Chapter 13: The Weight of Waiting
Lyria's POV
I clenched my fist at my side.
The sting of Kyia's shove still lingered faintly in my shoulder, but I kept my head lowered and my expression carefully empty. Silence had always been safer than dignity in this room.
I bowed to Jacinta.
"I will do as you say, Your Highness," I said quietly.
Then I stepped toward the washstand and reached for the basin.
The porcelain was warm against my palm. It was still burning hot. I wasn't even surprised that Jacinta had lied… I knew already that she had.
I didn't say anything, though. I just lifted the basin with both hands, steadying it against my forearms as I turned toward the door.
"Your Highness," I said again, because it was required of me.
I had taken no more than three steps when her voice drifted after me, soft and leisurely.
"Lyria."
I stopped at once.
"Yes, Your Highness."
She was still standing beside the washstand, her finger resting delicately upon its edge, her eyes bright with a lazy, deliberate cruelty.
"It would be far better if you heated the water again," she said lightly. "Properly this time. You ought not to go to the kitchens and return with something that has merely been left sitting in their kettles."
Kyia's mouth curved faintly.
I swallowed.
The heat from the basin seeped deeper into my skin.
"Yes, Your Highness."
I bowed once more and left the chamber.
The guards opened the door without a word.
The door closed behind me with the soft finality of polished oak.
Only then did I allow myself to breathe properly.
I hated this place.
Its walls and long windows made every step feel exposed, as though even the light had been arranged to watch me pass.
Still, there was one small mercy in Jacinta's command.
At least now she would soon be bathing and dressing for her suitors.
At least she would be too occupied to summon me again and again for invented faults and imagined delays.
I carried the basin straight toward the kitchens.
The weight of it grew heavier with every turn I took.
Heat reached me before sound did—thick and alive, heavy with steam, grease, bread, and spiced broth.
The kitchens were already in full motion compared to when I had first been here earlier in the morning.
Great iron ranges burned along the far wall, their mouths glowing red behind blackened grates. Copper pots hung in ordered ranks above broad preparation tables, and the floor rang with hurried footsteps and the dull thud of cleavers against wood.
No one spoke to me when I entered, but I didn't care. The only one who ever spoke to me was the cook, and that was to give me tasks to do—but at this time of day, he had no control over me.
I moved toward the side hearth where water was usually heated for upper servants and chambers.
The larger copper boilers were kept simmering from dawn in the wash-house adjoining the kitchens. From them, water was drawn by ladle into basins and carried where needed.
But Jacinta had not asked for fresh water from the boilers.
She had ordered me to heat the water in the basin again.
I set the basin down upon the counter close to me and retrieved a clean kettle from beneath the shelf. With practiced hands, I poured the water from the basin into it, careful not to spill a single drop.
The heat rose against my face as I lifted it.
The water did not need reheating.
It needed nothing at all.
Still, I carried the kettle to the side range and adjusted the iron damper to feed the flame. The fire flared brighter beneath the blackened grate.
I placed the kettle upon the trivet.
Steam curled almost at once.
Around me, the kitchens moved on.
Loaves were slid into brick ovens.
A boy hurried past with a basket of eggs held to his chest.
A scullery maid scrubbed at a long table with such force that her knuckles shone pink.
I kept my eyes on the kettle, though.
It sang faintly as the water grew hotter.
The water had already reached its proper heat, but I remained where I was, my hands folded before me, my posture composed, my face calm.
Jacinta had sent me away.
If I returned too quickly, she would invent another fault and perhaps claim that I hadn't done as she instructed.
So I chose to stay and wait for a while.
The door to the kitchens opened abruptly.
One of the maids who had entered Jacinta's chambers earlier hurried inside, skirts gathered in one hand.
"The princess requests water for her bath," she announced breathlessly.
The head cook did not even look up from the carving table.
"Draw from the boiler," he said shortly. "And be quick about it."
At once, one of the junior staff fetched a large basin and carried it to the adjoining wash-house. I watched as steaming water was ladled from the great copper boiler and poured into it until the basin brimmed.
The maid lifted it and turned back toward the corridor at a careful, hurried pace.
I nearly laughed.
The sound caught painfully in my throat.
"Why am I not surprised?" I asked myself with a shake of my head.
Jacinta had known, even before I left the chamber, that she would send another maid after me.
My kettle whispered softly on the fire. But I waited.
When the moment finally seemed sufficient—when the kitchen bell rang twice to signal the removal of the first breakfast trays—I lifted the kettle and poured the water back into the basin.
When I was done, I steadied the basin and turned toward the door.
I wove between the tables and benches, silent and precise, and left the kitchens as quietly as I had entered.
The guards opened the door to Jacinta's chambers immediately after I got there, and without comment.
Inside, the room no longer looked as it had when I left it.
The bed had been cleared.
The breakfast trays were gone.
Jacinta stood before the tall dressing mirror, her back straight, her arms lifted as two maids worked deftly at the fastenings of her gown.
Her hair had been brushed and partially arranged, pinned high with ivory combs that caught the light.
Silk lay pooled around her feet.
Kyia stood near the mirror, overseeing every movement.
I stepped inside and bowed.
Before I could speak, Kyia's sharp voice cut across the room.
"Is this how one behaves when one is employed in the service of Her Highness?"
I remained bowed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You are so slow," Kyia said coolly. "So astonishingly slow that Her Highness was forced to send another maid to fetch bathing water."
We all know that's a lie.
"I am sorry," I said quietly.
I bowed again.
From the mirror, Jacinta finally glanced toward me.
Her gaze slid over my face and settled briefly on the basin in my hands.
"I have already bathed," she said. "Since you are so late, Lyria, you may stand there with the water while I finish dressing."
Kyia drew in a delighted breath.
"Your Highness is most thoughtful," she said warmly. "That is an excellent correction."
I lowered my head.
"Yes, Your Highness."
I stepped forward and stopped exactly where Kyia indicated with a small flick of her fingers—beside the tall wardrobe, near the edge of the carpet, far enough from the mirror not to intrude upon Jacinta's reflection.
I stood still as the basin grew heavier in my arms.
The heat pressed steadily into my palms and forearms, a slow, patient burn.
Jacinta turned her attention back to her reflection.
The maids adjusted the fall of her sleeves and smoothed the bodice into place.
Every movement was careful and reverent, as though her body were something sacred and fragile.
I watched the floor as the ache in my hands deepened, but I wasn't going to let Jacinta know.