CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nalyx followed Gantalla across the courtyard towards the bathhouse, feeling a touch baffled about her behaviour. That she was going out of her way to be helpful wasn’t entirely a surprise – that was what the serving women were here for, after all – but the lack of flirting and her apparent disinterest in any more carnal activities was strange, along with the fact that she not only knew how to clean armour, but had gone to the effort to do so. Cleaning armour was one of the least enjoyable activities of being a warrior, and no serving woman he’d known had ever bothered in the past. So what did she actually hope to achieve with any of this, if not to persuade him to sleep with her? Not that he would have needed much persuading, but still.

As they passed the gaggle of women at the fountain, one of them called out to him, and he turned to see Liatra giving him a hungry stare. “Hey there, Nalyx,” she said, jutting one hip out and pressing her chest forward. “I missed you last night. You sure you don’t want to come and play?”

“You’ll have to excuse us, ladies,” Gantalla replied before he could, sounding smug about it. “We’re just on our way to have a bath.” She looped her arm through his – his uninjured left arm, being careful not to jostle his bandaged hand – and tugged him away.

Nalyx followed her easily, grinning. But a moment later, his puzzlement was back. She’d made it clear she only wanted to help him get clean, but at the same time, that little exchange with the other serving women had been noticeably possessive. So did she like him or not? And last night – okay, so he’d passed out drunk, which was likely not an entirely appealing display – but she’d apparently decided to stay in his room, but not in his bed. Plenty of women would have happily slept in the bed, not only because it was more comfortable, but because they would have hoped that when he’d woken up, he could have been persuaded to have a little morning fun.

He was entirely unsure how to read her, and it was making him feel off balance.

Inside the bathhouse, Gantalla disappeared into the storage room to find soap and a handful of towels. When she returned, she set them on a nearby step, then turned to look critically at the wide tubs. “We’re going to have to keep your shoulder dry,” she said, almost to herself, then abruptly left again. But before he could spend too long wondering where she’d gone, she was back again, a short wooden stool in her hands. She lowered it into one of the tubs, setting it beside the wall. “How’s that? Good enough?”

“Should be fine,” he said. “But I think I have the same problem I had last night.” He held up his bandaged hands. “I’m not quite sure how to get my pants off.”

“Here, let me help…” Once again, there was nothing flirtatious in her manner, and for once, he was glad, as she carefully helped him remove his shirt, sliding his left arm out of it, then slipping it over his head, before being even more gentle about sliding it off his right arm. His shoulder was still aching, and the last thing he needed was to rip open the stitches thanks to a woman’s attempts to get overly amorous. Then, without any preamble, Gantalla undid his belt and the buttons on his pants, and slid them down his legs.

He’d managed to shove his feet into his boots this morning, but hadn’t been able to lace them, so she knelt down and tugged them off, before helping him step out of his pants. A heated comment was on the tip of his tongue, as he noticed that her head was now level with his groin… but before he could say anything, she stood up again, taking his arm in her hand.

“Careful as you step in,” she said, leading him to the edge of the tub. “You don’t want to slip and fall in.”

Feeling miffed all over again, he stepped carefully into the tub. But the instant he was thigh-deep in the warm water, all thoughts of flirtation disappeared as an entirely different physical pleasure engulfed him. Heat seeped into his aching muscles, and he sat down on the stool, groaning as the water rose to his waist. Gods, that felt good.

But Gantalla was still standing at the side of the tub, a look of consternation on her face. A smirk lit Nalyx’s face as he realised the cause of it. In order to wash him, Gantalla was going to have to get in the tub with him. Beneath the water, he felt his cock stir.

A cute little frown on her face, Gantalla stripped off her boots, setting them neatly beside Nalyx’s clothes. Then she glanced about again. The bathhouse was relatively quiet, but there were a couple of women in the other tubs, taking advantage of the morning peace to bathe before more people arrived in the afternoon. It was a well known routine that the warriors liked to bathe here after they’d slept off the effects of too much alcohol from the night before, and the women who joined them were far less modest than Gantalla was currently being. Which meant that giggling and splashing often gave way to more hedonistic pleasures.

