"Jordan?" Ruka's voice drifted through the door, low and careful. "It is time for the evening meal."
I pushed myself upright, blinking hard against the fog in my brain. "Just a minute!"
The words came out scratchy and rough. I cleared my throat as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and that's when I spotted them—clothes, neatly folded on the table. Beside them sat several small containers and what looked like handmade bars of soap.
Zuhra must have slipped in while I was dead to the world.
I padded over to the table, curiosity pulling me forward. The fabric was soft under my fingertips, well-made but clearly lived-in. I picked up one of the soap bars and lifted it to my nose—immediately, I was hit with the scent of herbs and something floral. Lavender, maybe? It was gorgeous, nothing like the artificial fragrances back home. The shampoo in its clay container smelled even better, all earthy and clean and natural.
I started sorting through what Zuhra had left. Several tunics in different weights and colors—deep forest green, warm ochre, soft cream. Beneath those, a couple of simple dresses with practical cuts and sturdy stitching. Two pairs of loose-fitting pants. Some leggings.
And underwear. Thank God. Simple cotton undergarments that appeared blessedly comfortable. Such a small thing, really, but the thoughtfulness behind it—Zuhra taking the time to think of everything I might need—made something catch in my chest.
I reached for the cream-colored tunic, then stopped. My skin felt grimy, sticky with the residue of sleep and stress. Ardin's procedure had been relatively clean, but any kind of surgery left me feeling icky. The memory of that copper tub in the bathing room flickered through my mind—I'd been too exhausted to appreciate it last night, but now...
Now the thought of sinking into water, of washing away the last two days before putting on fresh clothes, was almost irresistible.
"Do I have time for a quick bath?" I called toward the door.
A pause. "Yes. I will wait."
The copper tub gleamed in the soft light, its surface burnished to a warm glow. I worked the pump handle, watching clear water gush out, and was pleasantly surprised to find it warm—not hot, but far from cold.
I stripped off yesterday's clothes and sank into the water with a sigh that was probably indecent. The tub was deep enough that I could submerge up to my shoulders, and for a moment I just floated there, feeling the tension drain from my muscles like poison from a wound.
The soap lathered beautifully, rich and creamy, and I scrubbed away two days' worth of grime and stress and worry.Washing my hair was pure bliss—the shampoo smelled like mountain herbs and left my scalp tingling in the best way. I worked my fingers through the tangles slowly, methodically, letting the simple ritual anchor me back in my body.
When I finally climbed out, I felt almost human again.
I dried off with one of the soft cloths folded near the tub and turned to face the neatly arranged clothing. The brown pants went on first—then immediately came off in favor of a darker pair that didn't make me look quite so washed out. I held the blue tunic up to my chest, frowned, tossed it aside for the green one. Reconsidered. Picked up the blue again.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I muttered to my reflection in the copper tub's warped surface.
Everything fit surprisingly well, if a bit loose—Zuhra clearly had a practiced eye for these things. I rolled the sleeves to my elbows and worked my fingers through my damp hair, wishing for a mirror but telling myself I didn't really need one. This wasn't a date. This was dinner. With the entire village. Perfectly normal, perfectly professional.
Except my hands wouldn't stop fussing with the tunic's neckline.
I froze mid-adjustment, catching myself in the act. When exactly had this happened? This flutter of nerves, this sudden preoccupation with whether the blue brought out my eyes, this entirely inappropriate desire to look good for—
My stomach performed an acrobatic flip that had absolutely nothing to do with hunger.
"No," I said aloud to the empty room. "Absolutely not."
But my treacherous hands were already smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the fabric, adjusting the drape of the shoulders.
I forced them down to my sides. Pressed my palms flat against my thighs and took a deliberate breath.
This was ridiculous. I was a doctor. A guest. Someone who'd literally fallen into this world by complete accident and would presumably fall back out of it just as quickly. Developing feelings—and yes, fine, that's what this squirmy, fluttery sensation was—for a seven-foot Orc was a complication I absolutely did not need.
I barely knew him. Yes, he'd been kind. Yes, he had those eyes and that voice and those shoulders but that didn't mean—
I caught myself reaching up to arrange my hair again.
"Jordan," I said firmly to my blurry reflection. "Get. It. Together."
The blue tunic it was, then. Because it was practical and warm. Not because of how the color looked against my skin, and certainly not because I'd noticed Ruka's gaze linger when I wore my blue scrubs that night in the hospital. That would be absurd.
I was an excellent liar. Especially to myself.