Chapter 06: Serr fei'ali'ine

Status: First Draft
Last Edited: Nov. 9th, 2025
Content Warnings: Fantasy Violence, Suggestive Content, Strong Language, Domestic Abuse,

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Homophobia, Drowning

Chapter 6

The morning was an overcast one. The autumn chill in the air was undeniable, the clouds above heavy with rain that could threaten to flood the banks of the Elerhem.

Kalolin’s first responsibility of the day was to get Ainjrejeu’s hair back into the neat, practical braid of the day before. She was grateful that he had, at least, allowed her to re-don her amber outfit, as a knock came at the door.

“Enter,” Ainjrejeu called.

The door creaked open and Miar stepped inside, using her hip to close the door behind her. She was carrying a fresh, steaming kettle from the kitchen downstairs. She filled the washbasin with steaming water before adding tea leaves to the kettle itself.

“How are you fairing?” Miar turned to Kalolin.

“I am not fairing.” Kalolin huffed. “This is unfair and unjust,” she grunted as she pulled the comb through the hair again, desperately resettling it into three even segments.

Miar smiled at her and took the comb from her hand gently. She dipped it in the warm water of the washbasin before handing it back.

Kalolin ran the comb through Ainjrejeu’s hair again. It absorbed some of the water and began to lie down flat. With some luck, she was finally able to get it into a semblance of a braid.

Miar examined Kalolin’s handiwork, seemingly pleased. Suddenly, she frowned and leaned forward, bringing her face to the top of Ainjrejeu’s head. “You stink.”

“I don’t stink,” he protested, crossing his arms and pulling his legs up onto the bed to cross them under him, too.

“Lylia, tell him that he stinks,” said Miar.

“If my patron declares that he does not stink, I’m afraid it is my duty to agree with him,” replied Kalolin calmly.

“Then don’t say anything and just take a whiff.”

Kalolin stopped playing with the end of Ainjrejeu’s braid and leaned in closer to him, taking a deep breath. The cinnamony smell of him made her feel lightheaded. If there was a damp undertone, she couldn’t detect it.

“He doesn’t stink,” she asserted.

Miar stepped to the side and leaned over Kalolin. “No wonder. You smell even worse of pond muck than he does.” She wrinkled her nose. “We’ll have to stop by the bathhouse today.”

Ainjrejeu’s copper eyebrows shot up. “That isn’t in the itinerary.”

“Then add it,” said Miar, her hand on her hip. “We’re going.”

The overcast sky kept the streets emptier than they had been the day before, allowing them to move freely through the town. At Ainjrejeu’s instruction, the group had split up to complete the last of their errands, with plans to meet at the bathhouse as their final stop before departure. Kalolin accompanied him on his own errand, as did Kalem, despite Ainjrejeu’s protests.

The streets were narrower than those in Hanzo, built for pedestrians and not wagons. In spite of Ainjrejeu’s eager pace, Kalolin kept stopping to peer into the small shop windows they passed, gawking at the merchandise inside.

“Your shoes are still perfectly serviceable,” he huffed as she slowed beside a cobbler’s shop with a pair of shutters open to show the cobbler at work inside.

“I know,” protested Kalolin. “I’m just stall-strolling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know,” Kalolin caught up to him, “looking at things even though you have no intent to buy them.”

“Of course,” Ainjrejeu stood up straighter and clasped his hands together behind his back. Kalolin was starting to read his stiff confidence as defensive.

“It is always important to stay abreast of local trade,” he said as he resumed walking.

“Not like that.” Kalolin rolled her eyes, falling into step beside him. “Just looking at things for fun. Especially when you can’t afford to buy anything anyway. But I suppose you don’t know what that’s like.”

“I do not,” he agreed.

“Being poor, or having fun?” Kalem teased from a few steps in front of them.

Ainjrejeu opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort when his foot caught on an uneven cobblestone and he stumbled forward, catching his balance awkwardly after a few steps.

Kalolin covered her face with her hands but still let out an audible snort of laughter.

