The attendant finished pouring the bucket of water into the brass bathtub and nodded to Kosvia as if to say “It is done” before leaving the room in a practised quiet. Kosvia smelt the steam rising from the tub, scented mildly with a little berry juice and honey she had asked to have added to the bath, before dangling her hand into the water to test its heat and feel. It was almost scorching hot. Probably hotter than most would choose to commit themselves to. But, she liked the hot water, perhaps a vestige of her lineage, and slipped off the last of her leather armour and underclothes quickly to immerse herself. 

Her delicately shaped foot, belying the many miles it had walked or ridden, dipped into the water and she felt the tensed muscles start to loosen with the heat. It had been many miles since Treffenbaume. More than a week’s travel. Treffenbaume where her life had seemed to just shift slightly. Her path through life turned in a way she had not expected. Still, if you expected everything, what would be the point? She stepped fully into the tub and lowered herself slowly into the water, letting its heat climb up her body as she tried to relax her whole form. Immersed, she stretched out and lay in the bottom of the tub, feeling the hot water cover her. Then, lying there, she closed her eyes and thought of Treffenbaume. Or, more precisely, the forests around it. A sheltered glade, strewn with ancient ruins, inscribed with forgotten language, sacred to the Fate Weaver.

In her memory she can hear the bellow of Ulthor, the Lurker. Emerald dragon and terror of those forests. Killer of children and warriors alike. But in the moment she thinks of Ulthor is distant background, as are the others rushing through the forest in the midst of the fight. In that moment she bends her mind to, all that fades into the background as the tall, brave, handsome knight steps toward her and takes a brief moment in the fight to kiss her.  Scion of a famous family, carrier of such destiny and holy might. He chooses to kiss her. The Armour smith’s daughter from Eryndor. The Tiefling, some would call her fiend-spawn. Her body shivers for a moment despite the heat. And a smile spreads across her lips at the memory. A memory of that unexpected kiss. That she had wanted more than she knew.

They managed to slay the foul dragon in the end. Quickly, too. Which, she supposed, is the safest way to do it. A dragon like that will surely kill you given enough opportunity to do so. She remembers standing on the ruins looking up as Aginthar, flying in the air, plunged his sword into the dragon for the final time and it began to fall. He surely glistened in the light, it seemed to her.

Kosvia moved in the bath, rubbing the water across her skin. Hoping the sweet scent of berries and honey might cling to her. She would like to smell nice. And sweet. She could make herself very clean with a magical thought or two, but it didn’t compare with a sweet scented hot bath. And the merchant they had saved outside of town had seemed positively eager to pay for her to bathe. People were kind sometimes, when given the chance.

Of course, they had a good portion of a Dragon’s hoard from Treffenbaume. She could afford a bath, but wasn’t used to granting herself the luxury after spending so long staying in simple taverns and wayside inns at best, or sheltering in the simple cottage Kip had in the forest. To be honest, it was not quite even a cottage. There she would have to walk to the small pool under the waterfall nearby where the cool water off the mountain gathered before trickling further downstream toward the sea somewhere. And it was never warm in that pool. The water carried the memory of the glacier top mountains it had run down from. At best it could be called “refreshing”. And the chance of some small pool fish brushing against your leg while you bathed was a little more than she liked.

There was a time when she wondered, bathing in that pool the first or second time, if her new friend Kipling would come to her under the waterfall. Professing concern for her safety, but drawn there by his desiring her. She might have welcomed it. It had been, by that time, a long while since the brush of Benedict’s hand in Eryndor had thrilled her, and she wondered if Benedict’s would be the last hands to reach for her in that way. In the cold lonely pool in the forest, her feet sunk into the mud of its bottom, something slimy brushed past her under the surface, and she tried to wash the last of the grit and grime of wilderness life from her hands and her face and tangled hair. More than one tear was washed away in the cold of the waterfall. For her life lost, and fear of what her life might be.

