Lydia remembered the woman from Treatise of the Seven. Not only was she marked by the same god as Killian; she was also the former King of Mudamora’s younger sister. She governed over the north of the kingdom, and the book detailed an incident where she’d held back the enemy nation of Gendorn almost singlehandedly by holding a narrow pass until reinforcements arrived. Because it seemed a safe answer, Lydia said, “I’ve only seen her from a distance.”
“Ahh.” Sonia rubbed her chin thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Perhaps one day I’ll have the good fortune. I hear she is as beautiful as she is fierce.”
“Quit fantasizing about northern girls and go get some sleep,” Gwen said, nudging Sonia with her elbow. “I’ll show Lydia around.”
Scooping the last scrap of food into her mouth, Lydia followed the other girl around the house, which was two levels and square, the middle boasting a large courtyard with a well at its center. There was a rack of dulled practice weapons and several straw dummies that someone had painted frowning faces on.
“Bit quiet today,” Gwen said, drawing up a bucket of water from the well. “There were lots of comings and goings scheduled at the palace, so some of the night girls stayed on for that and they’ll likely nap in the palace barracks rather than coming back here.”
“If the palace has barracks, why do you live here?” Lydia asked, following her into a small chamber with a large copper tub and a smoking stove.
“I suppose a northern girl like you is used to female soldiers, especially given your High Lady is the most famous living warrior in the kingdom,” Gwen answered. “It’s not such a common thing here, and less so the farther south you go.”
“Ah.” Lydia frowned, her question not precisely answered. “Are you not allowed in the palace barracks, then?”
“We are. That’s where we started, but we had some trouble with the men misunderstanding our presence, and the healers got tired of fixing their broken hands.” Gwen laughed, the sound echoing through the room as she poured the water into a large kettle, which she set over the flames in the stove. “The Princess was of a mind to evict the men, but the captain had other plans.”
“Oh?”
“Some sort of nonsense about us needing time away. That if we stayed at the palace, we’d always be on duty.” Gwen shrugged. “I reckon it would be worth it given the inconvenience of traipsing back and forth across the damned city twice a day, but I suppose he knows of what he speaks.”
“He stays there, then?”
“Mostly. And he’s her sworn sword, so don’t be getting any ideas about distracting him.”
Lydia’s cheeks burned hot. “I have no interest in—”
“Didn’t say you did.” Gwen gestured for Lydia to follow her back out into the courtyard, where she retrieved another bucket of water. “I’m only saying, don’t find yourself discovering an interest. We have rules, and that’s one of them. Start making eyes and you’ll be dealing with Bercola, and she’s got a heavy hand with the strap. Or so I’ve been told. Got no interest in men, myself.”
“It won’t be an issue.”
“Excellent. Now why don’t you set to filling up that tub while the water heats, and I’ll get you some clothes. You aren’t to be wearing your uniform when you’re off duty, but it will do while you launder that dress.”
Though Lydia had never done an ounce of labor in her life, there was something soothing about the methodical process of drawing up water and filling the tub. The water in the kettle boiled, and she used a folded towel to lift it off the fire, pouring it into the tub and then filling it up again. After stripping off her filthy dress, Lydia soaped it in a bucket, then rinsed it as best she could, though it would take further scrubbing to rid the fabric of the stains of her ordeal.
She poured the heated water into the tub, shivering as her spectacles went foggy with steam. Setting them aside, she picked up a bar of soap that smelled faintly of flowers, then stepped into the tub. The warm water reached up to her knees, and she settled into its depths. The chamber was dark and windowless, the only light the faint glow of the stove next to her. Steam rose from the water, filling the air, but rather than soothing her, it felt stifling. Suffocating.
“It’s a just a tub, you idiot,” she whispered. “Get clean.