Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) (8 page)

Tank slung his pack over one shoulder, put his head down, and bolted for the door. Startled shouts replaced laughter. The man with the chain tattoo took a long step into Tank’s path, his expression turning grim. Tank skipped sideways and around without pausing; set shoulder to door and shoved through.

Rain drenched down around him, muffling the shouts from inside the tavern. If they were wasting breath on yelling, they probably wouldn’t be following. He took a hasty moment to settle his pack across both shoulders and flip the cloak over it, then trotted off into the rain.

Idisio’s sense of smell seemed to have grown unendurably sharp over the last two days; then again, the stench that filled the Conclave chamber was enough to make a horse gag a bit. Servants had carried in a light meal, then, in due time, a set of large chamber-pots and screens.

Alyea’s expression went from startlement to outright horror. She glanced around as though looking for a polite alternative. Idisio hastily fixed his gaze on the table to avoid grinning. He could sense Deiq doing much the same thing.

“That’s why I didn’t eat anything,” Deiq murmured in Idisio’s ear. “I notice you didn’t, either.”

“I had a feeling it wouldn’t be wise,” Idisio admitted, letting the grin escape briefly, and heard Deiq chuckle.

In short order, the room filled with horrible odors. Lord Faer, in particular, let out a thunderously foul series of farts. Deiq’s expression turned slightly pained at that barrage, and he shut his eyes. Idisio groaned quietly and fought against the impulse to pinch his nose, afraid that would be seen as rude.

Without opening his eyes, Deiq said, as quietly as before, “There’s a trick to deadening your nose somewhat. Works for all the senses. But it cuts you off from awareness, and that’s dangerous. I wouldn’t recommend it here. In a safer place, think of a thin layer of cotton spread over the inside of your nose, or your ears, or whatever needs to be blunted. Unfortunately, in this instance, you’re going to have to endure it. You don’t want to miss any cues, in a room filled with desert lords who’d love to—” He paused, his eyes cracking to slits, then finished, “Take advantage of any weakness.”

Idisio shot Deiq a sour glare, wishing the elder ha’ra’ha hadn’t said anything. Being told all in one breath both of a way to ease the agony and that he couldn’t take advantage of it seemed terribly cruel.

Deiq’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

The desert lords began settling back into their seats, a few looking a little ill themselves. The servants cleared the foul receptacles from the room and waved sticks of lit incense throughout before retreating and closing the doors once more.

“Take a bath when we finish up here,” Deiq said under cover of the subdued conversations. “You’ll feel better for it. Go to the bathing rooms near the gardens. They have the big tubs there, and you won’t have to wait for the hot water—the servants keep it ready during times like this.”

“Are you taking one too?” The notion of being naked around Deiq sent strange shivers up Idisio’s back—and not pleasant ones.

Deiq’s eyebrows lowered into a faint frown. He glanced at Idisio sideways, seeming to consider; then said, “No. You’ll have your privacy.”

Idisio felt a flush climbing his cheeks. Deiq’s frown relaxed into amusement, and he looked away.

“Between you and Alyea,” he murmured. He didn’t explain the comment, and Idisio didn’t ask, fairly sure he could guess.

As Idisio filed out of the teuthin along with the assembled lords, he drew in a deep breath of relatively fresh air and found himself really grinning for the first time in two days. A moment later, a waft of citrus filled his nose and Riss’s hand closed tightly around one of his arms. He pulled away reflexively, well aware of the sardonically amused glances being aimed his way.

“Easy, Riss,” he said through his teeth; her expression grew strained and anxious. He jerked his head at the watching desert lords, trying to explain without words that this wasn’t the time for her to be affectionate. She glanced around and straightened, her expression turning chill.

“Of course,” she said thinly. “Sorry.”

Before Idisio could figure out what
that
meant, Azni swept in with a heavy sigh and gathered up all of Riss’s attention.

“You’re supposed to be reading, as I recall,” the Aerthraim lord said. “I did say I’d send for you when Conclave was over, didn’t I? Come on, then, off we go—” She steered Riss away, her delicate, thin-skinned hand resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder.

Idisio let out another, longer breath of relief and tried to avoid looking at anyone.

Deiq dropped a hand on Idisio’s shoulder for a moment, then went on by without speaking. To Idisio’s surprise, the touch held no sense of amusement or sarcasm; just a calming strength, as though to say:
I know. Never mind.

I love her,
Idisio thought.
I do. I need to talk to her, to explain that I wasn’t snubbing her, exactly. But first—I
really
want that bath.

The Scratha baths turned out to be a large, circular room with pale stone tiles for the floor and a patterning of yellow block in the sandy-colored walls. The baths themselves were half-sunken, great circular vats deep enough to need steps down into them; two of the tubs were large enough for four people, while four smaller baths looked suitable for two people to share. A long, wide stone bench stood within a step of each tub—two benches, for the larger tubs. Nobody was using buckets to fill these baths: each tub boasted a pump, the handle well-wrapped in insulating layers of fabric.

Servants wrapped in rather fewer layers of fabric also waited by each tub.

Idisio stopped inside the arched entranceway, trying not to gape. The air hung heavy with humid heat. Two of the smaller tubs were already full, the water within steaming. Water splashed in a nearly white stream from one of the pumps into one of the larger tubs, which looked to be approaching full.