Kosvia dipped her whole head under the hot bath water, clenching her eyes closed against the heat, and tried to run her fingers through her long hair. As she did, they brushed the horns on her head. She forgot about them at times, as they existed out of her sight. That is, until they got caught on something or someone called out a Tiefling slur at her on the road. She knew her heritage as a Tiefling was obvious to those who looked at her, but she wasn’t sure if she felt like one, having nothing to compare it to. She knew enough to realise her differences and the whispers of the origins of Tieflings had been part of the reason she had been exiled from the court of Eryndor. It was clear to her that when the king saw her, he saw Tiefling first, and young courtier second. Daughter of one of his faithful artisans, and oft assistant to the queen, studious and polite,  well groomed and knowing her place. She supposed the king had been unable to trust her. He had always seemed happy of her presence before the allegations about her had been brought to him by Benedict’s parents.

It was knowing she, or her kind, were often not trusted that kept her a little away from Aginthar after their first kiss. The Dragon kiss. It had been amidst a battle. Pulses had been racing, death walked in their shadows, and might take them any moment. She would understand if it had been just a moment of impulse for him. Born of proximity and danger, a quick kiss. Yes, one could understand it. She would mourn it if that were the case. But, she would understand.

When they had met briefly in the Drachenwald campaign, a year or more before, it had been fleeting. An evening of them near each other in what was basically a war camp. The giant’s allies had ravaged the forest, drawing Kip into the conflict, and Kos beside him in an attempt to keep them both safe, and perhaps earn a good story. She had performed that night, a few quiet songs to bolster the mood of the soldiers, such was what she could add to an army’s efforts. She remembers looking out from where she sat singing, and seeing him across a campfire, watching her sing. Sir Aginthar Lothringien, the leader of their makeshift army. She remembers his eyes that night, glittering in the fire light. She liked that he saw her. Though it was a performance, he had surely seen many performances.

Nevertheless, when they were in Treffenbaume, he said he had remembered her from that night. Perhaps it was true. Not just a kind thing to say. And when they came to discuss, after the Dragon’s defeat, where they would all go next, it was Kosvia and Aginthar who had no destination but the road and wherever it lead them. He said he wanted to travel with her. He said it wasn’t just a moment in battle, a moment of weakness. Her heart leapt. She had kept her distance, giving him the gift of making drawing away from her easy, should he want to. Should he suspect the whispers were true. Should she be only what she suspected. Feared.

Still, he said he wanted to travel with her. So she had allowed herself a touch. Her hand on his, a moment to press her lips to his cheek. A man’s cheek, handsome but weathered. And with real hair upon it, not the soft fuzz of a boy like Benedict, still coming into his prime. That was the second time she and Aginthar had touched in earnest.

The water in the tub was still warm, but she felt her muscles had absorbed much of the heat and begun to relax. Several days riding had tensed them up more than she had realised. They were more than a week since Treffenbaume now. Nearly two. And many miles besides. Some of that by boat, and more by horse acquired at some expense from a trader conveniently near the boat dock. Of course, Bob had left them directly from Treffenbaume. They had escorted him into the mine he said would lead to the kingdom below that was his home, or his destination at least. He disappeared into the darkness below with few soft words or embraces, but she knew he had formed some sort of bond with them he would not readily speak to the strength of.

Once they had travelled by boat out of Treffenbaume and made it back to the foothills it wasn’t long before they found the road that lead into the deep green of the forest where Kip made his home, and Kos her sometime home. Kip was thoughtful as he left. Kosvia reassured him they would see each other again soon, and they had the stones to speak daily if they wanted. But, in the forest alone is the way Kip seems meant to be and she would give him some space to be so. Kos wondered if he were happier when she was not there with him, especially now she would not be bringing him rumours of his father, that mystery resolved. The small book of Kip’s father weighed heavily in her pocket as they had watched Kip follow a path into the forest almost invisible to the rest of them. And it wasn’t long before he had disappeared from their sight into the green. Silently, to herself, Kos had wished him well.

Early in the morning three or four days later, at a crossroads, Dik had declared she was going a different way. She brusquely spoke of cider and places to be before turning her pony onto the other road. They called after her, wishing her well, and promising to look for her on the road. Her reply was lost on the wind, except for the hand raised in acknowledgement as she spurred her steed away. Kos smiled knowing that, perhaps of all the motley group and despite her considerable age, Dik could surely look out for her own safety better than any of them.

