“I’m not going anywhere quickly. What I’m doing is taking a bath.” I scratched an itching ear. “What are you doing here? I mean, didn’t you rent two rooms for the express purpose of being apart?”
Del ignored the gibe. “I brought you some clothes,” she said, and dumped out the bundle she carried.
I tried to straighten; couldn’t. “What clothes?” I asked suspiciously, envisioning more wool. “What have you done, Del?”
“I bought supplies,” she answered. “Including Southron garb. Dhoti—here—and burnous. See?”
I saw. Suede dhoti, as mentioned, a russet-colored robe with leather belt, and a dull orange silk burnous to wear over it all. Also a pair of soft leather riding boots. “How do you know my size?”
“I know you snore, I know you drink, I know you like cantina girls … I know many things about you.” Del allowed the silk to slide out of her hand. “You’re going to shave, aren’t you?”
“I’d planned on it, yes. Why? Do you want me to keep all this hair?”
She tipped her head to one side. “You’ve worn a beard for so long I’ve forgotten what you look like without one.”
“Too long,” I muttered. “Too much time, too much hair, too much wool.” I tried to reposition myself in the cask, barked my shin on sharp wood. “I thought you said you had no money. How did you buy all this stuff?”
“I told them you would pay.” Del shrugged elegantly as I sputtered a protest. “The shopkeepers know you, Tiger. They are honored by your business. They said they would be most happy to wait for you to pay them—so long as it was later today.”
“I don’t exactly have a whole lot of money, bascha … and less, now, than before.” I crammed buttocks against wood, hissed as a splinter bit. “You can’t go all over Harquhal promising people coin in my name. I might not have any.”
Del shrugged. “I’m sure you can win more. Other sword-dancers are arriving daily … I think most if not all of them would be happy to meet the Sandtiger in a circle.”
“I’m in no shape to meet anyone in a—ouch.” I swore, worked a splinter free, shifted position. Eventually pulled my legs out and draped them over the rim. Cooling water sloshed across my belly.
Del surveyed my posture. “You’re dripping water on the floor.”
“I can’t help it—my knees were cramping up.” More comfortable now, I ran a string of brown soap across my chest, loosening wool-bound hair. “So, you think we can win some coin, do you? Even though we’re both out of condition?”
“We wouldn’t be out of condition if you’d get in a circle.” Del smiled blandly. “I’ve asked you how many times?”
“No.” I scrubbed more vigorously and snagged a hair beneath a fingernail, snapping it right out of my chest. “Ouch—Del, do you mind? Can I have my bath in private?”
She stood up, slid out of her harness, set Boreal on the bed. “If you’re going to shave,” she said, “let me do it. You’ll cut your own throat.”
“Never have before … and I’ve been shaving this face longer than you’ve been alive.”
Del lifted one shoulder. “I used to shave my father. He wasn’t much older than you.” Without my permission—and ignoring my muttered oath—she came over to the stool beside the cask and picked up my knife, freshly honed to scrape a jaw clean of beard. “Soap your face,” she suggested.
Hoolies, it’s not worth arguing … I dutifully lathered up, then tipped my head back as ordered. Tried not to screw up my face as Del set blade to flesh.
“Hold still, Tiger.” Then, as I held still, “Do these scars hurt any more?”
“The sandtiger scars? No, not any more. Not for a long time.” I paused. “But if you cut them, I think they might.”
“I’m not going to cut them.” Del sounded absent-minded as she concentrated on shaving between the claw welts, which didn’t go far toward making me feel any safer. “They’re getting whiter and thinner with age,” she observed. “But they must have hurt badly when the cat first striped you.”
“Like hoolies,” I agreed. “Then again, I was in no shape to really notice. He got me other places, too, and his claws weren’t budded. The poison made me pretty sick for a couple of weeks. I was lucky to survive.”
“Which you did because of Sula.”
Yes, because of Sula. Because of the Salset woman who wouldn’t let me die. She had gone against the suggestion of the shukar and the rest of the tribe that the troublesome chula be allowed to die. Because they all knew that in killing the sandtiger, I’d also gained my freedom.