Chapter 13 Bath
The meeting with General Draven had been a exhaustion. For an hour, I had sat in a high-backed chair, keeping my spine rigid, nodding politely while a man with eyes like flint assessed my worth as a tactical asset. I had smiled when I wanted to snarl. I had spoken softly when I wanted to scream.
By the time the heavy oak door clicked shut behind the General and Klaus, I felt hollowed out.
My skin felt tight and wrong. Vespera’s perfume still clung to me, a cloying scent of synthetic roses and malice that wouldn't fade. I felt dirty. I needed the water.
"Rook?" I called out, my voice echoing in the silent room.
The goblin didn't appear. The small service tunnel remained closed. In his place, a young woman stepped out from the bathroom.
She was a thrall—human, pale, with mouse-brown hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. She wore a grey uniform that swallowed her thin frame. She kept her eyes on the floor, her hands twisting in her apron.
"The goblin is... occupied, mistress," she murmured. Her voice was thin, reedy. "Lord Falkenstein assigned me to assist with your bath."
I stiffened. "I can bathe myself."
"The plumbing is temperamental," she said, finally glancing up. Her eyes were wide, fearful, but there was a flicker of something else there. Defiance? "The Lord insists. I am to ensure the temperature is correct for your... condition."
I hesitated. I wanted to be alone, but the ache in my new legs was becoming unbearable. The transformation from tail to bone and muscle left a residual phantom pain that only warm water seemed to soothe.
"Fine," I said, walking past her into the bathroom. "But make it quick."
The bathroom was a cavern of black marble and gold fixtures. In the center sat a claw-foot tub deep enough to drown in. Steam was already rising from it, thick and fragrant with lavender.
I unlaced the emerald dress, letting the heavy velvet pool on the floor. I stepped out of my underthings, feeling the cool air bite my skin. The maid stood by the wall, holding a large copper pitcher. Steam curled from the spout.
I climbed into the tub. The water was perfect. I sank down until the water lapped at my chin, closing my eyes. For a second, just a second, I could pretend I was back in the thermal vents of the Southern Rift.
"Is it warm enough, mistress?" the maid asked.
"It’s fine," I murmured, not opening my eyes. "Leave the pitcher. You can go."
"Oh, but the Lord was very specific," she said. Her voice moved. She was closer now. Standing right beside the tub. "He said sirens run cold. He said you need heat to survive."
I opened my eyes.
She was standing over me, the heavy copper pitcher raised high. She wasn't pouring it into the far end of the tub to mix. She was tilting it directly over my shoulder.
"Wait—"
She tipped it.
The water that poured out wasn't warm. It was boiling.
It hit my left shoulder and arm like a liquid hammer.
The agony was instantaneous and blinding. My skin, accustomed to the cool depths of the ocean, blistered under the assault. It felt like my flesh was being peeled away from the bone.
I thrashed, scrambling to the other side of the tub, splashing water everywhere.
"Oh!" the maid gasped, stepping back, dropping the pitcher. It clanged loudly against the marble floor. "My hand slipped! I'm so clumsy! I'm sorry, mistress!"
She wasn't sorry. I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Vespera’s coin had bought more than just access.
"Get out," I hissed through clenched teeth. My shoulder was throbbing with a pulse of fire that made my vision blur.
"Let me help you—"
"Get out!" I stood up in the tub, naked and shaking, my left arm clutching my right shoulder. The water dripping off me was tinged pink.
The maid fled. She didn't look back, scurrying out of the bathroom like a rat escaping a sinking ship.
I sank back onto the edge of the tub, trembling. I looked at my shoulder. The skin was angry, mottled red and white, bubbling in places. The pain was sickening, a high-pitched whine in my nervous system.
"Don't cry," I commanded myself. "Do not cry."
I reached for a towel with my shaking right hand. I needed to cool it. Cold water. I needed cold water.
I fumbled with the gold tap, twisting it. Freezing water blasted out. I cupped it in my hand and splashed it onto the burn.
The relief was sharp and short-lived, followed by a fresh wave of stinging agony.
I sat on the cold marble floor, huddled against the side of the tub, clutching the wet towel to my shoulder. I rocked back and forth, biting my lip until I tasted iron.
They hate me, I thought. Every single one of them. I am alone.
The door to the bedroom opened.
Heavy boots crossed the stone floor. Fast and urgent.
"Nerissa?"
Klaus.
I curled tighter into myself, pulling the large towel around my nakedness, trying to hide the burn. I didn't want him to see. I didn't want his pity, or worse, his lectures on my fragility.
"I'm fine!" I called out, my voice cracking. "Don't come in!"
He didn't listen. He never listened.
He appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. He had shed his formal coat, wearing only his black trousers and white shirt, the collar undone. He looked disheveled, his hair falling over his forehead.
He scanned the room in a single heartbeat. The overturned copper pitcher. The water sloshed across the floor. The steam still rising from the puddle.
Then his eyes landed on me. Huddled on the floor. Shaking.
He didn't ask what happened. He knew.
