Zaenith and I rise at dawn. The air outside is sharp with winter’s chill, and the streets stir with the beginnings of life as the day begins, the peasant folk trudging out of their homes.

  "Come on, I'm sick of smelling you. Did you wet yourself at that gaolhouse or is that just your natural scent?" Zaenith sneers, her lips curling in exaggerated disgust.

  "I spent a night in a barn on my journey to Ravencroft," I reply with a shrug. “A dog pissed on me while I slept.”

  Zaenith’s grimace deepens, her lips curling in visible disgust. "Why didn’t you clean yourself then? Surely there was water to be found."

  "It was cold."

  Her nose wrinkles further. "You’ll be lucky if the bathhouse doesn’t throw you out the moment you step through the door," she mutters, shaking her head. “Take these.”

  She shoves the bundle of cloth she’s been carrying into my hands. Some breeches and a tunic, cheap but seemingly new.

  “Keep them clean. If I find you smelling like this again, I’ll throw you out.”

  The bathhouse stands ahead, not too far from Zaenith's house, a squat stone building with steam curling lazily out of small vents near the roof. The wooden door creaks as I push it open, a rush of warm, humid air meeting us.

  At a rough-hewn table near the entrance sits the keeper, an older woman with sleeves rolled up past her elbows.

  "Zaenith," the old woman greets, her voice heavy with familiarity as she rubs her lower back. "My back is playing up again."

  Zaenith’s discerning eyes scan her briefly. "Come to the shop later," she says gruffly, "I’ll have a look."

  She nods, her movements slow and deliberate, before turning her gaze to me. "And who’s this?" she asks, her tone polite.

  Zaenith hesitates, her expression tightening for the briefest moment before answering. "Seven. He’ll be staying with me for a time."

  The old woman studies me for a moment longer, but whatever thoughts she has, she keeps to herself.

  “Take a linen cloth from the rack there,” she gestures to a stack of neatly folded towels, “and no funny business, eh?”

  I nod and take a cloth. Zaenith does the same, and together we step past her into the main chamber.

  The bathing area is a large, open room centered around a sunken stone pool. Murky water ripples and bubbles around clusters of red-hot rocks, steam thick in the air. Smaller wooden tubs line the edges, their fresh, heated water clearly reserved for wealthier patrons.

  The few early risers already in the pool glance my way briefly, before returning to their quiet conversations. But... there is one thing about this that strikes me as odd.

  Men and women bathe.... together? That can’t be right. I’ve never been to a bathhouse before, but....

  My concerns go unnoticed though as Zaenith chooses a spot near the edge of the pool, her movements unhurried as she strips off her rough tunic and breeches. Her body is enormously muscular, more than any man I've seen, and marked with many scars.

  She seems unbothered by the cool air or my presence. So, with a little hesitation, I follow her lead, stripping down, my skin prickling as the chill creeps over me.

  I dip into the pool, the water enveloping me with satisfying heat. It is hotter than I expect, the kind of heat that seeps deep into my muscles. I relax with a quiet sigh, letting the aches in my back and shoulders melt away.

  That feels good... It’s been a long time.

  "Don't just sit there, clean yourself. I don't want to smell anything from you by the time we're done," Zaenith barks, her tone as sharp as the slap of the sponge she throws my way. Without waiting for a reply, she begins scrubbing himself, the coarse sponge scouring away layers of grime from her scarred skin.

  "Do we have to pay?" I ask, as I dip the sponge into the water. "I spent most of my coin on the carriage ride here."

  Zaenith glances at me briefly. "No. The keeper lets me bathe here in exchange for my ointments," she replies before turning back to her task. Her tone makes it clear she expects no more questions.

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  I’m slightly amazed. In Mistvale, alchemy was treated like the work of demons, devils and sorcerers. But here, Zaenith is seemingly appreciated and judging by how she freed me, respected.

  I wish Rose could have lived here...

  Slightly relieved that the bath service is free, I set to work, scrubbing myself thoroughly. The sponge is rough against my skin, but it feels good to clear away the weeks of grime and gunk. The water turns murky where I sit, swirling with the evidence of too many days on the road.

  My hair proves the hardest challenge. Long and tangled, it clings stubbornly together. For a moment, I debate bringing my knife to it again, but the thought of walking around half-shorn stops me. With a sigh, I attack the mess until it is clean and relatively smooth, the strands finally losing their greasy sheen.

