“But—” Merlay seemed to gather herself “—our listeners should have picked up on you.”
“I never sang.”
Merlay’s eyebrows shot up. “Never?”
“Not until a few weeks ago.”
“Why not?”
“The man who took me in—he made me promise.”
Merlay’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”
“Because our village lord wouldn’t have left me alone if he’d known.” Lilette didn’t want to talk about Bian or her first betrothal. “Harshen told you our ship sank, but . . . why did you believe them?”
Merlay let out a long breath. “Even witches can die in fires, Lilette. We had no proof of foul play.”
A wastrel approached, scroll in hand. “Head Merlay, the others request your presence.”
Merlay sighed. “Very well.” The wastrel bowed and stepped back.
“How long will we be stuck here?” Lilette asked.
“For you, probably not long. Han is another story.” Merlay pointed down the hill. “Brine will have already sent a wastrel to alert the inner city guards that he is not to pass. Please send the word along. None of you want to be at the receiving end of Brine’s temper, trust me.”
Lilette pursed her lips and said nothing.
“I have more questions, but I’m afraid things are rather chaotic right now. I’ll send a wastrel to bring you to me sometime in the morning.” With that, Merlay started back to the pavilion.
Lilette stepped through the arched doorway. Inside was a pool of turquoise water. Steam dewed against her skin, making her feel the grit of her journey more keenly.
Jolin was already in the water, her dress neatly folded on a long shelf. “No wonder you forgot,” she said softly. “I would have wanted to forget too.”
Lilette didn’t want to talk about it. She stripped off her clothes and dropped them on the floor with the pendant and her comb on top. “Merlay seems a little young to be in such a powerful position.”
Jolin looked away. “She became a Head of Light at twenty.”
“Really?”
“Heads of Light are always young. The Creators choose them by gifting a keeper with the strongest song of any woman alive. Heads of Plants are usually older—it takes years to gain that kind of proficiency with potions. The Head of Earth is the one with the strongest witch sense—usually a listener. And Head of Water is chosen because of her brilliant military tactics—she’s usually the oldest of them all.”
“What about what’s best for the elements and the people? Who represents them?”
Jolin looked at Lilette as if she was daft. Deciding to let it go, Lilette stepped into the water. It was so hot she had to ease into it, but once she adjusted, her muscles relaxed. The dirt caked into her pores finally came free. She found a cache of soaps and scrubbed herself three times before she felt completely clean. A serving woman came in and took Lilette’s and Jolin’s salt-crusted clothes, leaving the pendant on the shelf. Jolin explained that the clothes were being taken to be washed.
Lilette floated in the water, her hair curling around her head like the steam from a cup. Her palms grew as wrinkled as the surface of the ocean, her skin as pale as a fish’s underbelly. As darkness fell, a woman dressed in gray came and lit lamps along the walls.
Floating in the water reminded Lilette of home. She missed the ocean, her fishing vessel beneath her, a pod of dolphins leaping in pace with her bow, the gritty feel of salt on her cheeks. She missed Fa’s steady, quiet presence, and falling asleep to the sound of rushing waves.
Through the water, she heard someone speaking. Tucking her legs under her, she sat up. A woman stood at the edge of the pool, towels in hand. “I’m to show you to your tree, keepers.”
Lilette stood, water sluicing down her skin. Jolin still floated, half asleep. “Jolin.” When she didn’t respond, Lilette splashed her. “Jolin!”
Jolin sputtered as she stood up, rubbing water from her eyes. She glared at Lilette before noticing the wastrel. “Time to go already?”
They climbed out of the water. The woman handed them green dresses in a plush material with embossed filigree patterns. Lilette scowled at the dress, but they hadn’t returned her tunic and trousers so she had no choice but to put the dress on. Next she donned the stockings and lace-up boots.
Wet hair clinging to her face, she stared at the pendant and considered leaving it there. But she remembered what Han had told her—how this pendant had been in his family for generations. It was part of Harshen’s history. It was part of Lilette’s home.
She froze. She’d never thought of Harshen as home, but it had shaped her. It was part of her. She picked the pendant up, staring into its amber depths before slipping it on and tucking it inside her dress.