Page 21 of Starside

Kira doesn’t surface for twenty minutes, leaving little time for my own bath. But when she emerges beaming, I can’t bring myself to be annoyed. The soft, floral scent of soap fills the room. My breath catches.

I haven’t smelled flowers in years. Nightfell had only the occasional blossom. Once, a wildflower sprouted just outside the ancient graves, about a mile from our home. I visited it every morning, watching it bloom—then watching it die, far too quickly. You are a phoenix, I told it as the petals withered away, repeating Stellan’s own words to me. You grew in poisoned ground. You’ll grow again. You will rise.

It never did.

Kira twirls in a plush towel, another luxury. The patch of missing hair has been covered with a strip of wrappings she must have found inside the bathroom. “I’ve never seen a tub in a house before. We bathe in ponds, mostly, since the sea’s too briny. Or the common tubs.” She makes a face. “They make you share sometimes.”

I shudder at that image, suddenly grateful for the bath that Stellan installed in a closet for me.

“Go,” she snaps. “You’ll make us late.”

I sigh as I walk inside the bathroom. Then pause.

This isn’t just a closet. It’s nearly the same size as the room. There’s … polished stone on the walls, and the floor. The faucets are plated in gold. The mirrors are lined in bronze.

Kira drained the tub, at least, and turned the taps on to replace the water. I let it run, and my eyes widen at the curl of steam. The water is warm.

I lock the bathroom door and try the handle twice. Only then do I begin to strip off my clothing, until it’s a muddied pile on the marble.

A clean, large mirror shows the skin I’ve hidden for most of my life.

Thin silver rootlike markings spread down my throat, shoulders, arms, chest, and sides.

Silver is a forbidden color for mortals. It’s the color of the gods. My markings make me strange. Dangerous.

Sky-touched, according to my parents.

If the king knew of my marks, I would be imprisoned by his guards. Or added to his collections. Or carved open and studied. I’m not sure which of those fates is worse. Stellan taught me to wield a blade, in fear that one day I would be found out.

And now here I am, right in his castle …

I swallow. I’ve hidden my skin for so long that my nakedness almost feels wrong. My own body feels illicit.

I shoot another glance at the door, making sure the lock is turned, then lean over the counter, studying myself more closely, checking for newer markings and injuries. This mirror is so damned clean. I see myself more clearly than I have in years.

I wince as I get a good look at my face. I look exactly like someone who has lived out of a cart for the past day and a half. The cut is a crust of blood. Dirt is smeared across my cheeks, obscuring the dusting of freckles. My eyes are red, but the dark blue still shines brightly. Strands stick up wildly through the braids in my hair. I’ll have to wash it more than once to get the grime out.

Still … I’ve gotten to the castle relatively unscathed.

For now.

The tub is full. I dip in each leg, tensing at the scalding heat—then sighing as I sink down. My hands are tired from tightly gripping my sword, the muscle along my forearm screaming as I grip the edges of the bath. My thighs are aching after hours on the back of a horse.

Now, my sore muscles seem to melt. For the first time in a while, my body goes almost boneless. I wish I had more time to enjoy it, but I don’t. The feast is waiting.

I begin to scrub myself with one of the bars of soap. One time isn’t enough. I scrub again, and then again. I undo my hair, then wash it several times before attempting to comb the strands with my fingers.

A knock sounds against the door, and I jerk in panic, then remember it’s locked.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Kira calls from the other side.

With a whisper of regret, I step out of the tub and into a soft towel. Another knock on the door has me tightening it around myself.

“There are clothes in the wardrobe. Open up.”

I tense.

Kira knocks again.