Within These Wicked Walls(30)

“Of course, Andromeda,” he said, patting my hand, “whatever you need.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Thank you?”

He stepped out into the hall. “Would you like to eat together? In a few hours, when you’re awake?”

I nodded.

He leaned on the doorjamb, drumming his fingers on it before taking a deep breath and looking at me. “I really am … so pleased you’re back.”

And then he left me, too abruptly for me to respond, as was his custom. Awkward man. Awkward, difficult … funny … sometimes sweet … absolutely adorable man.

I was blushing, but this time I wouldn’t stop it, even if there had been someone there to see.

“I’m glad to be back, too,” I called to his still-open bedroom door, then shut my own door for a nap.





CHAPTER 13


A knock on the door woke me from my nap, and when I opened it Saba was beaming at me, holding a fancy box in her hands.

“Hi, Saba,” I said, scratching my scalp. “I really hope those are chocolates.”

She raised her eyebrows as if to say I really hope you’re kidding, and opened the box to reveal bottles and jars, creams and oils.

I gaped. And then let out a sound I hadn’t heard from myself in a long time.

It was the excited squeal of a little kid.

“Are these yours?” I asked, and I couldn’t begin to hide my eagerness.

Saba shook her head, her grin widening.

“Mine?” I asked, even though I knew … still couldn’t believe it. But knew.

Saba prompted me to take the box, but I hardly needed prompting, rushing to rest it on my bed so I could sit and sort through it. Soaps, lotions, scrubs. Oils I could’ve never afforded before this job, not unless I saved money for months. I would’ve never in my life dreamed of even touching the bottles with my fingertips, let alone having the chance to use what was inside them.

Saba set a small wooden tub on the floor and put some water over the fire to heat. Then she began taking down my hair, examining it as she went. She took a pair of silver shears from the box of oils and showed it to me.

“Yes, thank you,” I said. “I need a trim really badly, I’m sure.”

Saba squeezed my shoulders and then grabbed a comb and got to work. I sat quietly, nothing but memories filling my head.

“The last time I had my hair cut,” I said, “it was at the beginning of my debtera training … Jember had to shave it off. The priests didn’t want the threat of lice, I suppose.”

I mostly remember crying in the alley behind the church, while Jember sat behind me with a straight razor. Not because it hurt or because I was attached to my hair, but because of why it had to be done—because a few men who would never interact with me were worried I would potentially bring bugs into the church.

Because they thought I was dirty.

But this time was different. With each snip of the shears my head felt lighter. As a servant, Saba probably had to do this sort of thing all the time, but I could tell she wasn’t doing it because it was her job. She was doing it because she … cared.

When she was finished snipping and combing, she mimed taking off clothing. I hesitated, then locked the bedroom door before peeling off my clothes and placing them on my bed, though I kept on my amulet—after that first Waking, there was no way I was taking it off again.

Saba handed me a jar and demonstrated a circular rubbing motion on her own arms. I nodded, and she helped me sit in the tub. Inside the jar was sugar, from the smell of it, mixed with fragrant oils. The water she poured over my head was hot but not scalding, and then I took some of the concoction in my hands and started scrubbing. It was … I’d never felt anything like it. Definitely less abrasive than sand, and the silky after-feel of the oils was, in a word, heavenly. Meanwhile, Saba had started scrubbing my scalp with the oils sans sugar, and I nearly had to pause what I was doing to take it all in.

If I had to rank the best feelings in the world, having my scalp massaged would come in at a close third, right behind having a full stomach and the ability to easily empty my bowels. It was miraculous. I closed my eyes to better remember the full sensation of the oil warming with the friction of movement, the comfort of rhythmic circles on my scalp, the satisfaction of fingers finally being able to run through the length of my hair without any trouble from tangles.

By the time I was done I felt lighter, as if ten pounds of hard times and grit had been stripped away.

I honestly didn’t know if I had ever been this clean. But if I thought about it too much I was bound to cry.

Saba rinsed me off with a few buckets of cold water, which would’ve felt much worse if my room hadn’t been heated with an amulet. She made me dress again, then sat me in front of the mirror to style my hair into albaso braids—thicker and thinner braids alternating on the scalp, releasing midway in a burst of curls at the back of my head. Curls. Actual curls instead of frizz. It looked sweet. I looked sweet. And healthy, and … better than I’d looked my whole life.

There wasn’t much she could do for my unextraordinary face, and maybe I was stupid to refuse the makeup she offered. But there was only so much of a cleanup job I could take before I disappeared into someone else’s ideal. So far, I felt like myself, only cleaner.

It felt good. I hoped people didn’t take this for granted, feeling clean, looking presentable. I certainly didn’t. It’d taken a few hours, but was worth every minute. It might’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me.