house. “I need you to lead us.”
“What are you doing, Serapio?” she asked, voice unsteady. Her whole body felt weak, and all she could think about was the feel of his mouth against her skin.
“I’m giving you a gift. Let me do that.”
He held out his hand, and she took it, and they found their way to the inn.
* * *
Xiala had not known what to expect, but she had not expected this in all her years. The travelers’ inn was built over a natural hot spring, and Serapio had secured a private room where the water gathered in a deep pool and steam came up through wooden slats in the floor.
Once the innkeeper had led them to the room and Serapio had locked the door, he took her to the wooden bench in the center of the room and sat her down. Carefully, slowly, he undressed her. Once she was nude, he led her to the bath, and she climbed in. She sank into the warm water with a sensuous sigh, closing her eyes and letting the tension and ache and sorrow of months fall away.
He washed her hair first, using the fragrant soap from a nearby bench to lather her head, his long fingers caressing her scalp. Once her hair was clean, he wet a cloth, added more soap, and washed her body. He started at her feet and worked his way up, slowly and attentively, taking his time.
The sleeves of his robe soaked through, so he pulled it over his head, discarding it in a corner. Through heavily lidded eyes she admired him. He was lean, perhaps a little too lean, but the haahan that covered his arms, chest, and back were softened in the low light of the bathing room. They told a story, she realized, of loss and sorrow and remembrance. He wears his people’s pain, she thought, and it is strangely beautiful.
But that only made her think of tomorrow, which made her brokenhearted all over again, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on his touch.
His hands followed the line of her body upward, massaging her calves and thighs, and when the cloth grazed the place between her legs, he paused. She opened her legs wider, an encouragement.
The first touch of his fingers shivered through her lower body like the kiss of lightning, hot with shock. She reached down to guide his hand, showing him what she liked. He followed her lead, and their hands moved as one. Slowly, the sensation became a warm hum that built until it crested. A wave of pleasure broke over her, and she moaned.
“Serapio…”
She clutched at his arm and tried to pull him closer, but he stopped her with a gentle kiss against her knuckles. He took her trembling hand, laid it across her belly, and continued to wash her. Each arm, fingers to elbow to shoulder, and across her breasts and finally the back of her neck.
When he was finished, he wrung the water out of the cloth and hung it across the bathing bench. She watched as he replenished the coals that warmed the room and set out a cup of cool water for her.
He gathered his wet clothes, took up his staff, and kissed the top of her head.
“I lied, Xiala,” he whispered. “You were the one who gave me a gift.”
And then he was gone, the door falling closed behind him.
Xiala sank into the bath and wept, her tears mingling with the bathwater and turning it to salt.
CHAPTER 35
CITY OF TOVA
YEAR 325 OF THE SUN
(1 DAY BEFORE CONVERGENCE)
Even when armed with blade and bow, even with an army of a thousand at her command, a spearmaiden’s greatest weapon is her tongue.
—On the Philosophy of War, taught at the Hokaia War College
“There’s a man here to see you.”
Okoa looked up from the book he was reading. He sat in the library in the Great House, surrounded by ancient books made of bark paper and stones inscribed with words he could not read. Most of it was in Cuecolan, a language he was only passingly fluent in. And the celestial tower housed the books he really wanted to read, but it was surely closed to him now.
Although perhaps not. The message he had received from someone claiming to be the Sun Priest still sat in a drawer in his desk. He had read it a dozen times and still not been sure what it meant. It contained only three glyphs: Storm, Betrayal, Friendship. He had sent