Unearth The Shadows

19

Heron Her Lomeon | 23rd day of Sprout season

By morning, his bed was drenched with cold sweat. Heron sighed, reaching for a tunic and standing to dry himself with the garment resting plied on the nightstand. He scanned the medicinal cloth that tied the wound on his thigh. He'd been reluctant to face it, but the night sweats and recurrent headaches didn't lie. The wound was infected. Still, it was out of the question for him to enter the sickhouses ever again.

According to Master Salmior and his father, all residents of the domain were being investigated for potential ties with the rebellion—Heron preferred to keep the record of the guard patrols' incompetence on that front fresh in his memory. Heron recognized, too, it was unlikely another nurse waited for him at the entrance of the eastern palace with a blade and a nightly horrid smile, ready to sever his head. His skin prickled at the thought of ever stepping into the sickhouses of the domain again. That was alibi enough. He chose not to reconsider.

A fair compromise found its way naturally: after two days without properly washing himself, the stickiness of his body required a bath. The help of the servants working in the bathing room, instead of the nurses, was a good alternative.

There was a moment of a general halt of the servants as soon as he stepped inside the bathing rooms, the air thick with steam and tension. He reasoned himself: after witnessing his descent into madness, the workers were reluctant even to turn his way. After the initial shock, each servant carried out their tasks, although heads still down. As if ready to bow if need be. They removed the excess water from the floor, refilled the bathing tubs, and measured out hot and cold water for agreeable baths.

Halted in the middle of the room, Heron observed. An old servant with grey braided hair and a face humbled by wrinkles cleaned excess water with a mop she squeezed dry into a bucket. Heron knew she was aware of his presence as he paced toward her but she kept complete focus on her task. Still, she was the first to speak, even before taking Heron's full sight. "Lord." Her face was the picture of inquiry as if it was unnatural for her to be noticed.

"Heron yma da," Heron said.

The woman stood quickly and performed a bow again. "I know, Lord," she said.

"And you are?"

"Nayna."

"You have anything that could help heal a wound?"

"We have leaves that help to heal, my Lord. But a nurse would better help you."

"Do your best," Heron said. He turned around to inspect the servants in the room. He preferred privacy while washing himself. "Would you ask the others to leave, please?" He also anticipated it would be painful to have her hands on his wound.

The woman nodded. "Of course, my Lord."

During the time it took for Nayna to escort the others out of the bathing room in murmurs, to clean her hands and retrieve the leaves, Heron undressed and tested the temperature of the tubs. When Nayna returned, Heron was bare, body dipped into the water up to neck height.