Lucrezia nodded at once. "Alright,"
After her ca a few others, dressed almost identically to the one before her. Each one of them was accompanied by sothing like two-wheeled basins: one steaming faintly, the other stacked with folded cloth, ceramic bottles, and a narrow-necked pitcher. The rest of the items brought were sothing she barely even recognized. Thin rods of dark tal, shallow bowls filled with pale salts, and bundles of dried herbs bound in twine.
They did not speak as they entered and flowed into the chamber, spreading out with practiced ease. One guided the basins toward a recessed section of the floor she had not noticed before.
With a soft turn of her wrist, she pressed a sigil set into the stone. The floor responded with a muted hum, seams revealing themselves as stone plates slid apart. Beneath them lay a deep, circular bath carved directly into the bedrock, and Lucrezia’s eyes widened in awe.
What exactly was this place? She thought. She’d heard gossip from folks about Blackvale, known as the haven of lesser gods. Whether it was a bad on to be whispered about, or rare enough to be talked out loud, Lucrezia knew of the land built for the ones worshipped. But never had she ever deed it ancient and utterly grandiose.
Another attendant lifted her hands and traced a slow pattern in the air. The runes along her forearms flared briefly, and the steaming basin tipped itself. In an instant, water poured out in a controlled arc into the hollow below.
As the bath filled, pale mist rose and curled lazily toward the ceiling, carrying the faint scent of herbs and minerals in the air. Two others moved to the hearth.
Without touching the fire, they adjusted its heat until the room ward evenly, removing the chill from the stone.
One drew the curtains across the windows, muting the twilight further, while another placed a screen of dark lattice near the bath to soften the space and give it shape.
Their use of magic was so fluid it barely registered as sorcery at all. She’d lived knowing magic was practised through spells and rituals, yet in this land, magic was perford with such ease that it made her envious.
The woman who had first addressed her approached quietly. She took Lucrezia’s cloak and gloves with careful hands, folding them neatly before setting them aside.
Lucrezia’s eyes followed her movent carefully to ensure her tonic remained unnoticed. She’d barely just arrived, and the last thing she wanted was to create a ruckus as her first impression.
The others continued arranging the remaining items. Cloths were ward and stacked within reach. Ceramic bottles were uncorked briefly, their contents checked by scent before being aligned in precise order. One attendant crushed herbs between her palms, releasing a sharper fragrance, and sprinkled them into the bath where they dissolved without a trace.
Lucrezia watched them move, working nonstop. Each motion followed another as naturally as breath, as though they had perford this sa preparation countless tis for countless others.
When the bath was ready, the woman closest to her stepped forward again. "If you permit us, my Lady."
Her eyes slightly widened as heat crept up her neck. Was she to undress before them all?!
Lucrezia scanned their faces, noticing how they all seed to await her response. Her mind battled between reluctance and submission, unable to make a certain choice.
Realizing they were all female made the apprehension in her chest loosen a bit. What was there to see other than the typical female parts, she thought.
Lucrezia hesitated only a heartbeat before inclining her head. And at the silent signal, the others moved.
They guided her with gentle hands toward the edge of the sunken bath. There was no urgency in their motions as they moved in quiet precision.
One attendant unlaced her gown carefully, fingers deft as they loosened fastenings hidden in seams. The mont the apparel fell loosely on the floor, Lucrezia felt the warmth from the room brush her nakedness.
It was only for a fleeting mont when another stood ready with a ward cloth, while a third steadied her by the elbow as she stepped down into the water.
The bath embraced her with a heat that seeped deep into her muscles, easing aches she hadn’t realized she carried. Steam curled around her shoulders as she settled in the perfectly tempered water.
How does water feel this good? She wondered, closing her eyes as the attendants worked without a word.
Warm water was poured over her hair, loosened gently by careful fingers, and then rinsed away. One added floral oils that scented like jasmine and olive oil, then knelt to pour water gently over her arms and shoulders.
The bath continued in silence after that. When it was finished, the water was drawn away as quietly as it had co. They helped her rise, wrapping her imdiately in layers of ward cloth, guiding her away.
Lucrezia could strongly admit she’d never felt this relieved by a re bath alone. She never imagined a simple bath could undo the tightness in her muscles and make her feel... lighter.
Was it the magic, perhaps? She thought, because whatever it was felt good.
When the last cloth was drawn away, one of the attendants stepped forward with the gown folded over her arms.
Lucrezia’s breath caught in quiet awe as she stared down at it.
The fabric was unlike anything she had worn before. Dark as wet stone, it drank in the light rather than reflecting it, yet when it moved, faint threads woven through the material caught a muted silver sheen.
The bodice was structured and close-fitted, molded to her form with an almost deliberate intimacy, as though it had been tailored with foreknowledge of her shape.
They lifted it carefully and guided it over her shoulders. The fabric slid against Lucrezia’s skin, clinging from the bodice downward, tracing her waist and hips before loosening into a flowing skirt. Two long slits ran up either side, revealing her thighs when she moved and the neckline rose high, framing her throat with restraint while the back dipped.
An attendant adjusted the fit with small, precise tugs, smoothing the fabric flat to ensure nothing strained. Another fastened the hidden clasps along her spine, each one clicking softly into place like the closing of a lock.
When they stepped back at last, Lucrezia scarcely recognized the reflection offered by the polished tal mirror they angled toward her.
She looked... different. Composed. Grounded. Less like a guest and more like soone who’d lived to know whatever tradition was built on this land.
Her eyes reminded her of her mama’s, and she turned teary. Indeed she missed her, but she also hoped never to step foot anywhere near Dreadwyn after she successfully secured her mother’s safety.
"You’re ready, my Lady,"
And Lucrezia drew in a slow breath, curling her fingers once at her side before relaxing.
"Lead the way,"
***
They escorted her through corridors far grander than those she had seen before. Here, the palace opened outward with vaulted halls, each depicting figures she recognized only dimly from myth. Seven thrones appeared carved into the stone of a vast antechamber, each distinct in design and presence.
The Seven.
Lucrezia felt the weight of them as they neared, and for an unknown reason, her heart raced wildly within her ribs.
The bodice pressed deep into her chest, making it even harder to breathe and control the rate of her heartbeat.
Before she could control herself, doors opened at the far end, and her heart dropped into her stomach.
Sound spilled through—voices, low and layered, edged with amusent, irritation, and sothing far older than either.
Lucrezia stepped forward.
The mont she crossed the threshold, the room seed to still upon her arrival. She felt the imdiate collective weight of attention pressing against her skin, lingering like pressure in the air. It was undeniable and suffocating as gazes raked over her.
Lucrezia has never felt such intimidation and power exude by silence alone, and at that mont, all she wanted was to bury herself in the ground and vanish from their sight.
She forced herself not to falter.
The chamber was vast, circular in design with ceiling disappearing into shadow. More than seven elevated seats ford a crescent along the far wall, each throne carved from a different substance; stone veined with silver, blackened iron, pale crystal, bone, obsidian, amber gem, sothing that shimred like liquid dusk, one that appeared almost... unfinished, and so on.
Not all were occupied, but the emptiness itself felt intentional. Lucrezia’s gaze was drawn, inexorably, to the seven that were filled.
She did not need nas or explanations to be told who the occupants were. Recognition settled in her bones with a quiet finality, making her shudder.
Sins.
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