Ainjrejeu took one more step that might have been to confirm he was now steady, but looked more like a stomp of the foot. “You are awfully out of standing today, dog.”

“I’m sorry.” Kalolin took a deep breath to stop her laughing.

“My apologies, sehr,” corrected Ainjrejeu. “You’d think you’d have learned your lesson after last night.”

“My lesson?” Kalolin raised an eyebrow incredulously. “I’m afraid all I learned was that you take a sick, twisted delight in coming up with new punishments. I might as well give you a good excuse to do so, sehr.”

“Well,” said Ainjrejeu darkly. “In that case, I appreciate you being so accommodating to me.”

Kalolin could hear the threat in his voice, even without knowing exactly what was being threatened.

He led them to a narrow, lilac painted building tucked tightly between two larger ones. It wasn’t obvious what kind of shop it was from the street, but Ainjrejeu ushered the others in confidently. Open shutters at the front and back of the building cast a continuous corridor of sunlight through the length of the building. Large bolts of cloth lined the left-hand wall, with mirrors, fitting mannequins, and wide tables on the right.

A young, black-haired woman was seated, cross-legged, on top of one of the tables, hunched over two fabric panels in her lap. She looked up at them and turned to call out over her shoulder.

“Mother!” She looked down and returned to her work.

An older woman with graying hair came swiftly down the stairs from the upper floor to greet them.

“Welcome, welcome!” she said with characteristic Setsuza’oan cheer. She wore a cream and white ensemble, its fine workmanship in contrast with its simple design.

“I’m Eimi Feurensoa. What can I help you with today?”

Ainjrejeu stepped forward and bowed his head respectfully. Kalolin nearly jumped, startled by the unbefitting deference.

“Greetings, Feurensoa Laishem,” he said. “Bwlanke Laisheulaim is in need of a new outfit, but we do not have much time left in Setsuza’oa-gal. I have heard that your shop has a unique method of tailoring new garments in a short time, so we have come to you.”

In Hanzo, the term he’d used was pronounced Lwaixheulaim, though Kalolin had never heard anyone use it seriously. As she understood it, it was pretty close to the Northern term ‘Princess.’

“You heard correctly, Gaichem,” the woman somehow managed to brighten even more. “My husband was an eccentric man and was particularly interested in making his tailoring process as efficient as possible. I’ve done my best to continue his work.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Ainjrejeu.

“So you own this shop?” Kalem asked.

“Yes?” the woman replied, unsure why he was asking.

Kalolin cleared her throat. “We are short on time,” she interrupted.

“Of course, Laichem,” Eimi seemed glad of the opportunity to change the subject. She led the trio up the stairs to the second floor. It looked less like the clothing shop below and more like a library, with shelves, drawers, and cabinets filling the space.

“Everything here has been prepared from modifications of a few basic patterns,” the clothier explained. “The fabric is precut into panels in a range of sizes that can be combined to create a unique piece in only the time it takes to sew the seams.” She opened a tall cabinet to reveal an array of white, skirt-shaped pieces of fabric hung up by clothespins in a neat row. They were identical in all but length.

“Simply choose the fabric you desire, then we can take your measurements and put everything together.”

“Remarkable,” Ainjrejeu breathed, opening a drawer full of wide, black sleeves. "I am ever impressed by the Fenlander dedication to efficiency."

“Thank you,” the woman bowed her head. “I used to find my husband’s method to be a little...excessive. But if you need speed, it does work.”

“I see that the patterns chosen are all quite loose fitting,” he said. “This allows for a generous tolerance between sizes. For certain patterns, you could get stuck cutting infinite variations to account for all measurements. I wonder…” he whispered to himself. “With enough data collection, could you determine the most common combinations of measurements and narrow the number of sizes down to a reasonable selection even for more complicated garments?”

The creaking of the narrow, turning staircase signaled a newcomer to the second floor. A lanky young man, who bore striking resemblance to both Eimi and her daughter, stopped at the top of the staircase.

“I’m back, Mother,” he said. “I’ve brought more of the white buttons. They’ll have more of the green in a few days.”