  "So, what is this town like?" I ask. Zaenith shrugs, continuing to scrub her body. "It's a decent size. Wealthy enough that the people don't starve, poor enough that there are few nobles to deal with."

  She pauses, a flicker of thought crossing her face before she adds, "You'll like it better than Mistvale. A village like that was too small for a man of my blood."

  I don’t respond immediately, it’s not often she mentions our relation, a habit I've picked up. “Mistvale, after I left, was welcomed into the kingdom of Lumenon. Is Ravencroft the same?”

  Zaenith nods. “Yes. But it’s on the far edge of its borders, so there’s little for us to worry about from the royals or the clergy.”

  Scrubbing the back of my neck, I take in all the new information. "I see.... well, as long as there’s work."

  Zaenith grunts, a sound that could pass for approval. "Oh, there’ll be plenty of work for you. Don’t you worry about that."

  For a good while I remain silent, not sure if I should bring the issue up again. “About the thieves at the gaolhouse....” Zaenith’s brow furrows at my words, clearly irritated. “I told you boy, crimes must be punished. They will endure their fate with dignity, as all should.” She turns away, clearly having made her decision. It doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to talk her out of it, not right now anyway.

  With our conversation over, I rinse away the last of the soap, and let myself sink deeper into the water, savoring the rare luxury of a warm bath, something few people of my station get to enjoy.

  CREAK

  The creak of the bathhouse door echoes through the steamy air, but I pay it little mind, my eyes closed as I soak in the water. That is, until the soft hum of murmured conversation around me steadily fades into silence.

  Curiosity pulls me from my relaxation. Opening my eyes, I quickly understand the cause of the sudden hush. A young woman has entered, her presence clearly standing apart from those of us already here.

  She is dressed in fine leathers, the intricate embroidery and polished buckles clearly marking her as someone of wealth and status. Yet it isn’t her attire that holds me captive.

  She is breathtakingly beautiful, her skin slightly tanned and flawless, a picture of perfection unmarred by even a single blemish. Her dark hair is tied back, with a few strands left loose. Curiously there’s a single streak of gold lining the left side, it stands out, the thin line glittering among the rest of the dark strands.

  She is short and slender, her features delicate yet striking. Her movements are graceful but firm, exuding a pride that seems noble... perhaps even in the literal sense.

  What a noblewoman would be doing here, however, is beyond me.

  "Who's that?" I ask Zaenith, my eyes not leaving the stunning woman.

  Zaenith doesn’t even glance in her direction, instead sinking deeper into the water, her scarred hands resting on the edge of the pool. "A stranger," she mutters, her tone laced with irritation. "Not from this town. She refuses to explain her business here."

  There is a hard edge to her voice, but it barely registers. My attention is fixed on the woman as she moves gracefully to one of the separate tubs. I never thought I’d see a woman as pretty as Emily. But that girl... she might just be prettier... maybe.

  My eyes widen as she begins to undress.

  Wha- am I allowed to be seeing this?

  Should I look away?

  ...I’m not gonna look away.

  Each piece of clothing falls away, smoothly slipping from her body following her graceful movements. I can't help but stare.

  Her breasts, though modest, sit high and proud on her chest. Her hips flare wide, their soft curves accentuated by the contrast of her slender waist.

  As I watch, utterly captivated, her eyes suddenly meet mine. Her brow creases slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing her otherwise perfect features, before she turns away, stepping into the steaming tub.

  Shit, she saw me.

  "Come, I'm starting to wrinkle. It's time to get to work," Zaenith says briskly, stepping out of the water. She snatches up the spare set of clothes she has prepared for herself, then tosses a pair toward me. The garments are clean but crumpled from poor folding.

  I hesitate, reluctant to leave the warmth of the water. The thought of lingering just a little longer crosses my mind, perhaps even to catch another glimpse of the enigmatic woman when she exits her bath. But Zaenith’s sharp glare kills that thought immediately.

  With a quiet sigh, I stand, the cold air biting at my skin the moment I leave the water. Quickly, I dry myself and dress alongside her, donning my new clothes. The chill fades slightly as the new fabric settles over my body.

  Whatever curiosity I have about the woman will have to wait.

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