Hot water luxury

The exhaustion hit like a blow the moment I sank into the impossibly soft mattress. The Citadel's hum, the lingering shock of the bond's sudden silence, the sheer weight of survival—it all folded over me like a lead blanket. I barely managed to kick off my boots before collapsing, pulling the dense wool blanket up to my chin. Lavender oil clung to the bedding like a whisper. That was the last thing I remembered. I didn't dream of wolves or mountains or blood. I simply… ceased.

— — — 

A light but insistent touch brushed my shoulders, "Iris."

I surfaced slowly, as if swimming through syrup. The unfamiliar stone ceiling loomed above me, cast in gold by the amber sconce on the wall. For a heartbeat, panic clamped down—Where am I? The mountain? But the soft texture of the blanket between my fingers grounded me. 

"Mmh?" I croaked into the pillow, barely coherent.

"It's time," Roan said. His voice was low, close. I blinked toward him and found him standing by my bed, already dressed in dark trousers and a simple, black, linen tunic. Our issued uniforms. His hair was still damp, his face freshly scrubbed, though he carried the same bone-deep weariness I felt. Just... slightly better disguised. Damn, he looked good. 

"The bell for orientation will ring soon. We need to eat."

I pushed up on my elbows, every limb dragging like lead but the crushing fatigue had receded, replaced by a hollow gnawing in my stomach. "How long…?"

"Long enough," he said with a ghost of a smile. "You slept like the dead. I did too—for a bit. Then I found the washroom down the hall." He gestured toward the door. "There's hot water. Real soap. Hurry. I'm starving."

Hot water.

That cut through the haze. I swung my legs over the edge, the stone floor cool beneath my feet, helping shake off the last clinging strands of sleep. My muscles ached from the climb and from sleeping so deeply, but the promise of soap and heat was a powerful lure. I grabbed the folded bundle of dark trousers and a soft black tunic that had appeared on the chest while I slept. It was simple and sturdy, bearing only the feabhas sigil. 

The washroom was a miracle—smooth tile underfoot, hot water flowing from cleverly hidden pipes into deep stone basins, and soap that smelled of pine and crushed herbs. Steam hung in the air, curling around the sconces and fogging the mirrors, softening everything into a hazy warmth. The chatter was low, voices tired but not unfriendly.

A few of my packmates from Feabhas were already there, some washing up, others moving slowly as they dressed. I recognized a girl named Tanya— she had been quiet during the descent, but with eyes like sharpened glass. She was toweling off her hair near the wall, her back straight and spine stiff like she wasn't sure how to not be alert here yet.

Near one of the benches, another girl struggled with her tunic, clearly caught in the sleeve. Her damp hair clung to her neck in loose coils, her movements jerky with frustration.

"Here," I said, stepping toward her. "You're inside-out."

She froze, then gave a sheepish little laugh. "I figured something was wrong when I couldn't find the neckline."

I helped her turn the tunic properly, then guided it over her arms and shoulders. Up close, she was breathtaking—delicate features framed by golden-brown curls, high cheekbones flushed from the steam. Her eyes were a pale, sea-glass green, a color I'd never seen before. Ethereal, almost. She looked like she belonged in one of those glass towers overlooking the spires, not down here with the rest of us.

"Thanks," she said, flashing a grateful smile. "I'm Mirele. From the coast, but I guess that doesn't matter much now."

"It matters," I said. "I'm Iris."

Her smile widened, then she bent to lace up her boots.

I took a final moment to rinse my face, letting the hot water sluice away the last of the mountain dust and blood. The tension in my shoulders finally loosened enough to let me breathe fully again. My reflection in the misted mirror didn't look like the girl who'd stood on the plateau—not entirely. There was more to her now. 

I dressed quickly after that. The uniform fit well—soft black tunic and dark trousers, plain but comfortable. I raked my fingers through my hair and twisted it back into a rough braid, glancing once more at the others as they finished getting ready. Some silent, some sharing tight smiles, some still visibly shaken. We were all strangers, but something in the shared silence made us feel closer than that. 

Then I stepped back into the corridor and the moment was gone. Roan was waiting when I came out, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much," I conceded, falling into step beside him.

The corridors were busier now. Other newly-bonded riders—some bleary-eyed, others scrubbed and bright—moved in small knots or pairs, all heading in the same direction. The scent of food grew stronger with each step, roasting meat, fresh bread, herbs. My stomach twisted in on itself.

The refectory was vast, a cavernous hall filled with the roar of conversation and the clatter of utensils. Long stone tables stretched in rows, packed with Bondeds. The air vibrated with a low hum of exhaustion, relief, and the tentative energy of new beginnings. I scanned the crowded tables, the sea of unfamiliar faces in identical dark clothing.