There was a clatter as Ainjrejeu stumbled into a wooden rack of colorful sashes. Kalem grabbed him by a shoulder roughly, steadying him. “Re-hinge your jaw, gelkhi,” he whispered.

“Feel free to take a look at everything,” said Eimi. “I’ll be just downstairs when you’re ready to take measurements.” She waved her son ahead of her down the stairs.

Kalem let out a whistle once they were out of earshot. “Y’know what they say about widows…the colder the grave, the warmer the bedclothes.”

Kalolin made an audible retching noise. “Ur forbid a woman age peacefully outside the clutches of a man.”

“It’s all well and good to grieve,” said Kalem, “but eventually it’s time to move on and remarry.”

“A woman can do perfectly well without a husband,” Kalolin argued.

“So marriage is for the benefit of men, is it?” Ainjrejeu asked calmly, examining a cabinet of vibrant skirt panels.

“Yes, of course,” said Kalolin. “Why else is it always the men courting the women?”

“Always?” he shot her a pointed glance.

“Mostly,” she replied under her breath.

Kalem folded his arms across his chest. “That’s khet. Plenty of unmarried men live fulfilling lives, but widows and old maids are always the most miserable hags.”

Ainjrejeu burst into laughter. “How quick you Tarshti’il are to forget your own history.” He waved Kalolin over to him and began to hold up different fabrics against her bare arm.

Kalem sighed. “I’m not in the mood for a history lecture.”

“An age ago, when Sarnai was the seat of the Khandin Empire,” Ainjrejeu spoke as though the words were poetry. “One of the three rulers of the Empire was always a High Priestess. She and her priestesses were forbidden from marrying for fear that being tied to a man would diminish their power. Unmarried Sarnain women are miserable only because their power is now diminished by the law itself.”

“It is quite a shock to Kalem,” he added directly to Kalolin, “to see a widow do anything other than beg on the streets or seek a husband. In Sarnai, it’s illegal for women to work outside of the employ of a man, and once a woman is married, she can only work under the employ of her husband, even after he has passed.”

Kalolin blanched. “Treated worse than livestock.”

“Not quite,” Ainjrejeu grimaced and tugged a little at the scarf covering his hair.

“That law just helps avoid conflicts of interest,” Kalem waved a hand dismissively.

Ainjrejeu shrugged uncomfortably. "It's the real reason Miar's been dragging her feet," he added, as though the thought came to him suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" Kalem furrowed his dark brow.

"Tareuk and Miar's vijai," Ainjrejeu rolled his eyes as though it was obvious. "Once it's official, I'll have to terminate her contract."

Kalem sighed and nodded. "And she's worried it will change things."

"It will change things," Ainjrejeu conceded. "She'll be Tareuk's wife. She'll be around but she'll need to be looking after him, and not us."

"Nykol said you would be happy for them, but Miar didn't believe her," Kalolin interjected, careful not to weigh in on either side.

"Of course I'm happy for them," Ainjrejeu blinked in surprise. "I've already written Auntie Zira to invite her to the wedding."

"Zira?” Kalem gasped. “Will she even be allowed to set foot on the estate?"

"I'll personally escort her from the docks if I have to," replied Ainjrejeu confidently. "You can't expect her to miss her sister's wedding."

"I can if she ends up spending the whole thing in jail."

"It won't come to that," Ainjrejeu shook his head. "I just wish Miar would hurry and settle on a date so I could start figuring out any logistical snags."

"Such as smuggling a wanted criminal through the city," said Kalem, baffled.

"Do you think I haven't done so before?" Ainjrejeu purred.

"That’s a story," Kalolin sidled up next to him and he handed her a couple woven fabrics to compare.

"Oh, I bet you’re just the kind of ill-mannered woman to appreciate it," he smirked before dropping his voice into a whisper. "But it's not a tale I can share within earshot of anyone so... uptight," he gestured with his thumb to Kalem behind him. "Have you made a decision?” he said, again at normal volume.