That left only Aginthar Lothringien as her sole companion. He has sparkling eyes. And broad shoulders. And the heritage of an angel. While she was descended from a fiend, so they said. And still he had made no excuse to travel away from her, no urgent errand she could not follow him on. No excuse to depart.

Later that day they were discussing what was next on the road. Kos had come this way before and knew the town ahead a little, enough to speak of what she looked forward to seeing again there. Then there were shapes in the sky and shrieks, followed by yells of panicked folk and horses over the next rise. Kos and Agi, that is: Aginthar, had agreed they wished to do some good in the world. So, they were both pushing their horses into a run before they were even looking to each other to confirm their shared intent. He looked like nothing more than a protecting angel, armour glittering in the light, near as much as his eyes, and the glint of sunlight off the ring on his finger. Kos’ heart thumped in her chest. From the look of Aginthar as much as the coming fight.

The fight had been trying, as much for the difficulty of protecting the folk strewn about from the overturned and scattered wagons, some of them injured in the initial attack or harried by the panicked horses. The poisonous dragonkin swirled about them, using their flight to keep away from sword strokes and diving in to attack people and horses alike. But, they had not expected Aginthar, or Kosvia, who had dispatched the beasts quickly. But, not without difficulties. Kos, in her warm bath, rubbed at her right thigh where one of them had closed its jaw on her before she slew it. The well of blood must have looked bad. By the time the heavy body of the beast had dropped away from her, Agi was there, with concern in his intense eyes and placed his hand firmly on her thigh where the light within him healed her so quickly. The third time they had touched in earnest.

She rubbed at her thigh again, it has healed but remembered being torn at by sharp teeth in a wide jaw. She remembered how, they having killed the beasts, the merchant who owned the caravan had been generous with thanks. He had been unwavering in insisting they travel with the caravan into the city. They put the lead wagon, more of a carriage, to right and Kos remembered watching as Agi held the hand of the merchants pretty blonde daughter while she climbed back up into it. The glowing daughter kept her eyes locked on Aginthar, as she thanked him with a warm, inviting smile. Kos forgave herself a twinge of jealousy. The merchant’s daughter really was ever so pretty and would suit Aginthar’s arm well if he wished it. She would have coin and contacts, she was pretty and seemed kind and good natured enough, and she would lack the difficulties Kosvia carried with her.

The water was losing its heat ever faster, and Kosvia could not live in the bathtub forever. Especially as she had left Aginthar in the tap room with the enthusiastic merchant and his gorgeous daughter. Kos stepped from the bath into the relative cool of the air, feeling its chill touch every part of her. She looked briefly in the fogged looking glass in the corner and turned a little. She was not displeased with what she saw, even given the horns and tail that she found she sometimes resented. Perhaps she could provide a counter argument to at least some of the blonde girl’s charms. She noted that the scent of berries and honey still hung about her. The bath had been very much worth the price, even if she had paid herself.

Kos folded her leather armour and shoved it into her pack, much, much larger inside than it should be, and drew out some of her travelling clothes. Clothes that looked more or less as she had made her armour look the rest of the day. A look she hoped Aginthar found pleasing. To that she added long leather boots that lace to above her knees. Pleased with the result, Kos left a couple of silver coins in thanks to the attendant and walked back to the tap room.

Looking around the room she saw the crew of the merchant caravan gathered at a couple of tables. Still alive. Trading drinks and stories. Some of them gave her a look and a smile. She knew they had done some good today. Many are still alive that would not be without them. Tomorrow she will try to do some good again. And the day after that.

Then she looked back toward the table she had sat at earlier, where the merchant was speaking in fervour, gesturing to explain some point or other. And Kos sees the golden daughter looking admiringly at Aginthar. There he is. And by the time Kosvia looks at him, she sees he is already looking at her. Merchant and daughter not intruding on this moment between them. She smiles an invite to him and heads across the tap room, excited for what comes next. Kosvia no longer thinks of returning to Eryndor, she is thinking of what lies ahead of her and this handsome knight. Starting with tonight.

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