evenly between men and women, a fact that appeared to be a source of fascination to the inhabitants of Draebard. Embarrassingly, no one seemed to have made the group welcome yet—they stood holding their horses, looking vaguely uncomfortable at all the attention.
“You, there!” I called to a gaggle of village lads standing at the edge of the green. “Take our guests’ horses to the pens to be cared for.”
The boys looked startled at the snapped command. They glanced at each other hesitantly, but a couple of them stepped forward to take some of the animals, and the others soon followed.
When the horses were gone, I turned my attention to the Mereni. “Has anyone offered you food or drink?”
“Not yet,” said a petite warrior with dark hair, a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. With a brief shock, I recognized Keenan, the young woman who had been handfasted to the artist, Ciero, while we were visiting Meren.
“My apologies for the oversight,” I said. “Can we bring you anything while you wait?”
Another of the warriors answered. “We ate on the way, but some wine or ale would not go amiss.”
“Of course,” I said. I turned to find some more people to get drinks for the visitors, only to be interrupted by a male voice calling from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.
“You gonna run and fetch some wine for your new friends, Horse Mistress?” the voice jeered.
Heat flooded my face, but I forced myself to call back, “No, I’m going to tell some of you to go fetch it so I can join Chief Volya and Leader Magoldis in the meeting house, as they requested.”
“I’ll do it,” said someone nearby, even as the voice scoffed loudly. I turned, discovering to my surprise that the speaker was one of Limdya’s sisters— Gretya’s oldest daughter, Charyal.
“Thank you,” I said, wondering if it was just a matter of pride for the girl that Draebard not be seen as inhospitable. When I returned my attention to the Mereni group, it was to find Keenan watching me closely. My cheeks reddened once more, and I cleared my throat. “You’ll, er, have to forgive us for the disorganized welcome. Things have been in upheaval here recently. If you need anything further, just ask.”
I fled into the meeting hall before anyone else in the crowd could jeer me, wondering how in the world we could expect to keep the village’s disapproval of me a secret. When I followed the sound of voices to a room near the far end of the hall, it was to find Volya and Magoldis glaring daggers at each other across the length of a large table, with Andoc, Senovo, the two novice Mereni priests, and an unfamiliar man—possibly the Second Warrior of the Mereni—arrayed uncomfortably between them.
Trying to ignore the feeling of intimidation that crept over me at the presence of so many important people, I knocked lightly on the doorframe. Magoldis and Volya both looked up at me—Magoldis with a half-smile and Volya with a sour expression that communicated his feelings in no uncertain terms.
“Oh,” said Volya, “it’s you. I suppose you’d better come in.”
Magoldis frowned, her gaze jerking back to Volya. “Is that any way to address your Horse Mistress, Chief?” she asked pointedly.
Volya clenched his jaw. “How I address someone in this village is no concern of yours, woman.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught Andoc blowing out a slow breath, and I wondered how close our Chief was to unraveling all the work Andoc and Senovo had put into the formation of this unlikely alliance.
Magoldis raised an eyebrow and directed her next words to me. “Dear me, Horse Mistress Carivel. Do you often have to put up with this sort of behavior?”
I cast about for some sort of response that wasn’t, Well, you see, Chief Volya only found out I was female a couple of days ago, and came up with, “You’ll have to forgive our Chief, Leader Magoldis. He and the old Horse Master were very close. We are all still grieving our losses, and everyone is on edge right now.”
Magoldis gave me a shrewd look that said she was fully aware of my verbal deflection. “I see,” she replied. “Tell me, then. How fares the black stallion? I heard a rumor that you rode him out of town when you left.”
“No rumor,” I said, on firmer ground here. “He is an outstanding horse. I couldn’t resist a hard gallop that morning, and I have never ridden his equal. I have a feeling he will sire many wonderful foals for Draebard.”
The man I presumed to be the Second Warrior spoke up. “Mereni horses are fast, but I’ll wager Draebardi horses can out-pull them. We’d be interested in one of your heavier colts for our own cross-breeding, if you’re willing to part with one.”
