Page 27 of A Shard of Ice

I look down at the pile of dirty clothing at my feet. I’ll wash them and hang them up when I am done bathing. I can’t wait to get into the water.

Now I understand why there was soap inside the saddlebag. It’s because of this oasis. The fae must use this as a stop as they make their way through the Bohab Desert. I go over to the bags, when I see a cake of the lye soap lying on the rock close to the water’s edge. Damon must have bathed while I tended to Cyrano.

Good!

It gives me some much-needed privacy. I wade into the cool water. It’s heavenly. I groan softly as I wade deeper. The water feels amazing against my skin. I haven’t had a proper bath since I was taken by the fae.

The unexpected coolness soothes my sore muscles and washes away the grime and sweat of the desert.

When I get deeper, I let the weight of my body pull me under the water, staying submerged for as long as possible until I am forced to break to the surface, a smile curving my lips. This is glorious.

I lather the soap in my hands. It’s softer than anything I have ever felt before. Not like the lye and ash we used on the farm. It scents heavily of lavender. It’s wonderful. I place the cake on a nearby rock and get to work.

My smile grows as I lather my hair, taking my time. I go back under, using my fingers against my scalp, feeling all the grime wash off me. I wish I could strip off and wash properly. My shift clings to me, wrapping around my body. I want to feel the water against my naked skin. I want to scrub myself properly.

I stand, the water coming to just below my breasts. I look all around. Of Damon, there is no sign. All is quiet except for the leaves rustling in the light breeze.

I sigh. I need to make it quick. The water will cover me. It’ll be just fine. I slip my sopping shift over my head and place it on the rock. Then I grab the soap and start washing. There’s no time to savor the moment, even though it feels wonderful.

“Pass the soap,” someone says from behind me.

I panic, shriek, and drop underwater.

Kakara help me, but he sounded close. He sounded like he was right there. I open my eyes under the water but, thankfully, the visibility is bad.

I try to stay under. I don’t want to face him, but pretty soon, my lungs start to burn. I resurface, breathing hard, and asexpected, Damon is in the water with me. He’s only a few feet away, a smile toying with his mouth. His lips are full. I hadn’t noticed that before.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Damon says.

“I’m bathing,” I grind out. What’s wrong with him?

He frowns in clear confusion. “We often bathe together. Back at the salt mine, we combined our water ration and—”

“Yeah, but this is different.”

“How is it different?” He gives me a half-smile that has something tightening in my belly. I don’t like the sensation. This feels wrong.

“For one, I’m naked. We never stripped down to nothing,” I say in a tone that belies my frustration. “We didn’t share a bucket naked. This is different, and you know it.”

He shrugs his wide shoulders. “The water is covering you sufficiently. You know I would never touch you without permission. You’re safe.”

Without permission. What does that even mean? Does he want to touch me? No. I know he didn’t mean it like that. We’re friends; at least, we were friends. That’s a line we never crossed.

“I-it isn’t p-proper,” I stutter the words, sounding every bit as flustered as I feel. “You’re a man, and I’m a woman.”

“I had noticed, Ky.”

He noticed.

Noticed.Is he flirting with me? Again, my mind shouts a resounding “no!”

“We’re no longer friends,” I tell him. “Things are different now.”

“I know they are. Pass the soap; I’ll be quick. I’m in already. I swear I can’t see anything; your modesty is protected.” He holds up two hands in mock surrender.

I huff out a breath but pass it to him, feeling heat creep up my neck. I hate this. He stands and the water comes to just abovehis hips. His belly is taut with hard muscle. Everything is taut with muscle. His hair is wet and dripping down his shoulders in rivulets that I want to track with my eyes but don’t.

My mouth goes dry as he starts to wash in languid strokes. I don’t want to watch him, but I can’t seem to look away.

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