“Me?” Kalolin raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking what I’d like?”

Ainjrejeu blinked for a couple seconds. “What an incredibly out of standing assumption. You certainly haven’t earned any sort of favor,” he frowned. “On the contrary, you deserve to stripped down and flogged, but I'm afraid I still need you to look presentable when we are in public.” He headed down the stairs and gestured for her to follow. “Let’s go get you measured.”

The clothier looked up as they descended the stairs. “Ah, good.” She handed the fabric in her hands to her son and pulled a sewing tape down from a peg on the wall before leading Kalolin to behind a folding screen. Silently, Ainjrejeu followed.

“Oh, Gaichem,” the clothier tried not to frown too hard. “You can wait at one of the tables. This will not take long.”

“No, I’d better not...” Ainjrejeu shook his head. “It’s my responsibility to make sure all Laisheulaim’s needs are met,” he added.

The woman looked to Kalolin.

Kalolin froze for an instant, faced with a pernicious test. Should she play along, or should she avoid lying, based on how it had upset Ainjrejeu prior? Is there some way I can do both? she thought.

She blurted out the first words in her head. “It’s fine. He is a very good boy.”

Only somewhat off-balanced by the confirmation, the woman handed the end of the sewing tape to Ainjrejeu and they got to work. On his knees, the dark, wine-red flush of his ears was even more apparent.

Measuring the length of her leg, the woman brought the tape down to Kalolin’s ankle and Ainjrejeu clamped the near end to her side. One of his hands rested against her hip, the other pressed against the bare skin of her thigh inside the slit of her skirt.

It should have made her skin crawl. With his fiery hair hidden, he could have been indistinguishable from any number of sleazy Sarnain traders at the market in Hanzo who didn't know how to take 'no' for an answer. Hex, he was almost indistinguishable from Kalem, whose gaze alone made her nauseous.

Ainjrejeu'd proven to be childish, and cruel, and violent, as expected. But she still didn't feel the urge to flinch away. His hand moved, wrapping around the inside of her thigh and applying gentle pressure. It felt like her heart was being pulled apart inside her chest, as though one side of her heart had started racing and the other stopped completely.

The clothier was scribbling measurements down in a small, leather-bound book. Kalolin stole a glance down at Ainjrejeu and found, somewhat disappointingly, that he appeared to be holding onto her leg for support.

“Surely you can’t fall over when you’re already so close to the floor,” Kalolin teased.

As if to spite her, Ainjrejeu almost fell over, and had to grab on to her tighter. “Sorry,” he looked up at her, chagrined.

Unable to stay disappointed, Kalolin covered a laugh with her hand. “You look exceptionally cute from this angle,” she said. Even she was surprised by how much she meant it, and by the heat that was radiating up her thigh from where Ainjrejeu held her.

His eyes grew extra wide and the flush was no longer restricted to his ears. Then he sneezed. It was a furious, but somehow mousy sound. He sneezed again, and again, until he had to pull his arm away from her and brace himself against the floor.

The sight was too much for Kalolin, and she covered her whole face with her hands in a feeble attempt to contain her laughter.

“Are you alright, Gaichem?” Eimi put a hand on Ainjrejeu’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he struggled to his feet, waving his hand in front of his face. “Just, uh...particularly sensitive to smells.”

The clothier helped Ainjrejeu pick out panels in Kalolin’s size, and together they drafted a plan for a wide-sleeved red blouse, a long, black skirt with a pattern of red flowers on either side, and a short, black wool vest for warmth in the coming winter. With it roughly pinned together, Eimi had Kalolin try it on for adjustments.

Once redressed in Miar’s clothes, she slipped out from the behind the paper screen to find Kalem in a jaunty lean against the sewing table, the unamused look on Eimi’s daughter’s face making the nature of the conversation clear.

Ainjrejeu had wandered past them and stopped in a shadowy corner of the room, beside something that had caught his eye. Kalolin joined him and watched as he ran a finger delicately over an embroidered shawl, hung on an old metal hanger. A tiny cloud of dust rose where his finger touched the colorful threaded images. After a moment Kalolin was able to recognize them as a rainbow of Setsuza’oan flowers.

