Page 17 of Song of Night

Asher crosses the small pool and sinks down into the water, taking a seat on a ledge beneath it. As he pivots, his eyes lock onto mine. I’m at the edge of the steps now, Yumae still holding my hand, but she releases it so I can descend into the water. He stiffens as his eyes rove over my body, no doubt taking in the bruising same as Yumae had. His eyes burn and the muscles in his jaw roll. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then just closes it again and stares stormily past me.

I walk down the steps, which are made of porous rock, as is the bottom of the pool. But when I step to the right and take a seat on the ledge opposite Asher, I can tell the ledge is made of the same marble as the columns, smooth and slick. The water is delightfully hot and has almost a silky feeling, as if mixed with minerals, and it’s a pale blue-green color like a bird’s egg.

When I’m seated I close my eyes for a moment, both to enjoy this rare experience that will likely never occur again in my life, and also because I don’t want to look at Asher. But even with my eyes shut I can feel his gaze on my body.

A slight splashing sound pops them open again. Across the pool, the woman assisting Asher is kneeling behind him, pouring water from a silver pitcher over his head to wet his hair. I’m captivated for a moment by the sight of it cascading over him, and I stare since his eyes are closed. But my gaze lingers a moment too long, and he opens them again and catches me watching him.

The woman begins to apply soap next, washing his body with one of the sponges. I feel a strange flicker of emotion which I realize a moment later is envy. An odd possessiveness seeing some other woman touch Asher’s nude body. Why do I even care? He is not mine any longer, if he ever truly was. He’s engaged to Ellielle, after all. I have no claim on him, body or heart.

Distraction comes in the form of Yumae starting the same process for me. She wets my hair with water from the pitcher, then pours soap from a glass bottle, something bright blue in color, and begins to massage it into my scalp. Since my hair is quite long, she runs her hands down the length of it, then piles it up and scrubs everything on top of my head. It feels both luxurious and silly at the same time. I’ve never had someone bathe me before.

Asher, however, does not seem to find it silly. His eyes lock onto mine, clearly feeling no aversion to doing so as I had. Hunger burns there, but it’s not the same wild animal look he has when he craves my blood. I have the urge to look away from the intensity of it, but I hold my head high and meet his gaze full on. He’s the one who rejected me. Now he has to endure that decision.

Yumae finishes with my hair and begins to sponge the rest of my body, lathering soap along my shoulders and arms. She takes care to be gentle over the wounds on my neck. When she slides the soapy sponge down over my breasts, Asher stiffens, and a low growl vibrates his body. It’s not so much a sound as a sensation that passes through the water to me. Yumae doesn’t seem to notice, carrying on with her work.

A few minutes later we're done, and I’m feeling more clean than I’ve ever felt in my whole life. Strange treatment, given we’re in the castle of the man who is supposedly our deadliest enemy. Perhaps Asher is wrong about things. It’s been more than two centuries, after all. People can change. He had, after all, I’d seen in it the vision he showed me down in the catacombs.

Yumae and the other servant give us clean velvety robes to wear, and then they escort us back to the door. Lord Kell is already there, and I wonder when he’d returned, and how long he’d been watching.

His eyes rove over us and I suppress a shiver. “I trust you are feeling refreshed. I’ll take you to the tailor now to be fitted for new attire.”

“Surely you can launder the clothes we wore?” Asher asks, his voice a low rumble.

Kell nods. “Yes, but that attire is not fitting for the ball.”

“The ball?” I ask.

“Oh, yes,” Kell responds. “King Vyrin is throwing a ball in your honor. It is sure to be a night you’ll never forget.”

Chapter Twelve

ASHER

I suppress a growl. A ball? It’s ludicrous. Vyrin is taking this game even further than I imagined. Toying with me like a cat with a sparrow.

It’s beyond infuriating.

Fate is cruel to strip me of my power right before I face my greatest enemy. If I had the wild magic of Night, I would tear this entire castle to the ground, Vyrin along with it.

“When will we meet with Vyrin for negotiations?” I ask, not able to mask the impatience in my voice.

Lord Kell casts me an imperious look. “You will meet the king at the ball, naturally. As for when he chooses to discuss the business between our two realms, I cannot say. In the meanwhile, enjoy our hospitality.”

There’s a note of malice in his tone on the last sentence, an unspoken while you still can.

Without explaining further, he turns on his heel and leads us back out into the hallway. We travel through the massive castle for several minutes until we arrive in a room that must be the tailor’s workspace. There are several cushioned chairs dotted through, along with ornate mirrors along the walls and racks of fine cloth, velvet, brocade, and silk in an array of colors that pop against the gray of the stone.

An older man and woman call greetings to Lord Kell and he leaves us with them, shutting the door as he goes. I can hear the booted footsteps of the guards outside, however. We are not truly alone.

“Come with me,” the man says, gesturing for me to follow.

He’s wearing a canvas apron with several pockets, scissors and string and scraps of fabric erupting from within. His bushy white eyebrows seem as if they’re trying to escape his forehead in a similar fashion. He leads me into a smaller room off the main one, and I notice the woman taking Zara into a room across from mine. The door closes, blocking her from my sight.

I feel a surge of anxiety not being able to keep eyes on her, especially after I saw the bruises on her body in the bathing hall. I’d wanted to ask who did that to her, but I couldn’t trust the servants not to share our conversation. I have no doubt that part of all this excessive build-up to the meeting with Vyrin is to gain intel from us. But mostly, it’s imperative I don’t let on who Zara is to me. If Vyrin thinks she means anything to me at all, he’ll make things bad for her just to torture me.

I don’t want her dragged into a centuries-old feud that has nothing to do with her. If I know she’s safe, I don’t care what they do to me. I’ve known my life was forfeit from the moment those riders came through the rift. It should be easy—since there is nothing between me and Zara anymore, there isn’t anything for Vyrin to find out.

Willing myself to relax, I remind myself it’s unlikely the tailor is going to mishandle Zara. I force myself to pay attention to the thin, frazzled man who is now taking my measurements with an implement from one of his many pockets. When he’s finished, he disappears into a huge closet. Through the gap in the door, I can see him rifling through clothing that hangs from racks inside. A short while later he emerges with a pair of pants, a tunic, and a jacket.

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