But none of the other women were paying them any mind. And though all of them were either too old to arouse Nalyx’s interest or already married, they were all naked, not at all embarrassed about their nudity despite the presence of a man in the bathhouse. As libidinous as the warriors tended to be, there were clear lines in their moral code, and sleeping with another man’s wife was strictly on the bad behaviour list. The consequences of such an indiscretion could range from paying a fine to being kicked out of the army entirely, and the latter was certainly not something Nalyx ever wanted to risk.

Seeming to make a decision, Gantalla stripped off her trousers, setting them on the step. But then, to Nalyx’s surprise, she stepped into the pool still wearing her cotton shirt. It was long, falling to mid thigh, and sadly covering anything that might have been more interesting to look at. From the looks of it, her legs were strong, though. Too many of the serving women focused on being slim, at the expense of any real strength. Gantalla was too lean to be healthy, but her legs held plenty of muscle – the wiry sort that came from long, slow effort.

Nalyx considered for a moment what she must have been through to have walked all the way here from Gadash. It would have taken weeks to cover that distance, and the muscles standing out in stark relief on her legs were clear evidence that she’d got here under her own steam.

But before Nalyx could ponder the idea much more, Gantalla interrupted his thoughts. “Hold out your arms,” she said, taking a wash cloth and a bar of soap from the side of the pool.

“You don’t have to bathe with your shirt on,” Nalyx said, flirting a natural reflex. He quirked an eyebrow at her, a suggestive smirk on his lips.

Gantalla’s jaw tightened, but at the same time, a hint of a smile tugged at the edge of her lips. Her cheekbones were high and her nose was small. She had a subtly foreign look about her, but nothing obvious enough that Nalyx could have picked her ancestry. Her skin was a little paler than the average native of Minia, but that was all he could really pin it down to. All of that made her pretty enough, but it was her long, black hair that was by far and away her best feature. It gleamed in the light, straight and thick, and Nalyx let himself imagine what it would feel like to have that hair sliding over his body as he lay with Gantalla in bed, silky smooth locks caressing his chest, his thigh…

“I offered to get you clean,” Gantalla said, in a stern voice. “And I think it’s in your own best interests to not have too many distractions while I do it. Keep your hands above the water,” she added, and Nalyx realised he’d lowered his arms until the bandages were a mere inch above the water line. He lifted them again, then sat still while she washed his arms and chest. He thought about flexing his biceps or pecs a little, then dismissed the idea. He didn’t need to beg for attention. There were plenty of other women champing at the bit for five minutes alone with him. It was Gantalla’s loss if she wanted to overlook the opportunities right in front of her.

Set on her task, she continued downwards, washing his hips and thighs, but bypassing his groin entirely. Then she picked up his right leg. “Hold onto the side of the tub,” she said, in that same, disinterested monotone. Automatically, he did, then she lifted his leg higher, carefully washing the lingering mud off his calf, then his foot.

What the hell sort of game was she playing at? Nalyx scowled, at the same time as he felt a surge in his groin. Gantalla’s wet shirt was clinging to her breasts, an entirely indecent sight that was somehow more tempting than if she’d been entirely naked. If his hands hadn’t been wrapped in bandages, he would have reached out to cup them. They were an enticing size and would have overflowed his palms, and then he would lean down, teasing her nipples with his tongue…

Gantalla set his foot down abruptly and lifted his other leg. She didn’t even glance at his groin as she did so.

“I nearly killed a unicorn, you know,” Nalyx said, the words coming out unexpectedly harsh. Fuck Hallix and his arrogant posturing. It was about time someone knew that Nalyx had been part of that battle too, and had got there a whole lot earlier than Hallix. “Chased it through the forest after it charged through the gate. I could have killed it, too. Damn thing stabbed me through the shoulder. That’s how I burned my hands.”

