Page 34 of Upon Buried Embers
“What else goes on in the underground?”
I shrug. “They place bets. Fighting. Some kind of card game.”
“For coin?”
“Sometimes…” I squeeze the cloth in my hands.
“They bet slaves,” he realizes, and I nod. His fingers tighten on the edges of the tub. “What else do they do down there?”
“They drink ale. Talk business. They smoke something that makes my head fuzzy when they do it close to me, and they…” I lower my eyes. “They have sex, in the back rooms. Some don’t even make it there.”
“They pay for sex?”
“Sometimes.” He gets my meaning, and he closes his eyes briefly, looking almost pained.
It’s a strange reaction considering he’s Dragorie.
He would probably like it there, I suppose. It’s no different than what the clans do, other than it’s underground while the clans ravage out in the open, uncaring.
I continue to wash him. He doesn’t help in any way, just watches me struggle.
When I’ve finished the tops of his legs, unable to reach further, I pause and hand him the cloth.
I’m not washing him… there.
He opens his eyes, looking at the cloth, his lips tipping up slightly at the corners. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and grabs hold of himself and starts to wash.
I look off to the side.
When he’s done, he shuffles me forward and climbs out. “Get out of the tunic and wash yourself.”
He holds out his hand, water dripping across his naked flesh and I try not to look as I shrink back.
I’m fearful of him, but his body is honed for violence, for commanding dragons. It’s hard to look away.
“I won’t look, Elf. If I wanted to fuck you, I would have been slamming you down on my cock as soon as you straddled me.”
Swallowing my nerves, I quickly remove the tunic and give it to him, sinking down in the water, my eyes resting on the surface while he stares at me like I’m crazy.
He shakes his head before leaving the space. Though I can see him through the curtain, it gives me a false sense of protection.
I lean back, the water a little cooler now and grab the cloth. I eye the soap on the table, and checking to make sure Rohan isn’t looking, I grab it and bring it to my nose.
Roses.
Would he mind me using the soap? He didn’t last time.
“Use the soap, Elf,” he barks, and I jump. “Clean properly.”
I rub the cloth on the soap and then wash myself, making sure to keep an eye on Rohan the whole time.
This may be a trick.
He dresses in dark pants and a dark tunic before sitting down on one of the cushions at the table. I wash quickly, including my hair, wincing at the cut on my head, and then I wash under the collar as best as I can.
Rohan comes over just as I dunk my hair one more time and rinse it, though I did a poor job if the scoff that comes from him is anything to go by.
He shows me a large towel and clothes before he places them on the table, then leaves.
