Page 9 of Ocean of Silver

Patricia turned to face me, noticing my panic and hesitation toward the bath. Her brows furrowed. “Is something wrong, dear?”

“I can’t,” I started, my voice thick, “I can’t get in there.”

“You must wash. I mean this with all the respect in the world, but you smell so horrible that even the rats would flee from you.”

A tear escaped my eye and slowly ran down my cheek. I hated how this affected me. How Kole affected me. It was stupid. I knew I had to bathe. It was just a tub anyway. I couldbreatheunderwater. The water wouldn’t get me. It wouldn’t kill me.Hecouldn’t kill me.

I went to take a step closer to Patricia, closer to the looming white doom, but Kole’s brown eyes flashed in my vision. His laughter filled my ears. The burning in my throat felt all too real.

I scrambled back again, hitting the wall harder. “I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm,” Patricia turned the faucet off, stopping the flow of water in an instant. “I’ll fetch you some rags then. If you won’t get in the tub, you at least need to scrub your body. I’ll help you with what you can’t reach.”

I nodded, unable to say anything else. Shame and embarrassment lingered. Who was scared to bathe? Patricia hobbled out of the bathing room, leaving me alone with the tub of death. If I wasn’t so frightened by it, I would have leaned over and drank the water that rested at the bottom. I looked toward the sink to avoid the thought but immediately regretted it.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, and I hardly recognized myself. The girl staring back at me was hollow and empty in her body and soul. Black sunken bags were painted under her eyes so deep I would have thought they were permanently there like the Luxian markings. Her cheekbones were prominent against her sullen face, and her freckles were undiscoverable under a thick layer of crusted dirt. Her body was worse.

I lifted the gown I was dressed in, the material almost breaking as it was held together by threads. I could count my ribs. My stomach dipped, and each joint stuck out at odd angles. I didn’t fit my body anymore. The muscles I worked for every day of my life were gone as if that part of me had dissipated before my eyes. That part of me was dead, and I didn’t know what that left me with or who I was anymore.

Patrica came back into the room with a pile of white rags in her arms so high that I couldn’t see the tip of her nose. She set the material down and added soap to the water that collected at the bottom of the tub. Then, after dipping a cloth and lathering it with soapy water until it was foaming, she placed it in my hands.

“I’ll prepare the rags and wet them. You scrub.”

I didn’t know how long Patricia and I worked on my body. I knew it would have been much faster if I had just gotten in the water, but she didn’t complain as the minutes turned into hours. My body was pink by the time we were done. The white material of the cloth turned black. It still felt like a layer of grime lingered on my skin, a layer that only a bath could cure, but I didn’t care. It felt amazing to finally clean myself.

I normally would have been embarrassed to have someone help me wash. It was something I had never fathomed before with having to keep my back markings hidden. But something about Patricia seemed familiar. She was patient and kind, and I truly needed the help. I barely had the energy to scrub at the filth, and there would have been no way of getting to certain areas without her assistance. She distracted me as she cleansed me gently, careful of the many still-healing wounds. They were all over, and the soapy water stung as it met with each open area, especially my back. Patricia cursed roughly when I turned around, and she saw it for the first time—saw what they did to my back. It was the one guard’s favorite method. He’d sneer that I didn’t deserve to lay down comfortably ever again.

“Here you are,” she said gently as she handed me a pile of clean clothes when we were done. “It’s the latest Luxian fashion. I was told to dress you in this. Change quickly. I will wait outside your room and then walk you to Tezya’s chambers.”

I wanted to ask more about Tezya. Did this person know about me too? Was I supposed to tell him my name? Who was he? Was he one of the guards that tortured me? I couldn’t remember any of the names I heard during my time in the cell. Everything was jumbling together.

I wanted to know why I was supposed to dine with him and if he was going to tell me what to expect from the white-haired male, but Patricia left before I could open my mouth. I stared after her, puzzled. She was hobbling and wobbling around earlier, but now she moved with such grace and agility.

I shook my head and looked at the clothes in my hand. It was a silky, tan slip that seemed too thin and too delicate to actually be an outfit. The dress, if you could call it that, looked more like my old nightgowns but much more elegant. Sighing heavily, I pulled the material over my head and tugged down. It clung to my body, exposing every bone and prominence. I would normally be abashed, but all I could think about was food, and the sooner I met with this person, the sooner I could eat… or so I prayed.

* * *

Nerves rackedmy body as Patrica stopped in front of two silver doors. “Here we are, dear. I will see you afterward.”

“You aren’t coming with me?” I choked.

She shook her head. “No, dear. The instructions were for you to go alone. Now hurry, he’s waiting.”

I hesitated for only a moment, but the thought of food was what moved my hands into motion and had me reaching on the door. It opened on the second knock. The person was the stranger from the interrogation. I had no idea why that shocked me or why I never thought of it. I just assumed that there would be a middleman, that the stranger wouldn’t waste his time dining with me.

He was looming over me, staring with such curiosity and intensity that my cheeks reddened at the appraisal.

“You’re late,” he said by way of greeting and opened the door further, gesturing me inside. I found myself staring up at the most handsome male I ever saw. Now that I was mere inches from him and with a slightly clearer mind, I finally got a good look at him. Each of his features suited him like they were molded and only existed for him. Every inch of him was wholly crafted into a beautiful warrior. A warrior. That was what he was, what he had to be.He trains the new recruits for the Luxian armies.He had to be powerful and high ranked within the army itself to earn that title.

Sie was an amazing fighter, lean and muscular, and he knew how to take out an opponent in seconds, but as I studied this male, I didn’t know who would walk away from a battle between the two of them. Sie was agile, but this stranger seemed powerful, stronger. He seemed—more, like he was crafted for the art of killing, shaped by death itself. Like he could kill you with his eyes closed and come out without a scratch on him, despite his array of scars scattered over his skin. And there were so many on him that it just seemed to be a part of him. Like he was born into this world with the scars, as if they always belonged to him, just like the stars belonged to the night sky.

The thick, raised scar over his right cheek kept grabbing my attention. I traced it with my eyes from the bridge of his nose as it crept past his jaw. I wanted to know how far that scar continued and if it reached the back of his scalp. I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to know how he got it. I was surprised that anyone was able to make a cut on him during a fight, especially, one that brutal.

My head reached the height of his collarbone as I stood before him with nothing to do but ogle at his sculpted chest, visible through the loose-fitted shirt he wore. The top button was undone now, revealing a bit of tanned skin beneath. He looked as if he had spent much of his time outside under the golden sun.

He folded his arms and crossed them over his chest, causing his muscles to flex beneath him. “Well,” he spoke, his voice coming out low, deep, and rough that I startled. “Are you planning on standing there gawking all day, or were you going to come inside and sit down?”

I met his light blue eyes again, trying my best to avoid staring at the scar. His dark brow, such a contrast to his moonlight hair, was raised at my inquisition. That broke me from my stunned, creepy assessment.

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