“Of course,” I said immediately, already running through a mental list of suitable animals. “I look forward to what our two tribes can accomplish together when it comes to horse breeding.”
“Yes,” Volya said grudgingly, having apparently remembered some of the reasons why this alliance was important. “From what I hear, that stallion you gave us is a rather nice one. That was generous of you.”
Magoldis sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t give him to Draebard,” she said placidly. “I gave him to Carivel.”
“Nevertheless,” Volya replied, “I’m certain our Horse... Mistress... will use him for Draebard’s betterment.”
It was the closest to a nice thing that Volya had said about me since my return, grudging though it was. With luck, things would go more smoothly now, without the continuing open expression of his hostility.
“Hmm,” Magoldis said. “Well, perhaps we should move on to the details of your planned attack on the Alyrion outpost...”
The discussion moved on to the logistics of combining Meren’s and Draebard’s forces, and while it was never what one would call friendly, it was at least not openly hostile. I answered questions about Draebard’s chariots and the number of teams available; Andoc answered questions about weaponry and the production capacity of the village’s metalsmiths.
As the late afternoon sun slanted lower through the room’s single window, Senovo rose and quietly took his leave to prepare for the upcoming funeral service. The young Mereni priests mirrored him, bowing to the two leaders and following him out. I watched surreptitiously, not liking Senovo’s pale complexion or the lines of exhaustion at the corners of his eyes. Though, honestly, Andoc didn’t look much better. Nor, I suspected, did I—but at least I had dozed for a couple of hours last night before returning to the temple.
Not long after the priests’ departure, Magoldis shifted in her chair. “Perhaps we should adjourn for some food before the ceremony,” she said. “The ride here from Meren was a long one.”
Volya replied with a curt nod. Andoc roused himself and gracefully took things over, arranging to have the Mereni delegates shown to their temporary lodgings and asking whether they would prefer to have food brought to them, or to explore the village and eat with the townsfolk.
I let the words wash over me, and felt a fond smile tug at my lips. Of course Andoc would have the provision of food well in hand. I wondered if he’d personally chosen the wine to go with it. Magoldis pushed back from the table and we all rose, standing respectfully—or, in Volya’s case—somewhat reluctantly—as the Mereni Leader and Second Warrior left to rejoin the rest of their contingent. Once the great and the good had all exited the room, Andoc’s eyes sought mine, a faint grin lightening his haggard features in response to the one I was giving him.
“Perhaps Gretya’s daughters would be willing to hire you on if you decide to give up soldiering,” I teased lightly, and his smile grew wider for a moment before fading back to austerity.
“While both jobs are worthy pursuits, I’m afraid warriors are currently in higher demand,” he replied, and we both sobered. He cleared his throat, becoming strangely awkward. “This hardly seems the place, but with so much going on right now... we really do need to talk more about the handfasting.”
I nodded, feeling my stomach tighten. “We do. Not without Senovo, though. I won’t place that burden on him until after the funeral ceremony, and after he’s had a decent night’s sleep.”
The fond look was back in Andoc’s eyes. “So you’re not worried about me getting a decent night’s sleep first, then? Now I see the lie of the land...”
I scoffed, but gently. “Come, now. Big, strong warrior like you? You probably miss one night’s sleep out of every three, carousing until the wee hours.”
“It has been known,” Andoc admitted. “Though the older I get, the longer the next day seems to grow. Strange how that works.” He gestured toward the door. “We should go. Volya was supposed to meet with the village elders over supper, and I’m not sure I trust them to keep him in check if Magoldis is nearby.”
* * *
Afternoon gave way to evening without any major diplomatic incidents, though the visitors were still the subject of much attention and discussion. Andoc and I were both picking at our food, distracted—our worry for Senovo keeping us from enjoying the rich roast meat and vegetables. I looked up as a slender figure dropped down on the bench next to me, and found Keenan watching at me with interest.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked belatedly.
“Of course not,” I said, and turned to Andoc. “You remember Keenan.”
Andoc nodded, swallowing his mouthful of food. “Yes, indeed. Forgive me, I hadn’t realized you were a warrior.”