“It’s lovely,” she breathed. Ainjrejeu remained silent for long enough that Kalolin waved a hand in front of his face playfully. When he did not respond even to that, her face fell into a frown.

“Ainjrejeu?” she said. “Sehr?” Concern grew in her voice.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Er, you startled me,” he scolded. He pulled the ends of the embroidered fabric apart to show off the pattern. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Yes…” she replied, taking a moment to put her concerns aside.

He unwrapped the shawl carefully from its hanger and draped it across her shoulders before taking a step back. “Serr fei'ali’ine,” he breathed.

Eimi approached from behind them.

“This is a very beautiful piece,” Ainjrejeu turned to her.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “It took my husband many months to make. There is only one other like it—made for our daughter’s future wedding.”

“Is it not for sale?”

“For the right price,” answered the clothier. “But it did take my husband many months to make.” Her tone was apologetic.

Ainjrejeu studied Kalolin with eyes that were not his own, eyes that seemed unable to see her. Even as he shifted his weight he moved unlike himself, his motions seeming to put unnatural strain on his joints. An icy chill ran down Kalolin’s spine.

“Price is no object,” said Ainjrejeu, his voice barely recognizable. “I am denied nothing.”

“So much for trying to be inconspicuous,” laughed Kalem, hands in his pockets as they strolled down the road to the bathhouse. “‘Price is no object’ practically translates to ‘It is I, Heir Kaelkarim.’”

“Sorry,” Ainjrejeu grimaced. “Had a bit of a mask-slip myself, there.”

His eyes were his own again, but Kalolin still lingered a couple paces behind him.

The wide street was lined with trees laden with reddish, ripe persimmons. Their sweet scent in the air was slowly replaced by the wet, mineral smell of the bathhouse.

It was a square, old building, with a sturdy stone foundation that came up to Kalolin's shoulders. Heavy beams of dark wood crisscrossed the outside of the walls, supporting the intimidating bulk of the building. Steam wafted into the air through vents in the roof.

They were the last ones to arrive, the others speaking cheerfully with one another at the side of the street.

Together they climbed the stone stairs at the front of the building and passed through a pair of wooden doors propped open at the entrance. Just inside, a young woman manned a counter where she accepted payment and handed out towels. She had dark hair and eyes like Kalolin's, but her face was elegant and angular.

"Have you been here before, Gaishem?" she addressed Tareuk, his tall form and commanding demeanor unmistakable (he was also the only one who had pulled out his coin purse). While the young woman explained the rules of the bath house to Tareuk, Kalolin moved to join Miar and Nykol near the women’s side of the bathhouse. Ainjrejeu caught her by the wrist.

“Do you seek to shirk your duties, Lylia?”

“Of course not, sehr.” She stopped and stood restlessly beside him. “I was getting used to Laisheulaim,” she muttered under her breath.

Sensing her discomfort, Miar moved in beside her. “Would you like me to accompany you?" she whispered in Kalolin’s ear.

"I'll be fine," Kalolin said. "It's just soap and water, and...nakedness. What could go wrong?"

"Of course," Miar smiled back at her. "A word of advice, if you really are dedicated to this role..." She chose her words carefully. "If you happen to slip and fall, mind that you aim for Ainjrejeu and not Kalem, alright?"

Kalolin frowned quizzically, but Miar simply patted her on the shoulder before heading with Nykol to the sliding door on the right side of the entryway.

Kalolin followed the men to an opposing door on the left wall. It slid open, revealing a changing room with a wall of wooden lockers. A narrow hallway led away from the room into the baths. Kalolin did her best to keep her eyes to herself. It wasn’t too difficult, being more worried about others’ eyes on her. She stood beside Ainjrejeu, keep him between herself and the three other men.

He had just placed his boots in a locker when he paused. “I don’t suppose we’ll have the bath to ourselves?” he asked Tareuk.

