“Enjoy the water while it’s fresh,” he said. “I’ll send for some clothes you can wear back to the palace.” Then he crossed the room to be as far as he could from the screened bath, busying himself with papers at a kneeling desk. I sucked in a breath. The only thing I wanted more than to leave that room was to be clean.

So I ducked behind the screen, peeked over it three times to make sure Zuri was staying away, and peeled off my soiled clothes. I kept on my mask and sunstone pendant, unwilling to part with them in such strange territory. Then I climbed into the tub.

It was pleasant at first. A selection of oils and ash soaps rested within reach on a stool, and leaves floated on the water. Lemongrass steam rose around my ears. But the longer I soaked, the thicker and redder the water became. I blinked, entranced by my arms and knees, dark brown hills in a sea of blood. The scene from the marketplace repeated in my head, only now it mixed with the night, when monsters tore an assassin apart. Then I was back in that palace hallway, Thaddace dead at my feet, and a child pointing, wailing, Empress Redemptor.

My heart slammed in my chest. I gripped the edges of the tub. I was naked in some stranger’s villa, and there was blood everywhere, and it was on my skin and in my hair and undead children hovered in every corner and in less than two years I was going to die and—

“Tarisai?” Zuri’s voice floated from beyond the screen. I realized then that my breaths were audible, coming in loud, hard sobs.

“L-Lady Empress to you,” I gasped, trying not thrash in the water. “And don’t you dare come in. I’m—”

I’m fine faltered on my lips. I had said those words to so many people. Even to myself, late at night, as my fingers trembled from writing notes and passing edicts. But the truth?

I hadn’t been fine in a very long time.

Zuri’s steps padded closer, and his shadow appeared near the screen. “You’re having an anxiety fit,” he said quietly. “It happens to some of my best men after missions go wrong. You feel like you can’t breathe, but you can.”

“Are you sure? I—”

“Work through it.” His voice was stern, which made me angry. To my surprise . . . that helped.

I hiccupped. “There’s so much blood.”

“Close your eyes. Wash as well as you can. Then get out of the tub and don’t look back.”

I gulped but followed his advice, feeling blindly for a soft lump of soap and scrubbing until my skin felt raw. Then I fumbled out of the tub, taking care not to slip on the damp stone floor, and donned a furry pelt robe that lay draped over the screen. It smelled of him—agave and spear polish.

“There’s probably still blood in my hair,” I muttered. “My attendants will have a lot of questions.”