The air in the room dropped ten degrees. The steam from the tub stopped rising; it simply hung suspended in the freezing air.
He walked toward me. He didn't look like a man anymore. He looked like a storm contained in skin.
He knelt in the puddle of water, ruining his trousers. He didn't care.
"Let me see," he said. His voice was terrifyingly quiet.
"It’s nothing," I whispered, clutching the towel tighter. "Just... hot water."
"Nerissa."
He reached out. He didn't grab me. He placed his hand gently on my good shoulder. His touch was ice, shocking against my feverish skin.
"Let. Me. See."
I slowly lowered the corner of the towel.
Klaus stared at the burn. His jaw muscles jumped. I saw a vein in his temple throb. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black, the sapphire ring reduced to a thin, glowing line of fury.
He didn't say a word. He stood up abruptly and walked to the cabinet above the sink. He tore the door open with enough force to crack the wood.
He grabbed a jar of dark blue glass and a roll of linen bandages. He returned to me, dropping back to his knees.
"This will hurt," he said. His voice was tight, strained, as if he were the one in pain. "But only for a second."
He unscrewed the jar.
He dipped his fingers into the salve.
"Look at me," he ordered.
I looked up at him. His face was inches from mine. He wasn't looking at the wound now; he was looking into my eyes, holding my gaze as if trying to anchor me.
"Breathe."
He touched the salve to the raw skin.
I gasped, my back arching off the floor. It felt like he had pressed an icicle directly into the nerve. It burned with cold, a freezing fire that stole the breath from my lungs.
"I know," he murmured, his hand moving deftly, spreading the thick blue paste over the blisters. "I know. Stay with me."
His fingers were gentle. Impossibly gentle. For a creature who could crush skulls with a squeeze, he touched me as if I were made of blown glass.
He worked in silence, coating the burn. The searing heat began to fade, replaced by a numbing, cool sensation that sank deep into the muscle.
I watched him. I watched the way his lashes cast shadows on his pale cheeks. I watched the concentration etching lines into his forehead.
He wasn't angry at me. There was no mockery in his eyes. No "I told you so."
There was only a cold, lethal rage directed at whoever had done this.
"Who was it?" he asked softly, picking up the bandage.
"A maid," I whispered. "Brown hair."
"Elara," he named her instantly.
He began to wrap my shoulder, his movements efficient and practiced. He had done this before. He had patched up soldiers.
"She said the plumbing was temperamental," I said, leaving me exhausted. "She poured it on me."
"The plumbing is perfect," Klaus said, tying off the bandage. "I designed it myself."
He sat back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. He looked at the bandage, then at my face. He reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair away from my forehead.
"Does it still hurt?"
"It’s... numb," I said.
"Good."
He didn't move away. We were sitting on the wet floor, surrounded by steam and silence. I was naked beneath the towel, and he was soaked to the knees.
The distance between us felt nonexistent.
"Why?" I asked, searching his face. "Why do you care? It’s just a burn. I’ll heal."
"Because you are under my protection," he said, the standard answer coming automatically. But then he stopped. He looked at my shoulder, then back to my eyes.
"Because," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, "when I felt your pain across the bond... it stopped my heart."
My breath hitched. "You felt it?"
"It felt like someone poured lead into my veins," he admitted. He took my hand and pressed it against his chest.
Through the thin cotton of his shirt, I felt it.
His heart wasn't beating. It was shuddering. A slow, erratic thrumming that felt less like a pump and more like a dying engine trying to restart.
"I got hurt, so you got hurt." I realized.
"It goes both ways," he said. "We are tied, Nerissa. Your pain is my pain. Your blood is my blood."
He looked at my lips. His gaze was heavy, intense, pulling me in like a riptide.
For a moment, I forgot the burn. I forgot the maid. I forgot the Emperor.
There was only the heat of the bathroom and the cold of his skin. The electric charge of his hand covering mine on his chest.
I leaned in. Just an inch.
He froze. His eyes searched mine, wide and startled.
Then, he pulled back.
He stood up, water dripping from his trousers. The wall slammed back up. The General returned.
"I will deal with the maid," he said coldly. He held out a hand to help me up.
I took it. He pulled me to my feet, keeping his eyes averted from my towel-clad form.
"Get dressed," he ordered, walking to the door. "And stay in the bedroom. I’m going to clear the tower."
"Clear it?"
He paused at the doorway. He looked back at the copper pitcher lying on the floor.
"No one enters this tower anymore," he said. "No maids. No guards. No one but me."
"But... who will bring the food? Who will fill the bath?"
"I will," Klaus said.
He looked at me, and the blue fire in his eyes was terrifying.
"If I have to do every menial task myself to keep them from touching you," he vowed, "then I will. You are mine to guard, Nerissa. And I do not share my duties."
He walked out.
I heard him shouting in the hallway a moment later. Not words. Just a roar of command that shook the dust from the ceiling.
I touched the bandage on my shoulder. It was cold, smelling of his winter salve.
He had felt my pain. He had come running.
I shivered, pulling the towel tighter.