"Over here!" Marco's voice, louder than necessary, cut through the din. He waved wildly from a table near the far wall, practically bouncing on a bench. Zale sat beside him, looking more relaxed than I'd seen him since the plateau, his damp hair gleaming in the light from the high, narrow windows. A half-eaten chunk of bread was in his hand, and two steaming bowls sat waiting on the table before empty spots on the bench.

Roan and I weaved through the throng, squeezing onto the bench opposite Marco and Zale. I immediately reached for the bowl in front of me – a thick, hearty stew swimming with chunks of tender meat, root vegetables, and barley. The aroma alone was divine. A basket of crusty brown bread sat between us, alongside a pitcher of water and smaller pitchers of what looked like weak ale.

"Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty," Marco grinned, tearing off another piece of bread. "Thought we'd have to send a search party. Or just eat yours." He gestured with his bread towards Zale. "Serelune nearly dragged him here by the scruff. Metaphorically, obviously. Apparently, tracking down hot food is a core Lorgaire skill."

Zale rolled his eyes but didn't deny it, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth. "Priorities, Korvin. Survival first. Then sleep. Then more survival. Preferably involving stew." He swallowed, his gaze flicking to me, then Roan, his earlier tension from the courtyard seemingly gone, replaced by simple hunger. "You both look less like death."

Roan grunted, already attacking his stew with focused intensity. "Feel less like it too. Mostly." He glanced at me. "Eat. Before Marco actually does steal yours."

I didn't need telling twice. The first spoonful was pure bliss – rich, savory, warming me from the inside out. It was simple fare, but after weeks of dried venison, boiled bark, and gnawing hunger, it tasted like a king's feast. The bread was dense, chewy, and perfect for soaking up the broth.

"So," Marco leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice slightly despite the surrounding noise. "Nathair quarters are way too dark and quiet. Beta Rydeen materialized out of a shadow to tell us where to sleep, then vanished again. Didn't say ten words total. Very dramatic. Very… shadowy." He puffed out his chest slightly. "I think I'm going to fit right in."

Zale snorted. "Lorgaire's down near the kennels, apparently. Practical. Gamma Kora just pointed and said 'Bunks. Gear. Be ready.' Efficient." He took another bite. "Saw a few Leighis heading towards the eastern towers. Looked ....healer-ly? I guess."

"Feabhas is up high," I offered between spoonfuls, the warmth of the food finally starting to thaw the lingering chill of Kaelum's abrupt withdrawal. I kept the thought to myself. "Good view. Cael showed us the hall, refectory, then our quarters."

Zale blinked. "He did? Ours just took us to our bunks. Said, 'Don't be late,' and vanished."

"Really?" I asked, glancing between them.

Marco nodded, grinning. "Yup. Beta Cael seems cool though. Tall, quiet, gives off that serious-but-not-an-asshole vibe." 

I looked at Roan and we shared a look, but continued eating in easy silence for the next ten minutes, only Marco chewing our heads off.

Before he could launch into another theory about Nathair initiation rituals involving lockpicks and disappearing acts, a deep, resonant BOOM echoed through the vast hall. It wasn't deafening, but it vibrated in my chest, silencing every conversation instantly. The single strike of a massive bell, its source unseen but felt deep within the Citadel's stone bones.

Orientation. The twelve hours were up.

The comfortable warmth of the stew warred with a sudden coil of apprehension in my gut. The respite was over. The Orientation, as Beta Cael had called it, was about to begin. I pushed my bowl away, half-finished but suddenly unable to eat more. Around us, the others did the same, the easy camaraderie of shared food replaced by a shared tension. I saw Zale wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, Marco's playful grin fade into something more focused, and Roan's posture straightened.

The moment the bell's deep resonance faded, the refectory erupted into motion. Benches scraped stone as Bondeds surged towards the exits, the tentative peace shattered by the urgency of the summons. We flowed with the current, Zale and Roan flanking me, Marco already scanning the crowd ahead. As we stepped into the vast courtyard, the sheer chaos hit me. Bondeds milled in loose, shifting clusters – Kuzgun warriors stood rigid near the other end of the courtyard, Leighis healers gathered in quieter knots, Nathair lurked in the deeper shadows by the walls. There was no formation, no order. Just a sea of dark uniforms and wary faces under the Citadel's watchful gaze.

"Kaelum?" I pushed against the cold wall in my mind but was only rewarded with silence. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. I sighed, the sound lost in the courtyard's murmur. Fine. Be that way.

I turned, scanning the Feabhas group assembling near Beta Cael's dais. That's when a blur of movement caught my peripheral vision – a figure, with a flash on pink, weaving through the crowd with terrifying speed, heading straight for us. Dark braids whipped behind her, brown eyes blazing with fury fixed on something beside me. I barely had time to register her face before she was there.

CRACK.

The sound was sickeningly loud, cutting through the low hum of conversation. Zale's head snapped sideways, blood already blooming on his split lip, shock widening his eyes as he stumbled back a step.