Keenan smiled an impish smile. “Never seen one as small as me, I’ll wager,” she said. “That’s all right. I’m actually an archer. I leave the close combat to those with bigger muscles and thicker skulls.”
I snorted, and Andoc laughed. “Probably a wise tactic,” he said. “So, how’s bonded life treating you so far?”
Keenan’s reply was dry. “Well, it’s not as though we’ve had much time to enjoy it since the handfasting. Between the... excitement... at the end of the ceremony and planning for this trip, Ciero and I might as well be illicit lovers stealing the occasional moment together at the end of the day.”
Andoc winced a bit, no doubt remembering the chaos that had erupted after the bonding when Senovo turned unexpectedly into a wolf. “Indeed. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to apologize for ruining your ceremony.”
“Are you joking?” Keenan asked, her expression incredulous. “People will still be talking about our handfasting generations from now. Ha—they’ll probably compose songs about it. How many girls can say that, eh?”
“Well, I’m... glad you see it that way,” said Andoc.
I changed the subject before the ensuing silence could get too awkward. “So, you’re an archer? Archery used to fascinate me when I was young. How long did it take you to learn?”
Keenan shrugged. “I’m still learning. I first picked up my father’s bow when I was about ten, though. The stupid thing was taller than I was.”
“Have you ever shot from horseback?” I asked, curious.
“Not really,” Keenan said, looking suddenly very interested. “I’ve shot from chariots of course, but from horseback—well, you’d need a way to control the horse without reins, for a start. And you’d have to use a much smaller bow, I’d imagine.”
“You two should experiment with it,” Andoc said, sounding intrigued. “That could be a real tactical advantage.”
I nodded, already thinking about letting Keenan use Kekenu to try some bridleless riding. Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of drums from the direction of the temple, and I realized with a start that darkness had fallen while we talked.
“Sounds like they’re starting,” Keenan said. “I’ll let you return to your duties. My condolences on Draebard’s loss, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said with a tentative smile, sensing that Andoc was momentarily overcome. “If you don’t have other responsibilities, come to the horse pens at mid-morning tomorrow and we can discuss mounted archery some more.”
Keenan smiled back, bright and easy. “I’d like that.”
By this time, the acolytes were lighting the line of torches mounted along the path between the temple and the village green, two by two. Andoc and I rose, heading to the cleared area around the funeral pyre. The pyre had been laid sometime during the afternoon; it was an impressive structure, but thankfully nothing like the one that had been required in the immediate aftermath of the Alyrion attack, when shroud-wrapped bodies had lain side by side like cordwood.
As we joined the two tribal leaders and the surviving elders, a hush fell over the assembled crowd. I craned around, stretching to see over the shoulders of the taller people surrounding me. Behind the two acolytes strode Senovo, pausing every few steps as two more torches flared to life in front of him. The novice priests from Meren flanked him, following a couple paces behind, and it made something relax slightly in my chest to see that he was no longer quite so desperately alone in his responsibilities.
Even so, exhaustion and mourning had leached all the color from Senovo’s normally golden skin. Even in the warm, flickering light of the torches, he resembled nothing so much as a wandering wraith. It was disrespectful, but I longed for the funeral and the evening’s duties to be over, so I could drag Andoc and Senovo someplace quiet and shove them into each other’s arms.
I liked to think that, far from being offended, Rhystel would have agreed with me.
The procession from the temple entered the space surrounding the pyre, close enough to where I stood that I could make out a faint smudge at one corner of the heavy kohl Senovo wore around his eyes for important ceremonies. I had always admired the way it enhanced his already considerable natural beauty, but tonight it only made him look young and lost. The desire to hustle him away to some safe, quiet place surged again, and I chewed the inside of my cheek to hold myself in check.
Standing in profile to us, facing the pyre, Senovo closed his eyes for a moment as if gathering his strength. When he opened them, his spine straightened, and he wrapped authority around himself like a cloak. Rather than his usual dun robes, he now wore robes of pure white, and I realized with a jolt that I was truly seeing High Priest Senovo for the first time.
He turned smoothly to face the row of high-ranking officials around me, and accepted the ceremonial bowl of oil from one of the Mereni novices. He lifted the wooden vessel over his head, and his voice rose strong and sure.
