One for Ahl by H.H. Moss

Author:H.H. Moss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gatekeeper Press

PART 3,

Of One and

Ahl

CHAPTER 15

Jane sank into the bath, sighing as she scrubbed the filth from her skin. The Artemisia estates were all equipped with running, heated water, and large shared baths with purifying crystals. It was one of the many benefits of the estates’ Lord being the main supplier of the magic stored within the crystals. Jane would have taken any form of bath in her state, so the luxury was a welcome one despite its cost.

After Orin had guided her to the underground loading bay of the prison, his carriage had brought her to the familiar estate where she had spent much of her childhood. Jane had never been allowed in the southern wing, where Orin resided during his visits, and she was now not allowed beyond it. None of the staff were familiar to Jane. The housekeeper she’d known well in her prior years there had passed away, and much of the staff Jane had known worked for Lady Genivi directly. Jane was home, but it was not her home.

Jane looked across the women’s bath to a wall entirely covered in small mirror plates. Her hair hung in mats on her head. Orin had said so as he commanded Jane to bathe, his nose slightly wrinkling in the same manner as his daughter’s expressions. Jane tried now to brush it out, starting at the base, working with the magicked water. The mats stayed stubbornly on her head. Orin, Jane pondered. Jane had always considered him by his given name because Lady Genivi often had referred to him as such, all but spitting the name when she was certain there were no listening ears. As the name crossed Jane’s mind now, his voice slid into her ears, invisible hands falling onto her shoulders. Only my bed partners call me Orin. Jane threw the brush at the wall, shattering glass as one of the mirrors took the brunt of her frustration.

Jane stood, letting water drip from her, and strode through the bath to the shattered glass. Wrapping her washcloth around the end of a long, sharp shard, Jane began sawing the mats off her head. Chunks of hair fell into the water, quickly dissolved and cleared away by the crystals, and Jane continued cropping her hair as close to her head as she could without cutting her scalp. Sometime later, she tossed down the glass and viewed her work, checking for uneven sections. A starved, tired, hopeless face peered back at her, and she couldn’t even cry. Jane just sank into the water listlessly, letting her mind drift back to that daydream of her on a farm. The blacksmith’s son told her that he’d liked her hair before, but this was also pretty. They snuck around together, shirking chores to be in each other’s arms. Then screams came. The farm was burning, and Jane was alone.

Once Jane’s skin had gone pink and wrinkly from scrubbing and soaking, and she felt satisfied with the evenness of her hair, Jane slid into the night gown and robe left for her by the housekeeper and made her way to her new chambers.

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