Page 39 of Forcing Fate

“Missed a spot.” Two teenagers giggled. They eyed me with judgemental sneers, then strutted off. Their whispers and laughter bounced off the stone walls.

I shrugged, retrieving my clean clothes, and left the washing room. After returning the soap, I started toward the drying chamber and secured my dress beneath another woman’s. I learned long ago not to single out my clothing. To do so was just asking for mischief. Any girl who set their clothing aside from the others often returned to find them stained, torn, or stolen. Nobody messed with the older women’s laundry, though, so I always placed my clothes somewhat under the other women’s.

Making my way to the bathing chambers, I grabbed a clean bar of soap from the rack and pushed back the heavy curtain to the main pool. Inside, a welcoming crowd of girls splashed and played. Ignoring them, I took the stone path to my left and crossed over the wooden bridge to the carved hall of private chambers.

The main pool was where most girls and women bathed, and the private chambers were often used when a woman was at the end of her moon cycle. The mini springs drained faster than the large pool, providing more hygienic conditions.

When a mini spring was in use, most women closed the curtains that hung above the entry. More often than not, I had to wait for a woman to finish and hope that she was not at the end of her moon cycle. But today I was in luck. The chamber glowed in the soft lantern light—completely empty.

The spring water sparkled clear, and tendrils of steam beckoned me, calling to my aching limbs. I stripped quickly, stepping in with my bar of soap. Every muscle relaxed as the warm water lapped against my body. I loosened my hair from its braid and scrubbed at the mud caking my skin.

Then I dove, letting the water swallow me up. I held my breath as long as I could, willing the moment to last.

It was here and only here I could have complete silence. Even in my room, I could hear the girls nearby, and the constant bustle of the surrounding women. I tried to bathe every day, not just for cleanliness’ sake but for the minuscule peace it offered me.

I sat on the bottom of the stony spring till my air-starved lungs burned with need. Pushing off, I gasped when I broke the surface. A wave of melancholy swept over me, like a weight setting on my chest. I moved to lay my head on the cool stone ledge and closed my eyes.

I missed my mother. I wished life here was easier. It was physically easy, that was absolute, but it was harder emotionally. The mental-strain was heartrending. The sickening truth was, if my father hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be stuck here, feeling all alone.

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away. I rarely allowed myself to think such thoughts. Thoughts dictated emotion, and emotion affected behavior. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t change anything. I was not about to leave Northwing and everything I learned, to run home to my mother and abandon my dragonling that was yet to hatch for me.

Nodding in agreement with my thoughts, I hauled myself out and dried using the sheet hanging in the room. After dressing and grabbing my things, I jerked back the curtain, leaving the chamber and my woes behind.

I pulled myself together and walked taller. I would be a Dragon Rider, and Dragon Riders did not cry to themselves in pools.

My week with General Rafe flew past far too quickly for my liking. It was hard work, and my muscles were so sore I often debated between a bath or dinner because I simply didn’t have the energy for both. My body ached, but my mind was alive. I had a taste of physical training and I loved it.

General Rafe kept pushing me to do harder tasks, taunting me with statements about how a lowly girl couldn’t accomplish anything. He would constantly throw in my face something about girls not knowing anything about combat. Yet, for all he said to me, he allowed me to test my mettle.

We foraged every day, and I learned he always had a plan, whether it was trapping an animal, or setting a bow out and knowing exactly where to hunt for doves. He was always prepared for a meal. During the midday breaks, we drifted into companionable silence, only speaking when necessary.

General Rafe was a man of few words, unless it came to insulting someone. He was hard and rough around the edges, and I still hadn’t forgiven him for how he treated me, but I understood his tactics now. He was testing me, seeing how far he could push me and if I would push back.

He, thankfully, wore his tunics every day, though he sometimes left them open and I would flush, trying to retain eye contact. The men soon learned that I would not call upon them to defend my honor and I didn’t mind them stripping their tunics. I was the intruder here, and I did not want to inconvenience them solely because of my gender.

On my last day as his assistant, I wiped the sweat off my brow as the soldiers were dismissed. I settled under the shade of a building and noticed General Rafe stalking toward me.

“You’re not done, girl,” he said.

I looked back at the obstacle course where we spent our week. I fixed every single obstacle and once again covered myself in mud from head to toe. How was I not done? Had I not said goodbye?

“Begging your pardon, it’s been a pleas– It’s been informative assisting you, General Rafe.” I dipped into a curtsy.

He smirked at me and crossed his arms. “Got that off your chest?”

I gave him a puzzled frown and glanced away to look for Willhelm.

When my attention returned to him, my mouth went dry. His arched brow and smirk were daring me to object as he shrugged out of his tunic. My eye twitched in rebellion as I held his gaze. He held his tunic out, but I didn’t take it. I cleared my throat and waited for an explanation.

“Mend it.”

I stood there, not believing what I had just heard. Earlier today, I noticed the missing top button, the one at his neck that allowed a slight glimpse of his chest, but I would not fix it this time.

“I apologize,” I said, finding my courage. “However, I am not your personal seamstress.”

“Mend it, girl.” He spoke as if adding the condescending ‘girl’ to the end of his statement would make me more inclined to obey.

I lifted my chin and glared. “As of the fifth chime, I was no longer your assistant,” I bit out.

---