“Mighty Deresta, She-Who-Purifies. Goddess of light. Goddess of flame. Tonight your children stand before you in grief. We commend unto your cleansing caress your humblest and most devoted servant, Rhystel of Draebard, Priest of Priests. May his ashes return to feed the earth, and his soul return to the endless sky above, carried upon your smoke.”
“Ever shall it be so,” I whispered in unison with the crowd around me.
Senovo lowered the bowl, balancing it in the palm of one hand and dipping the fingers of his other hand in the sacred oil. He flicked oil over the white-wrapped figured lying atop the stacked wood and, in a gesture that was not part of the funerary rites, dropped to one knee in front of it, head bowed.
“By convention,” he began in a softer tone, “Rhystel was Elder Brother to everyone in the temple. In practice, however, he was father to all who had need of him, no matter their background... or their worthiness. Rhystel—father of my spirit, if not of my flesh—I commend you to your rest.”
Beside me, I felt Andoc shudder where our arms brushed. Echoing the way that he had supported me at my own mentor’s funeral, not so very long ago, I placed my hand firmly in the center of his back and held it there. His breath hitched out sharply under my touch, once, before he dragged his tattered composure back together.
Senovo rose and turned back to us. “Deresta, accept your faithful servant into your embrace. Return him to the earth and sky from whence he came.”
“Ever shall it be so.”
The novices and acolytes lit the pyre from all four sides simultaneously. Flames licked toward the night sky, quickly overpowering the flickering torches and throwing light across the whole of the village green.
“Blessings be upon you,” said Senovo. “Celebrate the life—” His voice broke, and he had to pause for a moment. “The life that returns to the gods this evening. Go in peace.”
He bowed low. Rising, he swept out of the central clearing in such a way that his face was kept averted from the majority of the crowd. I watched as the acolytes and novice priests surrounded him and headed back toward the temple. They were soon out of sight, swallowed up by the milling crowd. When I looked away, it was to find Leader Magoldis approaching us. I gave Andoc’s back a firm rub and let my hand drop a moment before she arrived.
“My condolences on your loss,” said the tall, red-haired woman. Her formal words were for both of us, but her eyes rested on Andoc. “Our own High Priest always spoke highly of Rhystel. I gather they had been close friends when they were younger. Jyrrel sends his regrets that he could not attend in person.”
“Thank you, Leader,” Andoc said, his voice steady. I admired his control.
“Yes,” I echoed, “thank you. He was an extraordinary man. I’m only now learning how extraordinary. He will be missed.”
“Indeed.” Magoldis paused, as if slightly unsure of her next words. “Notwithstanding this tragic event, however, I understand... that congratulations are in order?”
I stared blankly for a beat before realization hit me. The handfasting. She meant the handfasting. Beside me, Andoc was standing with his mouth slightly open, uncharacteristically lost for words.
You’ve already decided to go through with this, I chastised myself. Now act like it.
I took a deep breath and summoned confidence that I did not feel. “Yes,” I said, too brightly. “That’s right. We, erm, haven’t decided on a date yet, but it will probably be soon. What with, uh, the planned attack on the Alyrion outpost, and all.”
The looks that both Andoc and the Mereni leader were giving me said quite clearly that I wasn’t as smooth as I’d hoped to be. I pasted on a smile and threaded my arm through Andoc’s, brazening it out.
The awkward silence was broken in the worst possible way a moment later when Crenelo hurried up to us, looking right and left as if to make sure no one else was watching. His young face was pale and drawn; his eyes, red-rimmed.
Andoc tensed. “Crenelo?” he asked. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
The acolyte’s eyes flickered to Magoldis and away again. The Leader stared at the frightened boy for a moment and tactfully excused herself. Once she was gone, he let out a relieved breath and looked up at Andoc pleadingly.
“Please, First Warrior,” he said breathlessly. “Can you come right away? Senovo collapsed right after we got back to the barracks—I don’t know what’s wrong with him!”
My stomach dropped as abruptly as if I had just taken an unexpected tumble off of a galloping horse. The blood left Andoc’s face, and he growled, “Come on,” taking me by the hand.
