hole in the ground. The water stayed warm as well, somehow heated or perhaps coming from a natural hot spring.
The water eased Veronyka’s aching muscles and relaxed her breathing. She hadn’t had a proper soak in a bathhouse since they’d lived in Aura Nova. And considering her secret, it could be some time before she’d be able to enjoy them with any frequency. Her true body was now a burden, and her secret to bear. She’d already had to steal scraps of linen for her monthly bleeding and to hide behind a dressing screen to bind her breasts every morning, causing the other servants to tease Nyk for his “shyness.”
It would be a worthy sacrifice, though, if it gained her a place among the Riders. And with Tristan’s offer to help her train . . . surely she’d be one of the best new candidates.
Veronyka blinked, realizing that she’d lost track of time.
Footsteps sounded from the courtyard beyond, growing steadily louder, and Veronyka’s insides tensed. She leapt from the tub, splashing more water everywhere, and hastily dried herself off. She struggled frantically with the towel, only just managing to drape it around her shoulders like a cloak when the door swung open.
Tristan stood in the entryway, his face obscured by the mist and incense of the bathhouse.
“Nyk?” he said in surprise, letting the door swing shut behind him, the gust of air dispensing the cloud that surrounded him. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I . . .” Veronyka’s voice was so high, echoing in the domed hut, that it hurt her own ears. She cleared her throat and tugged the towel more tightly around herself. “Why aren’t you?”
“Oh—I couldn’t sleep,” he said, walking over to the linen baskets. When he turned around again, he held out Veronyka’s dirty, sweat-soaked tunic. She must have flung it there in her haste to undress.
Face burning, she took it from him with a nod of thanks.
“Are . . . are you cold?” Tristan asked, eyeing her curiously as she clutched her towel tightly to herself. The room was stiflingly hot, and people usually walked around naked inside bathhouses, not wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“I . . . yes,” Veronyka stammered, as a single drop of sweat trailed down her temple.
Tristan nodded dubiously, then took a towel for himself, staring at the rolled-up cotton in his hands.
“What if I sponsored you?” he asked abruptly.
“What?” Veronyka said, hardly daring to believe her ears.
“I’ve been thinking. . . . I have some savings, and when the time comes, I could put your name forward, if you wan—”
“Of course I want!” Veronyka blurted, taking an unconscious step forward. “But . . . why would you give up your savings for me?”
He shrugged, as if determined to keep things light. “Sponsorship isn’t all fun, you know. You’d have to run my errands, help me care for my weapons and armor, clean my rooms . . . all on top of your own training.”
When he finally looked up again, he seemed surprised at the way Veronyka was gaping at him. But how could she not? He was offering up her dream on a silver platter and then apologizing that it wasn’t gold.
She’d take her dream if it were served in a bucket.
“Tristan,” she said with a breath, hands trembling as she adjusted her towel. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he said, smiling hesitantly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He beamed, his dimples reappearing, and Veronyka bit her lip to fight her own stupid grin. A swell of happiness was rising in her chest. She was bewildered by his kindness and kept trying to figure out why he would put himself on the line for her. Then she remembered Sparrow. . . . Not everyone wanted repayment or needed a reason in order to help someone.
Still smiling, Tristan dropped his rolled-up towel next to the nearest pool. Then, to Veronyka’s dismay, he began to peel off his tunic.
She gaped, her heart pumping as she realized what was about to happen. Not only was Tristan not leaving her alone to dress, but he was undressing himself. He obviously hadn’t come to the bathhouse to talk; otherwise he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her. Which meant he planned to stay awhile. To bathe. Naked.
This is normal, she kept telling herself, her cheeks hot. Men and boys bathe together, just as girls do. No problem.
But no matter how she tried to calm herself, Veronyka’s eyes went wild, darting from Tristan’s bare chest to