By this point, any of the other women would have been squealing in terror or cooing in admiration. And even though Nalyx knew they often played up their reactions, even that was preferable to Gantalla’s cool silence.

“I stabbed it through the chest. So by the time Hallix got around to killing it, it was already half dead. I’d have finished it off, if he hadn’t arrived.” Even Nalyx knew he was stretching the truth with that one. More likely, the unicorn would have stomped him to death, but Gantalla didn’t need to know that.

Gantalla glanced up at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Did you really?” she said, setting his foot back down.

“I killed one of those big, black motherfuckers as well,” Nalyx went on, trying to ignore how badly he needed some sort of acknowledgement from her. He risked his life, day in, day out, to keep the rest of the world safe, and Gantalla was behaving like he’d done nothing more than catch a wild rabbit for dinner.

“I really don’t like hearing stories of battle,” Gantalla cut him off, abruptly standing up and climbing out of the tub. “I’ve seen far too much bloodshed already.”

Nalyx felt a snarl curl his lip. “You don’t care about the…” He stopped what he’d been about to say abruptly, as he suddenly remembered what she’d said the night before. “Fuck, I didn’t… Sorry. Your family was killed recently,” he reminded himself. “Sorry.” Gods, he was an insensitive brute. After likely seeing her own father killed in front of her, she hardly needed more tales of death and blood.

Gantalla sighed. “I know everyone here is in awe of the warriors. And I’m grateful for anyone who risks their life to keep me safe. But after seeing so many people die, I’d… I’d rather just not talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Nalyx said again. Maybe he should just get his head out of his own ass for a moment.

Gantalla smiled, but Nalyx could tell it was forced. “Let’s get you out of the tub,” she said, offering her hand. “We can find somewhere for you to sit and I’ll wash your hair for you.”

It was a fine idea, as Nalyx was well aware of the fact that his hair was still a matted mess, but suddenly, he found an entirely different problem with her suggestion. She was standing there, in her drenched shirt, every detail of her body on display to his roving eyes, and his cock was standing proudly at attention, ignoring his urgent pleas for the thing to suddenly learn a sense of decorum and go the hell away.

But she was still standing there, hand held out, waiting for him, so he stood up. Half of him was hoping she’d just ignore it, while another part of his brain was screaming for her to look down. He’d spent the first night of the festival in hospital, and the second night getting drunk, and after three long weeks without female company, he was suddenly overcome with the knowledge that aside from Liatra’s ill-timed lap dance, he hadn’t come even close to relieving the ache in his groin. Normally by this point in the festival, he’d have bedded at least three women, and quite possibly more.

He stepped out of the tub, aware of his erection bobbing in the cool air. Gantalla didn’t even blink. Maybe she hadn’t noticed? But how the hell could she not notice? He wasn’t exactly small, and he was as hard as he’d ever been, his cock throbbing, his balls feeling full and tight.

Gantalla reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist, and he had to bite back a groan at the feel of the soft fabric against his over-sensitive flesh. It made a tent in the front of his towel… but Gantalla simply reached for another towel, draping it over his shoulders.

But no, was that… was she blushing? Just a faint hint of red over her skin… But it could have just been from the heat of the water…

“Come and sit over here,” she said, leading him towards the stone steps at the side of the bathhouse. It was hard to tell whether she was avoiding his gaze, or just watching where she was going. The stone floor could be slippery, after all.

Nalyx sat down, and Gantalla fetched a bucket and filled it from the tub. Nalyx leaned forward, head down, and Gantalla set about pouring water over his hair. She added soap, then rubbed the lather through his hair, giving his scalp a thorough massage as she went, and this time, Nalyx did groan. Gods, that felt divine.

Her hands didn’t stray the entire time, rinsing his hair carefully to keep water from getting on his shoulder, then afterwards, she helped him dress again. Thankfully, by that point, his cock was back to behaving itself, so she didn’t have to go to any particular effort to get him back inside his trousers.

But her own shirt was going to be a problem, dripping wet as it was. “No one would mind if you borrowed another blouse from the storage room,” Nalyx said, as she attempted to wring the fabric out.