“At this time of the morning?” Tareuk raised a dark eyebrow. “Not likely.”

“Hex, I give up,” sighed Ainjrejeu. He untied the scarf from his hair, tucked it into the locker, and finished undressing. Kalolin stored her yellow, silk clothes in the locker below his and kept her arms proudly at her sides, despite the urge to cover her chest, as she walked behind him down the hallway into the baths.

The wood floor was replaced by blue and white patterned tile as the hallway opened up into a high-ceilinged room. To one side, a row of metal faucets were spaced evenly along the dividing wall which stood halfway to the ceiling, separating this half of the bath from the women’s half on the other side. The undersides of angled steam vents were visible in the ceiling above.

The men made their way to the short stools underneath the faucets and hung their towels on the hooks beside them before they began to clean themselves. Kalolin stood behind Ainjrejeu and busied herself undoing his braid (though she had practically just done it) while he used the faucet to fill a wooden bucket with a few inches of water. He wet a bar of soap with it, and began to wash the rest of his body.

Hakim had just finished recounting all of the times he had fallen off a horse, and all the injuries he’d sustained, when a tall, gangling workman padded loudly out onto the tile. He sat himself down on the stool beside Tareuk, and started his bath with a quick, cold rinse. He nodded and smiled toward the group of Sarnains, and Tareuk nodded back courteously.
“Visiting town?” the man began making conversation. He had a thick Fenlander accent, even to Kalolin’s ears, each syllable chipperly emphasized.

“Yes,” Tareuk forced a friendly smile.

“Where from?”

“Sarnai,” answered Tareuk.

“Oh, wow, sehr,” the man said the word like it was funny. Tareuk avoided eye contact, and said nothing in response.

After a few second of silence the man spoke again. "Wow, you've got yourself one of those Benni boys! Is it true what they say about them?" he asked. "Didn't know they came in that color," he added to himself.

"Don't believe everything you hear," Ainjrejeu purred from the other end of the row. The tone made Kalolin's spine tingle. "I'm better with my teeth than I am with my tongue." He snapped his teeth together with a painful clack.

“Didn’t know they spoke Khandin, either,” the man muttered under his breath. He did a hurried job of scrubbing himself down before he rinsed again and practically scurried off to the hot bath.

“Sorry, sehr,” said Tareuk quietly once the man was out of ear shot. “I should have said something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ainjrejeu. It came out as a command rather than a reassurance. “I’m used to it.” Kalolin was attempting to work the soap through his thick hair down to his scalp, and could feel the tension in his skull under her fingers.

“You could do to be a little less use to it,” frowned Kalem. “One of these days you’ll have to let us beat the khet out of a guy like that.”

“Are you saying you’ve never beat the khet out of someone on my behalf?” Ainjrejeu raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Not that there’s evidence of,” smirked Kalem.

“I’m very thorough,” added Tareuk quietly.

Kalolin was still washing Ainjrejeu’s hair even after he was done washing the rest of him. The other men had finished washing up and moved to the hot bath at the far end of the room, though Tareuk had chosen a spot where he could keep an eye on Ainjrejeu. The Fenlander man said something to the older man who had been in the bath since they arrived, and they both stood and existed the room, leaving the three Sarnains alone in the bath.

Kalolin stepped around in front of Ainjrejeu to get a better angle for cleaning the front of his head. To keep her arms comfortable, she bent slightly forward at the waist, hovering above him. He moved a little toward her. She thought he was doing it to be helpful.

Then, Kalolin cried out and almost fell forward into him, icy cold water raining down from the faucet behind her. It only lasted a few seconds but left her gasping against the cold. Putting a hand on each of his shoulders, she steadied herself. His arm was reaching past her, holding the knob that controlled the flow of water.

She wiped her newly wet hair out of her eyes. Ainjrejeu was looking up at her with a bright smile, though cold water ran down his face and sparkled in his long lashes. "There was soap in my eyes," he said.

Shivering, she stepped aside, allowing him to turn the faucet back on. It took some time for the water to rinse all of the soap from his long hair, plastered against his back all the way to his hips. Kalolin borrowed his soap to clean herself while she waited.