We hurried toward the temple as fast as we could without openly running, garnering a few strange looks as we pushed past knots of people. When we arrived at the front door, Reston was there, pushing it open and beckoning us inside with wide, worried eyes.
“He’s in the bathing room,” said the second acolyte. “That new priest, Eiridan, is with him.”
I followed Andoc and the boys, not knowing the layout of the temple well enough to navigate on my own. We ended up in the wing that backed up close to the edge of the river, which made sense since it meant water buckets wouldn’t have to be hauled very far for indoor bathing. The room was generously sized, with a large hearth for heating the buckets. It reeked of that peculiar, mildewed smell that seemed to permeate anyplace where water and steam were common over long periods of time.
A wave of relief swept over me upon finding Senovo within, standing under his own power and irritably waving off the novice priest who was apparently named Eiridan. Andoc sighed out some of his own tension next to me.
“What’s this I hear about you collapsing?” he asked, his voice admirably calm.
Senovo looked back in surprise, evidently not having noticed our arrival. That was a bit worrisome in itself, since we hadn’t exactly been quiet. The eunuch frowned, directing a glare at Crenelo, who cringed and backed away until he was partly hidden behind me.
“I stumbled slightly,” Senovo said with great dignity. “I did not collapse, as you so dramatically put it.”
His declaration might have been more convincing if he didn’t look like a stiff breeze would blow him over. Eiridan crossed his arms, unimpressed.
“You fell over for no obvious reason and caught yourself on one knee,” said the novice—a pleasant-featured young man who was already sporting the fat belly and double chin that seemed so common among members of the priesthood.
“Yes, well, please do feel free to recount my episode of clumsiness... again,” Senovo snapped in a fit of pique that was badly out of character for the man I knew. “By all means, don’t spare the detail.”
Eiridan only shook his head and turned his attention to us. “Crenelo said he was going to get help. I assumed he meant a healer, but...?”
“We’ll take care of things,” Andoc assured him. “No need for the rest of you to stay around and act as targets for his foul temper.”
“As you wish,” Eiridan said, and motioned to the two acolytes to precede him out of the room. “The rest of us will purify ourselves in the river, rather than the bath. It’s warm enough this evening that it will be no hardship. After that, we will retire to the refectory, and then to our rooms, where you may find us if you need help with anything.”
“Thank you,” I said, impressed with the young priest’s efficiency.
“We are all here to serve, Horse Mistress. First Warrior,” he said with a shallow bow to each of us. “Now, please do get him to rest.”
“We will, Novice Eiridan,” Andoc vowed, “even if I have to knock him out to do it.”
Eiridan tipped his head in acknowledgement and herded the boys out of the room before closing the door to give us privacy. Senovo, in the mean time, had turned his back on us and was now leaning with a hand against the rim of the large copper tub to steady himself. He lifted his other hand to cover his eyes, finger and thumb squeezing at his temples as if to combat a headache.
“I’m fine,” he said without turning around.
“Uh-huh,” Andoc said, crossing his arms in unconscious imitation of Eiridan’s pose earlier. “We can see that.”
“We need to talk about the handfasting,” Senovo said, still looking like he was one breath away from tumbling over into the empty tub against which he was currently leaning.
“Shut up, Senovo,” I said. “Yes, we do need to talk about the handfasting. We need to talk about it in the morning, after we’ve all gotten a decent night’s sleep.”
Senovo slumped a bit further in reaction to my words. I sighed and crossed the room to grab a wooden chair that was sitting against the wall. After dragging it over and placing it behind Senovo, I peeled his hand from its death grip on the edge of the metal bath and basically shoved him into the seat. He looked up at me, surprise flashing across his ashen features.
“Sit,” I said firmly, pointing my finger in his face to keep him there. When I moved toward the line of buckets standing at the edge of the hearth, Andoc seemed to rouse himself.
“Let me—” he started, but I cut him off with a dismissive gesture.
“Hauling buckets of water around is something of an area of expertise for me, you might say,” I said, picking up the first two and carrying them over to dump in the bath.
