Eona - Alison Goodman [135]
“Yes,” I said. “From the west. It will arrive here in two days.”
He leaned forward, his face sharpening. “Can you stop it, my lady?” His eyes went to Ido, then back to me.
I licked my lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m sorry, Elder Rito. Lord Ido and I cannot stop it.”
“Ahh.” The slow exhale was full of crushed hope. Rito glanced to the elder at his right and jerked his head toward the doorway.
The other man nodded, then bowed to Kygo. “May I withdraw, Your Majesty?” His voice cracked with urgency. “We need to bring our cyclone preparations forward.”
“Of course.”
As the elder rose and retreated from the room, it felt as though all eyes were upon me. Still useless, they seemed to say.
“Your Majesty, we have hot food ready and have prepared places for sleep,” Rito finally said. “If there is anything else you or Lady Eona require, please let me know.”
There was something else I required: solitude. Just for a short time, I needed to be away from the silent judgment of the world, from the watchful eyes of Ido, and from the endless questions and fears that seethed through my mind.
“I believe you have a bathhouse,” I said.
The old woman bowed, the arc of her mottled hand urging Vida and me through the blue door flags at the entrance of the communal bathhouse.
“I will wait out here and make sure you are not disturbed, my lady,” she said with a shy smile. “And inside, you will find all that you requested.”
“Thank you.” I returned the smile and pushed through the flags.
Vida followed a step behind. After a hurried bowl of fish stew, I had spent almost a quarter bell courteously resisting the elders’ pressure to be bathed by the senior village women. I could not, however, refuse Kygo’s insistence that Vida escort me into the bathhouse. Her company was the closest I was going to get to time alone.
We both stopped inside the compact foyer. The attendant’s small platform, edged by a thick carved railing, was set between two wooden doors that led into the bathing areas: faded blue for men on the right, red for women on the left. A set of shoe shelves stood on either side of the small area. I slipped my sandals off and pushed them onto the rough shelf next to me. Vida followed suit, placing hers next to mine.
“I do not have any training as a body servant, my lady,” she said. “I will need instruction.”
I shook my head. “I’ll look after myself, Vida. You may bathe, too. I’m sure you’d like to honor your father’s arrival.”
“Truly?” She looked down at her feet. Tide marks of dirt showed the outline of her sandal straps. My feet were just as filthy. “That would be wonderful.”
“Come, let’s go in.”
I crossed the rough straw matting and slid open the red door. The small dressing room was furnished with a wooden bench and more shelving. Steam from the baths had seeped into the room through a connecting door at the far end, giving the air a damp, velvety warmth. As I had requested, a stack of washing and drying cloths had been laid out on the bench, together with a ceramic pot of rough milled soap, combs, and, most importantly, fresh clothing. I picked up the neatly folded top layer of the first pile: a long woman’s tunic, the brown weave close and soft. Below were the accompanying ankle-length trousers and a stack of underthings. A similar pile sat beside it.
“Clean clothes for both of us.” I grinned at Vida as she closed the red door behind us. “Tunic and trousers. Finally!”
Vida eyed the second pile. “A set for me, too? Really?”
I nodded, gratified by her wide smile of pleasure. She did not smile very often around me.
It did not take us long to shed the now dirt-encrusted clothes we had been given in the city. I averted my eyes from the curves of Vida’s naked form. It had been a long time since I had bathed in a communal bath. For nearly five years my maimed body had made me untouchable, forcing me to bathe alone. I looked down at my now-straight leg