Gantalla laughed. “I’m not sure they’d have any clothes that were appropriate for a long walk to Palashran.”

He paused. “You’re leaving town, then?”

“I need to go,” Gantalla said, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been here too long already.”

Nalyx nodded, not quite sure why he was suddenly feeling so bereft. “Let’s go have a look, anyway. Not everything the seamstresses make is black and lacy.”

In the storage room, he waited while Gantalla looked through the racks of clothing. She pulled out a blue blouse… then returned it to the rack when she saw how low cut the front was. A cream shirt was next, but it was so sheer as to be almost see-through – something Nalyx would have appreciated, but as Gantalla had pointed out, not suitable for a long trek on the road. But then she spotted something that seemed to pique her interest. She pulled it out and held it up. It was a blouse in a deep, forest green colour, and Nalyx supposed for a moment that the seamstress must have been having an off day when she’d made this piece. It was loose-fitting, designed to hang off one shoulder, but the bodice was high-cut, and would cover Gantalla’s modesty far better than most of the clothes here.

“Looks good,” he said, then, when she hesitated, he turned around, putting his back to her.

He listened to the rustle of fabric as she changed, then a minute or two later, she said, “Okay.”

He turned around again, and for a moment, he felt a touch of disappointment. The blouse was indeed perfect for her purposes, and a rogue part of him curled in distaste. “Looks great,” he said. The blouse covered her breasts entirely, and the wide waist hid any hint of the curve of her hips. And against the brown of her trousers, the colour looked perfect.

“It’s not bad,” Gantalla said, balling up the fabric of her shirt and giving it another quick wring. She looked at him expectantly, but he made no move towards the door. He didn’t know what to make of her, and he decided it was time to voice his opinion.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, working hard to not make it sound like an accusation.

“Doing what?”

“Helping me. The armour, the clothes, the bath. Why?”

She looked confused. “Isn’t that what the serving women are supposed to do?”

“Well, yes, but mostly they just…” He stopped, realising how crass his next statement might sound.

“Have sex with you?” Gantalla filled in for him.

“It’s not that simple,” Nalyx said, feeling himself flush. “It’s not like they don’t get anything out of it.”

“Jewellery? Gifts? Coins?”

Nalyx sighed. “I suppose it has a certain mercenary bent to it,” he admitted.

“And oddly enough, that’s why I’m helping you now,” Gantalla said. “I, um… I might have…” She looked down and Nalyx followed her gaze, not seeing anything odd. “I took a pair of boots from the armoury this morning,” Gantalla said, and suddenly, Nalyx recognised the pair on her feet. They were the same style that all the warriors wore, fashioned by one of the cobblers in town. He hadn’t noticed them before. “I needed new shoes, and I’ve already spent most of my money. I suppose I thought this would be a good form of payment. I’m not a thief. I just…”

“You just needed a pair of boots.”

“Right.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Most of the serving women had learned a strong sense of entitlement, and though most of them wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of warrior’s boots, if they’d felt they needed them, they would have just taken them, payment be damned. Gantalla’s sense of integrity was both baffling and endearing. Nalyx smiled. “I’d say you’ve earned them. And thank you. Most people wouldn’t have been nearly as considerate as you’ve been.”

Gantalla smiled and led the way out of the bathhouse. “So what’s next for you today?” she asked, as they meandered back towards the barracks. The women at the fountain had finished their task by now, and had no doubt wandered off to cause mischief elsewhere.

“I need to go back to the hospital,” Nalyx said. “To get my bandages changed.” The nurse yesterday had told him to come back each day, not only to get the wrappings changed, but so they could assess how well his hands were healing. As a warrior, he needed to be able to grip his sword, and any infection or scarring would hamper his ability to fight.

“I’ll come with you, then,” Gantalla said.

Nalyx raised an eyebrow at the offer. “I thought you needed to be on your way.”

Gantalla shrugged. “I’ll make sure you’re seen to first. One more hour isn’t going to make much of a difference.”