Page 37 of The Awakening of Essensia

Blinking, she spotted a small basin with a similar design. She tried the lever. More water. She opened what she thought was a cupboard, only to find the sturdiest looking latrine she’d ever seen. There was another lever, another rush of water.

In a daze, she turned back to the tub. It was almost full. She pulled the lever and the water stopped. Tentatively, she dipped her hand in, afraid the heat might bite, but its warmth was mercifully gentle.

Lowering herself into the bath, she let a sigh escape her lips as her muscles relaxed. She looked around the strange room, resolving not to think too hard on it, at least not right now. Then she let herself sink under.

She had bathed for what felt like an eternity, the heat easing her body and the dark images from her mind. Things could have gone so much worse on the road. That she had made it here, to this strange silent house, felt nothing short of a miracle.

When she returned to the bedroom, her clothes and boots were gone. Her weapons and pack had been laid out neatly, and her heart sank at the sight of her quiver without its bow. Unease settled as she realised there must be another key to the room.

She climbed onto the bed and lay on her side, knees tucked towards her chest, a thick bath sheet wrapped around her. She watched the thin strip of light under the door, wondering if her clothes would be returned anytime soon, or if she should simply sleep.

A shadow passed behind the door and a knock sounded.

“Yes?” she called.

“It’s me.” Eli’s voice was muffled through the door. How presumptuous of him to think she would recognise it.

“Who exactly is me?”

“Open the door.”

She sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. “If you think I am opening another door to you when I’ve got no clothes on, you are out of your gods damned mind.”

A pause. Then he answered, his tone a little lighter. “The door to the left.”

She looked, and there, disguised by the wall panelling, was a narrow door with a little golden knob. “You’ll find clothes inside,” he continued. “Dress and meet us in the dining room for dinner.”

“And what if I’m no—”

“Not hungry?” he cut in. “Be there in ten minutes.”

“And how exactly am I meant to know when that is?”

His sigh was audible even through the thick door. “On the nightstand. There should be a clock. It’s round.” He drew out the last word, sarcasm lining his voice.

She bristled but turned to look. A tiny clock sat beside the bed. She picked it up, peering at the delicate arrows that met in the centre. It was like a tiny replica of the one in Anhaven, small enough to fit in her pouch if it weren’t for the wood that framed it.

“Ten minutes,” Eli called, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Behind the narrow door, Vaelira found a long room lined with dresses, coats, and blouses, all hanging in carefully arranged rows. She lit the lamps in the wall sconces, their soft light flickering over silks in shades of pale blue, emerald, silver, and gold. Her fingers brushed over them, the fabric shimmering like water. They were beautiful, but none of them looked practical.

She kept walking down the rows until she found a chest of drawers, and inside, a pair of light flowing trousers and a green silk camisole.

The clothes were simple and soft, and comfier than anything she had worn before. She pulled a thick cardigan over her arms and smiled. She didn’t need it, the house was warm, but it made her feel less exposed.

In the hall, a pair of slippers waited for her. Vaelira slid them on, finding the fit perfect.

As she walked, she took in the ornately framed paintings that lined the walls, the subjects looking oddly familiar, yet also noble and fierce. Despite that ferocity, something in their eyes felt cold, the artist unable to capture the emotion of their subject correctly. Or perhaps these people were simply heartless creatures, the artist doomed before they’d even begun.

Despite her best attempts, the borrowed trousers dragged on the floor. As she reached the top of the stairs, she gathered them in one hand and made her way down, her footsteps quiet on the thick carpet. Someone had already cleaned the dirt they had tracked in earlier.

At the bottom, the double doors to the left stood open. Beyond, a long dining table of dark polished wood stood surrounded by twelve straight backed chairs. Three places had been set with heavy looking silverware and thick napkins. At the head of the table, Jurah shifted in his seat. Behind him, a fire crackled softly in the great stone hearth, throwing light against the dark panelled walls.

Eli sat to Jurah’s right, a glass tumbler filled with amber liquid clutched in one hand, his face as unreadable as ever. Clearly, his mood hadn’t improved since earlier. He turned his head slowly, his eyes dragging down Vaelira’s body.

“I hope this is okay,” she said, gesturing to the clothes. “It was the most practical thing I could find.”

He just watched her.