Ainjrejeu left to warm himself in the hot bath, taking a seat between Tareuk and Kalem in the wide, tile bottomed pool. His eyes never left her.

Her hair was half the length of his, and took less than half the time to clean. The water was painfully cold, and she hurried to rinse herself off. Soap bubbles formed milky white streaks in the water as it flowed toward the wall in front of her, sliding just under a lip at the bottom of the wall and down into an unseen drain. She vaguely toweled off the cold water before heading over to join the others in the bath.

The pool was the entire width of the room, but narrow, only six feet from front to back. Tiled stairs led down into the waist high water at three points. The center stair stretched out to either side, forming a ledge that wrapped around the entire bath. Seated on it, the water came up to Tareuk’s stomach, and to Ainjrejeu’s shoulders.

“They really are as nice as the gossip said,” Kalem nodded towards Kalolin as she approached. “The color your handiwork?” he elbowed Ainjrejeu, grinning devilishly.

“I ought to pluck out your eyes,” Ainjrejeu stood up from the tile ledge and moved to the foot of the stairs, out of reach of the musician.

"How hot is it?" Kalolin asked as she reached the edge of the bath. She dipped a toe in hesitantly.

"Comfortably," smirked Ainjrejeu. "Never been to a bath house before? There's plenty in Hanzo."

Kalolin shook her head. "My father says it's nonsense to pay money to make yourself into a soup."

"The steam has purifying effects," Ainjrejeu explained. "The element of balance, it sits between fire and water on the wheel."

Behind him, Kalem rolled his hazel eyes.

"Water gives life, while fire takes. Distilled feminine and masculine energy, brought into perfect, ephemeral harmony.” He clapped his two hands together in front of his chest. “The fact that Fenlander men and women bathe separately is actually quite ironic,” he smiled. It was somehow both genuine, and smug.

"No number of women could balance out my natural masculine energy," Kalem said, stretching his arms behind his head.

"Yes, you are incredibly unbalanced," said Ainjrejeu. He reached out a hand to help Kalolin as she stepped down into the bath. A shiver was chased out of her body as the warm water enveloped her. She let go of his arm as she found her feet on the floor below.

"I’m not sure you're fully clean," he frowned. "See, right here?" he pointed to a spot on her cheek.

"Really?" She reached up and touched her cheek, but it felt as clean and wet as the rest of her. She looked at her hand and confirmed it had come away spotless.

Moving up close beside her, Ainjrejeu dragged his tongue up the side of her face. “See, it’s all slimy and gross.”

She wiped at her cheek furiously while he watched on, smiling. She could hear Kalem laughing at them from across the bath.

“Let me help you with that,” Ainjrejeu said. He grabbed the hair on the back of her head and dunked her face under the surface of the water.

She came up coughing and sputtering. She was lucky not to have inhaled a lung-full of water, but it still stung her eyes and ran down the back of her throat.

“Hhnng,” he frowned. “I might not’ve gotten all of it.”

She was prepared this time, shutting her eyes and holding her breath before the surface of the water hit her. The pressure on the back of her head was constant, but not so strong that couldn’t break free if she tried. Instead, she waited. It might have been easier if she hadn’t just been coughing her lungs out, but she held on. Her lungs were starting to burn by the time he pulled her back above the surface.

She gasped in a lungful of air. There was a clamor around her but it was muffled by the water in her ears.

“You alright?” A voice asked.

Kalolin nodded, but she stumbled forward until she was able to cling to Ainjrejeu for support.

“She’s quite alright,” Ainjrejeu grumbled. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing their naked bodies together. “If she wants me to stop she could always beg.”

She blinked water from her eyes until she was able to look up at him. “Actually, sehr,” she tried to match his sultry tone, though it was difficult while still out of breath. “I might beg you to keep going.”

She was close enough to his face that she could hear him grit his teeth. His nails dug into the flesh of her arms. “See, her lungs are still working fine,” he said cheerfully.