Where Ashes and Oaths Collide

Chapter 76: Too Hot

A decorative tapestry hangs on the far wall. Its heraldic design suggests the bath chamber might have belonged to a wealthy merchant, or noble family. The tapestry also helps insulate the room by covering the cold stone surface. “There,” Luz said, turning to face Amelia. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked at her, his amber eyes softening. “Thank you very much,” she praised with a genuine smile and pocked up one of the buckets with cold water standing against the wall and poured it into the tub. She used a wooden spoon to mix the water in tub. He leaned against the stone wall, watching her work. The way she moved– so domestic, so normal– was almost painful to witness.

It was a world Luz had forgotten how to live in, yet here Amelia was, rebuilding it with wooden spoons and buckets of cold water. “You are very efficient,” he remarked, his voice low and warm. He stepped closer, reaching out to take the wooden spoon from her hand. “Let me.” He stirred the water, the steam rising in thick clouds around them, softening the harsh edges of the stone room. He set the spoon aside and turned back to her, his gaze tracing the line of her shoulders beneath the robe. “You do not have to do everything yourself, Amelia. I am not just here for show.” He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of her robe near her collarbone, a gentle tug that invited her closer.

Amelia slowly lowered her hand into the bathtub. “It is still a bit too hot,” she said softly. Luz’s amber eyes fixed on her hand as she tested the water. He reached for a second bucket of cold water, lifting it with one hand and tilting it into the tub. The sudden splash sent a fresh plume of steam swirling toward the ceiling. “Better?” he asked, his voice dropping into that quiet, attentive register. He stepped closer, the heat from the tub already warming his skin. He did not wait for her to answer before he reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm as he helped guide her toward the edge of the water. “Come on,” he murmured. “Sit. I will wash your hair.” It was a simple offer, but the way he said it– as if it were the most natural thing in the world– carried a weight that had nothing to do with the words themselves.

Amelia took off the robe and stepped into the tub. “No one has washed my hair since I was a little girl,” she said softly, memories of her mother washing her hair enter her mind and a soft smile form on her face. She sat down, a content sound escaping her lips at the hot water. Luz went still for a moment, his hands hovering just above her shoulders. The confession hung in the humid air between them, heavier than the steam rising from the tub. “Then you have waited far too long,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He knelt behind her, his knees pressing into the damp stone floor. His large hands, scarred from years of swordplay and marked by the dark veins that were currently fading, moved toward her hair with unexpected tenderness.

Luz cupped a handful of it, the strands sliding through his fingers like silk. He reached for a small clay pot and gently pour water over her hair. Then he reached for a small wooden bowl of oil and herbs sitting on the edge nearby, pouring a few drops into his palms before rubbing them together to warm the mixture. “Lean back,” he murmured. As she complied, he began to work, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation was slow, rhythmic and grounding. His thumbs traced the tension points at the base of her skull, working out the knots she had not even realised were there. His touch was careful, as if he were handling something precious and easily broken.

“You carry too much on your shoulders,” Luz said quietly, his voice barely audible over the gentle slosh of water. “Even when you are just sitting here, I can feel it.” He rinsed Amelia’s red hair with a small pitcher of warm water, his movements methodical. The scent of rosemary and lavender filled the small room, micing with the earth smell of stone and steam. For a moment, the war felt like a fever dream– something that happened to someone else, in another lifetime. His fingers combed through the wet strands, untangling them with patience. He found himself lingering on a particularly soft section near her temple, his thumb tracing the skin there. “Amelia.”

Luz paused, his hand resting against Amelia’s temple. The name sat on his tongue like something he was afraid to say aloud. “I used to think I was just a weapon,” he said, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied it. “A tool for the Order, then a tool for Mestre Escuro. I forgot what it felt like to be… this.” He did not finish the thought. He did not have to. His fingers resumed their slow careful work, rinsing the herbs from her hair with a gentle stream of water. The warmth of the bath seeped into his own skin, and for the first time in years, the constant, low-grade ache in his bones– the one that never went away, the one that lived beneath the black veins– seemed to quiet.

Luz leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Amelia’s neck, just above the waterline. “Thank you,” he murmured against her skin. “My pleasure,” she said softly then she turned to put her hand on his hand. “You do the same for me. Ever since my dad died, everyone in the village was treating me like a breeding mare…” his hand froze beneath hers. The warmth of the bath suddenly felt insufficient, unable to wash away the shill that settled in his chest at her words. His fingers tightened around hers, not with aggression, but with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “The did what?” His voice was low, dangerous– the tone of a commander addressing a breach of discipline, but the amber in his eyes burned with something much more personal.