Andoc huffed a breath of surprised laughter. “Right. I suppose it would be, at that.”
He left me to it and moved to stand behind the chair, placing his hands on Senovo’s shoulders and kneading the tense muscles. Senovo made a noise like a rusty gate hinge and curled forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in one hand.
I hauled the last pair of buckets from the hearth to the tub and dumped them in. After a quick test with one finger, I added two buckets of cold water from the collection lined up against the far wall and stirred it a bit. Judging that it was warm enough, but not too warm, I turned to Senovo.
“Robes off,” I said firmly. Andoc removed his hands from Senovo’s shoulders and straightened. Senovo stayed frozen in place for the space of a few heartbeats, but then he sat up and began to untie the fastenings of the unfamiliar white robes, his movements as slow and labored as those of an old man. When his clothing lay draped over the chair, he got up and climbed into the large metal bath with something less than his usual grace, a low hiss escaping from between his teeth as he slid down to sit on the bottom. He leaned his head back against the rim, the warm water lapping at his chest, and closed his eyes wearily.
Andoc grabbed a rag and a sliver of hard lye soap from a table nearby. He pulled the chair around until it was positioned near Senovo’s head and sat down in it.
“Why don’t you get in there with him?” he said, as he urged Senovo to sit forward so he could pull the priest’s heavy, shoulder-length plait of black hair free and unravel it.
I frowned. “Me? What about you?”
Andoc flashed a brief smile, though it didn’t ease the weariness around his eyes. “Not enough room left in there for a big, beefy warrior like me,” he teased. “And frankly, I’ve never seen the appeal of simmering in a giant kettle of hot water like a hunk of mutton. But if you’re inclined to parboil yourself, I think a skinny eunuch and a slip of a Horse Mistress could probably squeeze into the stew pot together.”
I snorted, but really, the idea was more than a little appealing. I’d had a total of three hot baths in a tub as grand as this one during my lifetime—all of them on various travels to neighboring towns with my father before he died. Staying at an inn or boarding house had seemed a great adventure when I was a little child, and he was prone to indulge me with small extras like sweetmeats or use of the inn’s bathhouse, if they had one. It had been many years since I last had the opportunity.
“Senovo?” I asked.
“Yes, please do,” he replied, not opening his eyes.
I shrugged at Andoc and stripped out of my worn and travel-stained clothing. I would have to see about purchasing some new shirts and breeches soon, now that my meager apprentice’s salary would be supplemented by both my new position and my upcoming handfasting to Draebard’s First Warrior. The thought was sobering, but I put it aside for now.
I had forgotten the singular sensation of sinking into warm water up to my collarbones. Gooseflesh prickled over my skin and disappeared almost instantly as I eased into the space in front of Senovo, unsure how I was supposed to fit, exactly. The eunuch roused himself enough to spread his legs apart and open his arms to me. I curled up so I could rest my cheek on his chest, with my legs bent at the knee and draped over one of his thighs. The warm water lapped at my chin and I sighed deeply, feeling a fraction of the day’s tension drain from my body.
This close, I could still smell the smoke of Rhystel’s funeral pyre clinging to Senovo. I gestured to Andoc for the soap, and poked Senovo in the ribs until he opened bloodshot eyes.
“Hair,” I told him, holding up the soap and lifting myself away from him enough that he could slide further down into the tub. He groaned and dunked himself completely, emerging a moment later in a plume of bubbles and scrubbing his hands over his face as the water ran down. I shoved and scooted us around awkwardly until we had switched places, his back to me and my legs framing his. Scrubbing up a lather between my hands, I worked it into the heavy waves of black hair in front of me.
“I thought you had no patience for long hair,” came an amused voice from behind me.
“I don’t,” I growled, tugging at a tangle.
“Here, lean your head back,” Andoc said, guiding me with a hand on my forehead.
“What—?” I asked, just as a pitcher of warm water emptied slowly over my scalp. A pleasant, tingling shiver skittered down my spine. The tingle spread through my body as strong fingers massaged soap into my short, closely cropped hair, and... well... I might have moaned, just a little.