A young woman with a bright blue head-kerchief over close-cropped black hair approached.
“Ha’inn,”
she said, bobbing her torso in a quick bow. “You bathe?”

“Uhm, yes,” Idisio said; it came out sounding more questioning than he liked, and he hoped his blush would be taken as coming from the intense humidity in the room. “That water looks, uhm, awfully warm, though.”

She stared at him, looking both startled and perplexed for a moment, then said, “We can cool the water to suit your desire,
ha’inn.
Which tub do you wish?”

He pointed rather awkwardly at one of the smaller tubs. She bobbed again and whistled to the attendant, who promptly went round to the back side of the bath and knelt to make some mysterious adjustment.

“It will not take long,” the young woman assured Idisio. “How warm do you wish it?”

“Not scalding,” he said. “Hot is fine.”

She smiled and whistled again; the attendant whistled back, the sound muted in the thick air.

“That whistle,” Idisio said, fascinated out of discomfort. “You’re talking. Can you teach me?”

Her expression went utterly still. Glancing around, Idisio found all the servants staring at him.

“Ha’inn,”
the girl said, very carefully, “I doubt you would find such a minor amusement worth your time. Our little whistles are but a crude trick, nothing for one of such worth to demean yourself with.”

In other words,
Idisio thought glumly,
stay out of our damn business.
A Bright Bay thief would have said much the same thing, if with less grace, to an outsider wanting to know the secret codes of the city.

“Of course,” he said aloud, and barely stopped himself from apologizing.

She seemed to relax; the others went back to gazing blankly at nothing in particular. The attendant chirruped again, then rose to his feet and nodded to Idisio.

“The bath is ready,
ha’inn,”
the young woman said, bobbing again. “May I take your clothes for cleaning while you refresh yourself?”

“Uhm...” Idisio glanced around again, his face as hot as the room, and saw no polite way out of it. “Yes.” He stripped down, avoiding her gaze, and handed over his clothes.

“Will you wish a male or female kathain to join you,
ha’inn?”
she asked, her nose wrinkling slightly as she bundled his garments into a tighter ball.

“Uhm... kathain?”

“Personal servant,
ha’inn,”
she said without blinking. “For whatever needs you may have.”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, then managed to say, with reasonable calm, “I don’t really need a servant. I’m used to doing for myself,
s’a.”

One of her eyebrows arched. She regarded him with clear disapproval and lowered her voice to a bare murmur. “With all due respect,
ha’inn,”
she said, “I am informed of your unfamiliarity with southern custom. So I will tell you, and I pray you do not take offense, that it does your host a great dishonor if you refuse a kathain. They are honorable companions, not what a northern would think of as a whore; sex is not their only function.” She cleared her throat and waited, both eyebrows up now, her head tilted in polite attentiveness.

He glanced over his shoulder, feeling trapped: she had all his clothes, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t hand them over easily. His room lay on the other end of the fortress, making a clean escape beyond improbable.

And he
really
wanted a bath. Even with his aromatic clothes removed, he stank.

He looked back and found a wry amusement in her expression now. “What if I ordered you not to tell Lord Scratha that I refused a kathain?” he asked.

She shook her head and gestured around the room.
“Ha’inn,
I cannot keep everyone here silent forever. And others will be arriving soon, for their own baths; they will see you alone, and carry tales.”

He swallowed hard, weighing alternatives; looked at the size of the tub, thought about his own past and his own fears, and finally said, “F-female. Please.”

Please, gods, don’t let Riss walk in,
he added silently.

She bobbed and motioned him towards the tub, then left the room without further comment.

He settled into the still steaming water with a deep relief that only came in part from the heat soothing his muscles. It felt considerably less vulnerable to be at least this covered.

The young woman returned to the room a short while later, carrying a simple wooden tray laden with an assortment of soaps, small jars, and bath brushes. She hooked the tray on the side of the tub, studied the array of jars thoughtfully, then selected one and carefully unstoppered it. Holding it up before her face, she blew across the mouth of the jar, aiming toward Idisio.

A delicate scent reminiscent of mingled rosemary and lavender wafted past him. The servant studied Idisio’s face for a moment, resting the tip of the stopper against the lip of the jar, then shook her head.

“No,” she murmured. “Not quite.” She replaced the stopper and selected another bottle. This time the aroma carried a distinct overtone of apples, cloves, and ginger; Idisio found himself smiling like a newborn fool.

The servant returned the smile, then shook two carefully measured drops into the tub. The air around Idisio turned into a fragrant orchard. He sagged back against the wall of the tub, groaning. His eyes slid shut. Dimly, he heard the clink of the glass stopper being replaced; then came a pleasant silence for a few moments.

Water shifted and swirled.

He opened his eyes as the young woman finished settling into the water across from him.

“Uhm,” he said in vague protest, too relaxed to really care.
“You’re
kathain?”

“We are all kathain,
ha’inn,”
she said. “I judged myself the best suited to handle your needs. The others would not understand your northern bias, but I grew up in the north, and I understand.”

He squinted, then let his eyes droop closed again. It took a moment to think of something polite to say; finally he tried: “Where in the northlands are you from?” Not that he actually cared, but it was the type of light social comment he’d heard others make in situations—well, not like
this,
but in casual conversation.