WORDS IN STEAM

WORDS IN STEAM
(1935) PRASIT SUWANWEJ'S POV (Age 19):

Mud sucked at my bare toes. I kept pushing my legs forward, staring at the middle of Thanawin's back. Sandalwood from his coat was everywhere. It hung heavy over my shoulders, but I was still freezing. My teeth kept chattering, and my stomach was in knots.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the red dirt. I saw the silver knife. I heard that awful, wet gurgling sound. My brain threw me right back to the woods behind my childhood home. I had to watch my parents bleed out into the earth all over again. Butchered in the dark. I could actually smell the copper. It burned the back of my throat.

We didn't take the main paths. We went deeper into the clan grounds. We bypassed the main complex and headed straight for his personal house.

It was massive. A huge, multi-level teak building hidden behind its own high walls. Only the absolute strongest shamans in the clan got houses like this. The ones with the most lethal power. Thanawin was one of them. He was a master in the exact same clan that slaughtered my family.

I grabbed the lapels of his coat. I pulled them tighter around my chest. It didn't make any sense. I stared at the heels of his boots. I followed him blindly. We went through a side door and down a dark hallway. My brain was totally numb. I wasn't looking at where we were going.

Then the wooden floorboards stopped. My bare, muddy feet hit cold river stones. The sharp smell of cedar and hot jasmine steam hit my face.

I finally looked up. Oil lamps glowed on the walls. There was a massive ceramic soaking tub in the center of the room. Brass basins lined the far wall.

I froze. I just followed him straight into his private bathing room. Servants weren't allowed in here. Never. Thanawin turned around. He looked at me. He looked at my bare, mud-caked legs. He looked at the dark stains on my trousers. He looked at his own oversized coat swallowing my shoulders.

He walked over to the hot water.

"Take your clothes off," he said.

My mind stopped working entirely. The cold dread in my ribs disappeared. A hot, scalding rush of blood shot straight up my neck and hit my cheeks.

"Wh—what?" I choked out.

"Your clothes," Thanawin repeated. He didn't sound mad or rushed.

"I... I cannot," I stammered. I gripped his coat so tight my hands hurt. I took a step back. My wet heel slipped on the smooth stone. "Khun Thanawin, this is your private bath. I am filthy. I will ruin the floor. I can wash at the servant quarters—"

"If you go back to the servant quarters looking like that, someone will ask questions," he interrupted smoothly. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "And you do not know how to lie."

I shut my mouth. I just stood there shaking. I was terrified of him ten minutes ago. Now, I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

Thanawin looked at my face. The tight muscles in his jaw loosened up. He actually smiled a little.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said. He pointed toward the hot water. "Look at your legs. They are covered in dirt and blood. You are shivering. I just want you to get out of those wet clothes before you get sick."

I just stood there. My brain refused to work.

He let out a breath. "Stay right here. I will go get you clean clothes."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out the door. The sound of his boots echoed down the hall and disappeared.

I was totally alone in the hot steam. My face felt like it was on fire. My chest pounded harder than it did out in the woods.

I stood in the hot steam. I stared at the mud drying on my arms.

Why was he doing this? It didn't make any sense. He was a master here. Ten minutes ago, he watched a kid get slaughtered and didn't even blink. He treated a bleeding child like a mess on the floor. But then he hid me. He wiped the dirt off my face. He gave me his coat. Now he was getting me clean clothes.

"Stop it," I whispered to the empty room. My voice shook. "Just stop."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I grabbed my own hair. I couldn't understand him. Worse, I couldn't understand myself. I was supposed to hate him. He belonged to the clan that killed my parents. He wore the same crest as the men who ruined my life. I was supposed to run from him. I was supposed to be terrified. But my heart wouldn't stop pounding. Every time I smelled that sandalwood, my chest got warm.

What is wrong with you? They are butchers.

Saengdao’s laugh floated through the hot vapor. Do you really like my brother?

"No," I muttered. I drove my nails into my hands. I pushed down until the skin stung. "It is just fear. It is just fear."

But that was a lie. I knew exactly what it was. I just didn't want to give it a name. Saying it out loud made it permanent. It felt like a betrayal. Like I was spitting directly on my parents' graves. To look at a lethal master of this clan and feel this aching pull in my chest was insane.

I couldn't want this. I couldn't lean on a man who owned people like me.

I reached up with shaking hands. I pushed the heavy coat off my shoulders. The second the wool left my skin, the cold hit me again. I folded it up. I tried not to get mud on the lining. I set it on a wooden bench.

I just pulled my hands back when the floorboards creaked outside. My heart slammed against my ribs.

The wooden door slid open. Thanawin stepped inside carrying a stack of white clothes. Panic hit me. My whole body locked up tight. I curled my hands into fists and drove my fingernails straight back into the cuts on my palms. His eyes moved through the steam. He noticed my hands right away.

He saw the fresh blood welling up. He threw the clean clothes onto the bench. He crossed the wet stones in two fast strides.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

He caught my wrists. He wedged his fingers between mine and peeled my hands open.

I stopped breathing entirely. I stared up at him, completely unable to speak. I couldn't explain the shame tearing up my head. His grip felt like iron, but it didn't hurt at all. His warm thumbs rubbed over the deep red marks I had just dug into my skin.

He stood way too close. He didn't care about the dirt. My wet, muddy shirt pressed right against his crisp white tunic. Dark brown water dripped off my arms and soaked right into his expensive clothes. He was getting ruined.

He didn't pull away. He didn't swear. He just stood there in the hot steam, holding my shaking hands, staring down at my face.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

His voice was so quiet. He rubbed his thumbs over the cuts on my palms. My blood smeared right across his own skin. He didn't look away from my eyes.

"I am sorry for what this clan did to you," he said. "And for all the people they kill."

The room went completely dead.

It didn't make any sense. A high shaman of this clan was never supposed to say those words to a servant. Masters do not apologize. He was supposed to be cold. He was supposed to be a monster. But he was just standing there in the steam, taking the blame for a slaughter that wasn't even his fault.

Something inside my chest completely snapped.

The hatred I used to keep myself safe just vanished. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I couldn't pretend he was just another butcher. Not when he was looking at me like that.

A choked sob ripped out of my throat. My knees gave out entirely.

I sagged forward. My forehead hit the wet fabric of his chest. I couldn't stand up. Thanawin had to grip my wrists just to keep me off the stone floor. Hot tears spilled out of my eyes and soaked right into his white clothes.

Slowly, Thanawin let go of my wrists.

I waited for him to step back. I waited for him to push me away and remind me that I was just a servant.

He didn't.

He wrapped both of his arms around my back. He pulled me flush against his chest. He held me so tight I could barely breathe. The last bit of cold left my bones. He brought one heavy hand up to the back of my head. His fingers tangled in my wet hair. He just anchored me there while I shook and cried against him.

He didn't care about the mud ruining his clothes. He didn't care about my blood staining his hands. He just held my weight.

It felt like a sin. My parents were dead because of his family's legacy. I was supposed to guard myself. I was supposed to be terrified of him.

But I buried my face into his shoulder. I breathed in the rain and the sandalwood. Every wall I had left just fell apart. His heartbeat thumped against my cheek. It was steady. It felt so safe.

I knew it was dangerous. I shouldn't be letting an enemy hold me like this.

But it was too late. I had already fallen for him.