Page 49 of The Assassin's Bride

Eventually, they reached what she could only describe as a manor. The guest house sat in a yard ringed by a stone wall that wasn't too tall to climb, though the gardens on the other side were pristine enough to indicate no one tried. The guard opened the wooden gate and ushered them through. The house itself was built of stone inside a frame of towering logs and boasted two and a half floors. The windows were dark, but a lamp of golden glass burned by the front doors. That it had two doors reminded Thea of the red granite palace in Samara. She'd only seen it twice; both times had ended with executions. A shudder ran down her spine unbidden.

The guard preceded them, but instead of opening the doors, he knocked.

A long, awkward silence dragged past before a maid answered.

“The prince's guests,” the guard offered as explanation.

The maid smiled and opened a door wide. “An honor to host you, milord. Milady. Have you taken your meal?”

Gil stepped forward first. He walked with his hand on the hilt of a dagger. His cloak almost hid it. “No. His Highness intends to join us, but we are uncertain when. It would be rude to enjoy his hospitality without him.”

“Of course, milord.” The maid gave a tiny curtsy. “Will your escort be joining us?”

“I will await His Highness while the guests settle,” the guard replied.

Thea climbed the two steps to the door and found herself wishing she wore a skirt. The simple outfit she'd made for travel was hardly appropriate for dining with a prince. Rilion hadn't seemed to notice their state of dress, though. Perhaps appearances meant little in matters of assassins and kings.

The manor's furnishings were well-suited to entertaining noble guests. Rich tapestries and plush rugs decorated the space and antlers of various shapes crowned the walls. The furniture was all dark wood, the upholstery a deep gold. Thea couldn't recall the last time she'd been anywhere that had upholstery. Her own family had given up such luxuries when her mother passed.

Gil scarcely looked around. “If I know Rilion, he'll be late. Prepare a room for us.”

“Two rooms,” Thea corrected.

He glanced at her, startled, but wiped his face clean of expression an instant later. “Of course.”

“Two rooms,” the maid repeated pleasantly. “Shall I draw a bath?”

Thea's heart leaped. “You have the facilities for that?” After weeks of travel, she couldn't imagine anything better.

“Well, the house is too small for each guest's quarters to have their own bath, but we have a nice central space for private ablutions.”

“I believe she would enjoy the comfort,” Gil said. “Show us where we may take our rest first, if you please. Then draw the lady her bath.”

The maid nodded and beckoned them with a hand. “This way, milord. Milady.” She slid through the house with a flowing grace.

Thea was all too happy to follow, her dusty travel clothing forgotten.

They trailed up the stairs, where the maid pointed them to separate rooms. She gave Thea long enough to deposit her bags and the sewing basket in her assigned quarters, then led the way to the private bath. A wide, square wooden basin sat in the center of the bath chamber. Beyond it, a merry fire crackled in a wide stone hearth. A black cauldron steamed above it.

“Do you always have bath water at the ready?” Thea asked.

“Oh, yes. We never know when the royal family will need to host guests. There's always someone here, and the house is always ready to welcome visitors.” The maid smiled so her eyes crinkled. They were the same rich brown as Prince Rilion's; the same brown she'd unknowingly given Gil. It was no wonder that man at the inn in Heartroot had believed Gil was Ranorsh.

“Well, I appreciate the foresight.” Thea slid her fingers through her hair and studied the shelves against the walls. Several held jars of oils and soaps. Others held herbs and flower petals. She picked one up and turned it to examine its contents through the glass. “Am I allowed to use these?”

The maid busied herself with scooping water from the cauldron into the bath. “Of course, milady. Shall I help wash your hair?”

Thea almost said yes. At the last moment, she remembered the illusions. Once her clothing came off, her hair would be red, and her trickery would be revealed. Rilion knew she was a Threadmancer, knew she'd created an illusion for Gil, but the fewer people who knew about her power, the better. “No, thank you. I can manage on my own. After being on the road for so long, I'd appreciate the time to soak and relax in private.”

“Of course, milady.” The maid curtsied and finished transferring the heated water, then readied a towel. She said nothing else.

After the maid departed, Thea checked the latch on the door. The lock was so flimsy she doubted it would keep anyone out. Her housemate was polite enough she had little concern about him walking in; she couldn't picture him so much as trying. But the maid concerned her, so she locked it before undressing, all the same.

The reddish tones in her auburn hair had grown unfamiliar. She ran her fingers through her tresses as she regarded the water. It was not as hot as she might have preferred, but she had gone years without the luxury of a whole bathtub. Weeks without the luxury of soap had been bad enough. She contemplated that for a time, then selected several jars and bottles from the shelves. She had to make herself presentable for their company. Smelling pleasant was a good start. Yet as she sank into the water and opened each container to breathe its aroma, she found it wasn't Prince Rilion who crowded her thoughts.

What sort of fragrance might Gil like? She thought something with spicy notes. Or maybe he'd prefer if she were as feminine as possible. Something sweet and floral, then. One of the bottles contained an oil scented with honeysuckle. She smelled it twice, then nodded. That would do. She'd perfume her hair with it when she'd washed, and then...

Her brow furrowed. Then what? They'd speak with Rilion, he'd make the necessary arrangements for Thea to stay in Danesse, and Gil would leave. In a few months' time, he'd send documents rendering whatever persona he'd chosen in his passport deceased, and she would be alone.

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