Page 125 of The Moon's Fury

A sharp rapping sounded on the door.

“I’ve got hot water for ya!” came a muffled voice through the door. Another loud knock. “And yer horse bit me!”

Zarian groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Can I kill him?”

She chuckled, raking her nails over his bearded jaw. “No, you impatient brute.” With a sigh, he released her and opened the door.

Nylash, or Lash as his sister called him, scurried in, clutching a large, steaming vat to his chest. He ducked into the bathroom, a loud splash echoing. His freckled face was red from the steam when he emerged, rushing out and returning with another vat. He repeated his circuit twice more before he was done.

Panting, he bowed deeply before Layna. “Yer bath is ready.” He scowled at Zarian. “I need ya to come tend to yer horse. Ekhh, I ain’t getting near him again.”

Zarian shot Layna an exasperated look as if to say,Can I kill himnow?She answered back with a pointed glare, and he released a tension-filled sigh and followed the boy out. Layna heard their voices floating in from down the hall.

“…refund for the extra gold since I’m doing your job.”

“…notmyfault ya have a demon for a horse…”

Their voices cut off as Layna shut the door. Truthfully, she was grateful for the chance to bathe alone. She’d just finished her moon’s blood, and it was no better this time around.

But, moons, the relief she’d felt at that first twinge in her abdomen was unlike any other.

With a weary sigh, she made her way to the washroom and shed her clothes. The space was a cavern within a cavern—cool stone walls wrapped around a modest metal tub perched on raised feet. Ledges carved into the rock housed bottles of scented oils, jars of bath salts, and stacks of neatly folded cloths. A black hose lay coiled beside the tub.

The steaming water hissed and fizzled as she poured in a handful of bath salts. Another sigh, this time of contentment, escaped her as she sank into the tub. Heat curled around her limbs, lapping at her skin like a familiar embrace.

She soaked until the water turned lukewarm, then grabbed a washcloth and began scrubbing the grit from her skin. By the time she finished, the water had gone cold. She pulled the stopper and leaned back, eyes closed.

The water had drained about halfway when she realized it was seeping all over the floor. Scrambling, she shoved the stopper back in. Her gaze flicked toward the back of the washroom—there, a small hole had been carved into the floor. She wrinkled her nose. Her eyes fell on the coiled hose, and understanding slowly dawned on her.

It would have been nice if their ever-so-helpful host had bothered to explain this, but Lasha had been too busy making eyes at Zarian.

With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of the tub, grabbing the hose while minding the slick floor. Kneeling, she found the drainage hole beneath the tub. The hose twisted into place, and she unwound it, leading the other end to the designated hole.

She quickly dressed and glared at the spilled water.

Her feet felt weighted with quicksand as she trudged three doors down and across the hall.

Two sharp knocks and the door opened to reveal Nylasha’s smiling face. Her smile vanished upon seeing Layna.

“What?” she practically snarled.

Layna gritted her teeth. “I need more towels.Please.”

“For what?” The infuriating woman leaned against the door frame and examined her nails.

“I … spilled some water.”

Nylasha looked at her as if she couldn’t be more stupid. She rolled her eyes and pushed off the door jamb. Layna moved to follow her, but she waved her off. “I’ll bring ‘em to yer room.”

Fifteen minutes later, there was a heavy knock on the door. Layna opened it to find the towels on the ground. Seething, she picked them up and mopped the washroom floor.

The sudden rap of knuckles against wood pulled her from her nap. Layna sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The door opened, and Lash hurried in, holding another steaming vat. Zarian followed, clutching another two to his chest. He smiled at her, though it was more a strained pursing of his lips.

Lash pointed out the wood-burning stove and the small basket of wood chips beside it. He left quickly after that, undoubtedly realizing he wasthis closeto wearing down the last of Zarian’s patience.

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Barely.” Zarian sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “I have a headache.”