Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 19

The girl standing in the hallway looks about fourteen. She wears a plain, neat dress and her long plaited hair twists down to her waist. Lined up beside her are four huge jugs of water. In her arms she carries a wicker basket and towels.

"I am here to prepare your bath," she says with a curtsey.

Prince Jakut said I was needed in my bedroom before supper, but I had not imagined he meant for a bath. He has not been as oblivious to my stench as he pretends. I suppose even a serving boy cannot turn up stinking of sweat, rancid long-sleep oils and dirt.

"Come in," I say. In Blackfoot Forest we bathed in streams, and even in the summer months the water was freezing. My last hot bath was six years ago. A sense of anticipation and warmth runs through me.

The girl lights the fire and I help her carry the water jugs to the washing chamber. As she empties the basket of ointments, oils and creams, I settle on a stool by the wooden tub and unplug miniature corks from the tiny bottles. Pine sap, thyme, mint. I recognize some of the scents, but many are foreign.

The girl does not seem bothered by my company and I absently wonder how long she has been working. If she went to school or learned to read and write. If she was born and raised here. The women who worked with the innkeeper, Addy Mulberry, in the Delladean fort's kitchens talked nonstop, but the girl is quiet. I like her at once.

A perfume in a dark blue bottle fills my head with a hazy memory of running through a valley of tall purple and orange flowers.

"What is it?" I ask, holding up the bottle.

"Jasmine Summer."

"And this?"

"Roses," she says, smiling. "You have never smelt a rose?" I shrug. "This is my favorite," she says, producing an opaque bell-shaped bottle. "But you have to dab it on your skin to get the right effect." She pops out the lid and reaches to take my hand. I give it to her before remembering the red welts on my wrists from Tug's ropes. As she raises my sleeve I ease my arm away.

"I can do it," I say. I blot the liquid on the top of my wrist and notice the welts beneath have almost faded. Has the knife slit on my neck lightened to a faint scar too? Next to my skin the soft scent reminds me of the vanilla biscuits a cook in Addy's kitchen was so fond of making.

"Lovely."

"Pink Lily of the Mountains."

She lifts a bubbling pot from the fire and pours it into the tub. Steam hisses as hot and cold water collide. "I was told to stay and help scrub you, but I can wait outside if you wish."

"No, that's fine." I kick off my boots and undress. My mother changed in front of her maid so I think little of it, until the girl's gaze runs over my body and her eyes widen. A bruise I have not remembered? Too skinny? I have never been so fleshy in my life, but compared to her I am all bones and muscle.

"Your father told me you did not like to bathe."

I glance at the brown sheen of grime over my arms, chest and legs. Grit sits between my toes and beneath my fingernails. I laugh. Tug is getting his revenge.

"Let's give him a surprise," I say. "Make me so clean I'm glowing."

I drift my hand through the silky water, then climb in, submerging myself little by little as the heat tingles against my skin.

Half an hour later, the girl, Tilda, has scrubbed me so hard my back, legs, and arms are bright red. I sit in a cotton towel on the bathroom stool and let her clip my nails and rub nut oil over my back. She combs my ponytail, slowly unknotting all the tangled lumps.