Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
And her I only had for a year.
Merc has not said one word since we returned to the room, though, and he is certainly not looking like he wants to chat.
Leaving him to his brooding, I back away and undress. The skirt stands up on its own, forming a cone of red, and the hooded jacket fits on top of the point as if designed to do so.
“Odd, but rather handy…”
Back over at the sink, I unwrap the soap, and though the level is not very high in the tub, I get in and sit down. The water falling from above is warm, and a balm to every ache and chafe I have—and there are a lot of them. Sinking into the pool I’ve created, I let the overhead rain dapple on me like fingertips. As I’m eased, my lids drift down and I put the soap to my nose—
The sensation of constriction on my forearm reminds me I haven’t unwrapped again the injury yet.
The pain is too great to be good news.
I’m quick with the undoing, knowing that drawing things out is just going to hurt more. In the dimness, I can’t tell much, but I know from the throbbing that the wound is even worse than it was as I left.
“That’s what the soap is for,” I say out loud.
Working the bar in my palms, the suds come as they’re called, and I hiss a curse at the first pass over the injury. That talon was not clean, for certain, and I pray my raw flesh isn’t a breeding ground for some kind of disease as well as the infection.
The latter is bad enough.
After three cleaning rounds, I can’t take any more attention in that tender area—and given the amount of scrapes and rough spots I have in other places, I pass the bar over the whole of me, even my hair. At some point I have to stop and release the drain, for the water level is too high, and when it’s time to rinse, I unplug things entirely and stand up.
As I tilt my head back to the fall of warm water, I think of the rain outside. There’s got to be a cistern on the roof collecting what’s falling from the sky.
Whatever the Outpost can be criticized for, one cannot fault its bathing facilities.
When I finally turn off the faucet and step out of the tub, I feel quite a bit refreshed in spite of the thumping pain of the wound, and I don’t want to put the felt outfit back on—
“Here.” Merc’s thick arm comes through the gap between the door and the jamb. “Dry off and wrap up with this.”
It’s one of the sheets from the bed, that he’s evidently stripped off.
I slap a hold across my breasts, and my other hand goes to the juncture of my legs. But it’s not as if he can see through the gray wood panels—and he comes no farther inside.
“Ah … thank you.” I take what he’s offering like it’s going to bite me. “That’s most kind.”
The sheeting is soft and fragrant, and after passing it over my body and damp hair, I wind it round and round. Then I tear off a piece and wrap up my forearm. After that … I stay where I stand, very aware of my nakedness in spite of all that covers me.
Except I’m not about to sleep in here.
Squaring my shoulders, I open the door as if I’m fully clothed and step out—
Merc is back in the window seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his chin down, his eyes closed. His dark hair is already drying, and I think of how grateful I am to be out of wet, constrictive clothing, all clean and warm. Doesn’t he want the same? Then again, we are not the same. Nothing about his circumstances ever seems to discourage him.
“Take the lantern,” he tells me without looking over. “To the bed. And then turn the flame down until it’s almost out.”
“All right.”
I go over and pick up the source of light by its handle. Before I pivot back around, I notice that he has followed his own rule this time. The bolting to our room is well latched.
At the bed, I see that he’s remade that which he no doubt messed up getting the sheet free.
“It’s quite big enough for the both of us,” I hear myself say. “The … bed.”
“I’m fine over here.”
“All right.”
My cheeks are flaming with embarrassment as I mount the mattress—and I find that there’s a hook driven into the wall right by my head. The lantern hangs from it readily, and I take a last glance at Merc before I turn the little lever and the illumination is strangled down to just a blue and yellow nub at the crown of the wick.