“Focus,” Andoc said, drawing my attention back to my own fingers, which were still buried in Senovo’s hair. I started scrubbing again, working the soap right down to his scalp to get every last hint of smoke out of it—aware that Senovo was on the verge of falling asleep under my touch.
Andoc finished with my own hair—such as it was—and moved on to my neck, back, and shoulders, scrubbing away with the soapy rag. Meanwhile, I gave Senovo’s hopelessly tangled locks a final tug and urged him down to rinse. He leaned back and slid toward the far end of the tub until the water closed over his ears, leaving only his face above the surface, his head floating a few inches above my lap.
I let my hands run over his forehead and the front half of his skull, kept shaved as was the custom for all priests. He shivered a little as the pads of my fingers slid over the hint of soft stubble there, and into the long hair in back. I rinsed out the soap as best I could, grumbling at the ever-growing nest of tangles. When I was done, I tapped him lightly and helped him sit upright again.
“How in the gods’ names do you deal with this mess every day?” I asked once he’d shaken the water from his ears, lack of sleep robbing me of whatever minimal amount of tact I might ordinarily possess.
“It comes with the job,” he mumbled, still sounding more than half asleep.
Andoc’s hands left me for a few seconds, and I heard the legs of the chair scrape as it was pushed back. His footsteps crossed the room and returned, out of my line of sight.
“Here,” he said, handing me a small vial with a wooden stopper.
“What is it?” I asked, looking at the small, cunningly carved stone bottle in confusion.
“Hair oil,” said Andoc, as if it should be obvious.
Of course, it probably was obvious to anyone who had to maintain long hair. I nodded and unstoppered it so I could pour a little into my palm. The smell was familiar—part of the myriad of smells that, together, smelled like Senovo.
The soap had made Senovo’s hair squeaky and prone to knot. The oil smoothed it, untangling the wet strands so I could comb them out with my fingers. Meanwhile, Andoc picked up the rag again and finished scrubbing every part of me he could reach. Desire sparked weakly in my belly as the rough cloth slid over my breasts, but exhaustion won out in short order. Tonight was for sleep. Tomorrow was for talking. Already, I was longing to return somehow to that one lovely, perfect night and morning the three of us had shared in Meren.
Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen for a First Warrior and a High Priest, if you wanted a life of leisure, said the little nagging voice that lived in the back of my head. Maybe you shouldn’t have become Horse Mistress.
It was true enough, I supposed, as Andoc handed me the soapy rag so I could scrub my legs and feet. Still, none of us could have predicted the extraordinary series of events that had befallen us. Maybe it was just the gods’ will.
When I was clean all over, I moved to Senovo, giving him a quick but thorough wash. Sleep was what he needed, but I wanted every trace of the funeral fire gone from his skin first. Andoc helped me rinse my hair with the pitcher, before giving it to me so I could rinse Senovo off. When we were finished, my hands and feet were starting to turn soft and wrinkly, and the water was growing lukewarm.
I handed Senovo up to Andoc, who helped him out of the tub onto shaky legs and dried him off with a square of burlap toweling.
“Are we going to need to bail this thing out with the buckets?” I asked as I climbed out after him, eyeing the cloudy water and feeling less than enthusiastic about the prospect.
Senovo shook his head and gestured to a stone-lined trench running from under the metal tub and disappearing under the wall that faced the river. “The trench runs right out to the edge of the river,” he said. “There’s a wooden plug at one end of the bath to let the water drain out.”
I hadn’t felt anything in the bottom of the tub at my end, so I reached into the murky bathwater at the other end and felt around until my fingers caught the edge of the soft, waterlogged cylinder of wood. I pried it out, letting the water drain away and taking a moment to admire the ingenuity of the system.
When I turned back, Senovo had slumped forward in Andoc’s arms, and I stifled an audible sigh of satisfaction. Not even bothering to dry off first, I walked over to them and plastered myself over Senovo’s back. One of Andoc’s hands immediately stretched forward to rest on my bare hip, and I buried my nose in Senovo’s clean, freshly oiled hair, breathing in.
“I don’t know how to do this with him gone,” Senovo said into the skin of Andoc’s neck, sounding calm but utterly exhausted.