undress, so she may take the gown.
I start to undo the hooks at the neck, and suddenly remember my scars. I hesitate, and she steps forward to help me.
“No,” I flinch away from her, and she stands still as stone, her expression concerned. I smell the tangy fear-sweat break out on me. My insides tremble in renewed panic. I can’t let anyone see these scars, my disfigured body. I don’t want this beautiful woman to look on me in pity and horror and disgust. I can’t say anything, can’t move. I shudder twice and stare at the floor.
“My lady, I shall bring a screen, of course, and you can undress in private.” I can’t bear to look at her, but I catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror she placed on the bed, with a wooden comb and sweet soap. Her eyes seem worried, and I fear I have acted too strangely already.
I wait for her to leave before shuddering, look around, reach for calm. The cabin is small with a round window and room for a chest against the wall. The cots are narrow, but the blankets are of decent wool. A painting of a mermaid hangs on the wall. A cabin for a traveling merchant, or maybe a minor noble.
When she returns again, I stand anxious by the tub, but she merely smiles at me. The screen is a slightly tattered affair, dark wood frame in three sections with coarse linen hung in each panel. Asa sets it up in front of the tub, which leaves very little room in the cabin for much else.
I remove the musty gown while behind it, almost teetering into the water once or twice, unbalanced by the irregular rocking of a ship at dock. I reach my arm over to hand Asa the gown and hear a sharp gasp.
“Oh my dear! What happened to your arm?” Dropping the gown I snatch my scarred arm back to me, huddling naked behind the screen.
“Nothing! I mean, it,” I struggle for an answer. “The fire!” I burst out, remembering my new identity. “The fire did it, when we were trapped …” I leave it at that, hoping she’ll drop it.
“Of course, my lady. I am so sorry,” she says, her voice subdued. “I will leave you to your bath,” and she closes the cabin door quietly behind her.
I unclench my jaw painfully and cling to the side of the tub with relief. Picking up the soap and comb and cloth from the bed, I step shakily into the water.
The bath relaxes me enough to nearly doze. As the smell of my fear washes away I try to believe this may work. I can be a noblewoman, one who is poor and fallen on hard times. I can be a young cousin to a lord, and a handmaid to a princess. I just have to be strong for Linnet, and all will be well.
I take heart from the thought of little Linnet, alive and unharmed. I need to be strong so she can have a future.
Sighing, I start to unbind my hair from its braid, and remember — my hair is short now: short and brown. I run the comb through it, snarling it on the short curls. They’re so unruly now they’re cut. Da would throw a fit at a daughter of his with short hair, I think. I bite my cheek and focus on getting the snarls out.
Sitting with my knees drawn up, I sink until the water laps over my head. I stay submerged, letting the warmth tingle my scalp and listening to the strange language of the water as it burbles around me.
I soap myself vigorously and rinse, anticipating the return of Asa or Connor. Drying off quickly and wrapping the towel around me, I step around the screen for the shift that fell to the other side.
Connor enters as I’m leaning over the bunk. My hair drips in my face as I stand frozen, and our eyes meet. His mouth sticks on whatever he’d been about to say.
I whip back around the screen, mortified. As I huddle, miserable and now hot, now cold with embarrassment, I hear him take a breath to begin again.
“I brought your wardrobe, lady Rhia,” he says. His voice sounds only a little strained. “I think the gowns should fit, although the princess was right.” I jump a little as a dark gray gown of fine damask slumps over the
I start to undo the hooks at the neck, and suddenly remember my scars. I hesitate, and she steps forward to help me.
“No,” I flinch away from her, and she stands still as stone, her expression concerned. I smell the tangy fear-sweat break out on me. My insides tremble in renewed panic. I can’t let anyone see these scars, my disfigured body. I don’t want this beautiful woman to look on me in pity and horror and disgust. I can’t say anything, can’t move. I shudder twice and stare at the floor.
“My lady, I shall bring a screen, of course, and you can undress in private.” I can’t bear to look at her, but I catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror she placed on the bed, with a wooden comb and sweet soap. Her eyes seem worried, and I fear I have acted too strangely already.
I wait for her to leave before shuddering, look around, reach for calm. The cabin is small with a round window and room for a chest against the wall. The cots are narrow, but the blankets are of decent wool. A painting of a mermaid hangs on the wall. A cabin for a traveling merchant, or maybe a minor noble.
When she returns again, I stand anxious by the tub, but she merely smiles at me. The screen is a slightly tattered affair, dark wood frame in three sections with coarse linen hung in each panel. Asa sets it up in front of the tub, which leaves very little room in the cabin for much else.
I remove the musty gown while behind it, almost teetering into the water once or twice, unbalanced by the irregular rocking of a ship at dock. I reach my arm over to hand Asa the gown and hear a sharp gasp.
“Oh my dear! What happened to your arm?” Dropping the gown I snatch my scarred arm back to me, huddling naked behind the screen.
“Nothing! I mean, it,” I struggle for an answer. “The fire!” I burst out, remembering my new identity. “The fire did it, when we were trapped …” I leave it at that, hoping she’ll drop it.
“Of course, my lady. I am so sorry,” she says, her voice subdued. “I will leave you to your bath,” and she closes the cabin door quietly behind her.
I unclench my jaw painfully and cling to the side of the tub with relief. Picking up the soap and comb and cloth from the bed, I step shakily into the water.
The bath relaxes me enough to nearly doze. As the smell of my fear washes away I try to believe this may work. I can be a noblewoman, one who is poor and fallen on hard times. I can be a young cousin to a lord, and a handmaid to a princess. I just have to be strong for Linnet, and all will be well.
I take heart from the thought of little Linnet, alive and unharmed. I need to be strong so she can have a future.
Sighing, I start to unbind my hair from its braid, and remember — my hair is short now: short and brown. I run the comb through it, snarling it on the short curls. They’re so unruly now they’re cut. Da would throw a fit at a daughter of his with short hair, I think. I bite my cheek and focus on getting the snarls out.
Sitting with my knees drawn up, I sink until the water laps over my head. I stay submerged, letting the warmth tingle my scalp and listening to the strange language of the water as it burbles around me.
I soap myself vigorously and rinse, anticipating the return of Asa or Connor. Drying off quickly and wrapping the towel around me, I step around the screen for the shift that fell to the other side.
Connor enters as I’m leaning over the bunk. My hair drips in my face as I stand frozen, and our eyes meet. His mouth sticks on whatever he’d been about to say.
I whip back around the screen, mortified. As I huddle, miserable and now hot, now cold with embarrassment, I hear him take a breath to begin again.
“I brought your wardrobe, lady Rhia,” he says. His voice sounds only a little strained. “I think the gowns should fit, although the princess was right.” I jump a little as a dark gray gown of fine damask slumps over the
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