“I guessed that already,” I mumbled.
“You have half an hour to get dressed and choose your outfit.” Elio pointed to a door on my left. “That’s the changing room with clothes already picked out for you. There are towels there, too.”
“In my size?” I asked, scratching my itchy scalp. “Are they likes yours?”
“Yes to both,” he said. “Think of it as your uniform.”
“Awesome.” As long as it wasn’t a crop top, I was good. “But won’t one uniform get a bit smelly?”
He tittered. “You will always have enough.”
“Oh.”
“It’s important to look good.”
“Okay. How many thralls are here?”
“Enough to serve and care for the palace. And enough to cover the day shift as guards.”
I hadn’t seen a single guard or servant on the walk here. But I guess that was the point of those maze-like corridors.
Hmmm. I guess I wouldn’t ever be trusted enough to get an access touch or whatever. But there were always windows and balconies to use.
Observe. Scheme. Aim for freedom.
Elio left me to it.
In the right corner was a white bathtub and a white shower cubicle, both with gold accents, and a toilet beside them for us mortals.
I checked the dressing room, finding white walls, golden benches, and three gold wardrobes. White towels had been laidon one of the benches, and a uniform hung in the middle wardrobe.
Ugh. Did I really have to wearthat? It looked just like Elio’s, but with purple trousers, a purple brocade jacket, and an amethyst choker. There was also a pair of dark purple leather boots, and a fresh set of lavender underwear.
I wrinkled my nose at the pretty clothes, grabbed a towel, and headed for the shower.
Inside the marble cubicle, which was bigger than my kitchen, I found an array of shampoos, soaps, and shower gels. I picked one that smelled of strawberries, clicked on the water, and enjoyed the hot spray.
Man, that felt so, so good. The heat unknit my muscles with aqua kisses, the shower gel lathering up into a riot of pinkish suds. I scrubbed the matching shampoo into my scalp, washing away the grime of the night before.
Massaging conditioner into my tresses, I got to thinking about the ice, the blade, the weird tower dream—everything that’d brought me to this moment.
I wasn’t sure how to process it outside of being totally bewildered. None of it made any sense, just like the thing with Silvanus on the causeway.
What happened to him down there?
Whatever. As long as being here ended with him dying, nothing else mattered. Only the good fight did.
The trick was to not let anything break me, to keep every emotion in check. The moment I fell apart, I’d sink too deeply into the mire. And I wasn’t having that shit.
I’m built for this,I thought.
“You’re sweetcream,” I said out loud, drawing luck down my chest. “You’re sweetcream.”
Always sweetcream…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SILVANUS
