They were my scars.
Shivering, despite the room's steady temperature, I ran my bath. A light pat of the switches above two bear's head taps and water gushed from their roaring brass mouths. And it smelled. Eugeny's water, heated by flame and carted up stairs by a volatile young man, hadn't smelled like this. Like metal, like rust, like something else I couldn't identify. The scent of the sky before a lightning storm, heady, and tickling the back of my throat.
I dropped capsules of aloe and oil into the running water, then a small shovel of earthy Dead Salts, and finally crystalline petals that dissolved and released a smell like roses. Yet, as I eased myself in, wincing as the golden paste washed away and a few of the wounds stung, I could still smell that lightning-sky tang.
Devich returned as I was dragging myself from the still-warm water. I wrapped myself in a towel as he strode down the hallway, a large box in his arms, and called me.
"I have a treat for you, my-" he stopped short as he spotted me "-lady."
I watched his eyes trace over my short hair, darkened by water and slicked out of any shape. As they took in the unbandaged scars on my face, the openings in my neck, the cuts along my shoulder and my arm, and down beneath my towel. I waited for the grimace, for the excuses, the reasons that weren't truly reasons to leave.
He gave me none.
"You're beautiful, Tanyana."
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"And you wear your suit so well."
The suit. I lifted a naked arm. The cleaned bracelet shone bright ciphers against my shoulder, on Devich's face, on the wall and the ceiling around us.
"It's beautiful, on you." Was it me he stared at so hungrily, or the shining metallic creature he had created?
"I have to clean these." I swept a hand over the scars on my shoulder. He spared them barely a glance. "I won't be long."
And his silent adoration vanished with a grin. "Don't be. I told you it's a treat." He hurried to the kitchen like an excited schoolboy.
I washed my scars with fresh water, but couldn't quite remove all of the golden paste. The new bandages were rough. My collector's uniform was so uninviting I almost felt physically ill at the prospect of dragging it on. But I couldn't ignore Kichlan's warning, however much I wanted to forget about both brothers. As I pulled it over my head I noticed that the thick, boned, strangely stretching material that held no bodily smells, no dirt, and no stains, somehow smelled like Eugeny's fireplace and a goosedown bed.
I didn't bother fussing with my hair. Devich had said to hurry.
He didn't seem to notice the uniform as I entered the kitchen, wearing satin bedclothes over the top and hoping their design of dark water and red carp would keep it hidden. He stood, chest wide and thrust forward, arms open over a feast laid out on the clean kitchen bench.
And it was a feast. Good enough reason, I supposed, to feel insufferably proud of himself.
"My lady." He mock-bowed, arms sweeping forward, brushing against a decanter of wine and grabbing it before it could fall.
"How did you do this?" I gaped at the food, and my stomach rumbled loud appreciation.
Devich laughed. "Don't question how the food is come by, care only for how it tastes."
"Devich's own words of wisdom?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Hardly. Something my father used to say, when his rublie was particularly empty. Now-" he rubbed his hands together "-can I help you to your table?"
I mused over this small slip as Devich held out a chair and sat me at my small pale lacquered table. Not from a family of debris technicians then? Not the kind of family who had always worked for the veche, always created arcane and complicated suits, and had rublies full enough to prove it. There was more, perhaps, to Devich's easily cultured civility.
"What can I offer you first?"
I found it difficult to keep my attention from his shoulders, as they strained a shirt that simply couldn't be wide enough to fit them, or his narrow, belt-tightened waist. Scrounging through the drawers he found cutlery enough to serve his feast, and rolled his sleeves up to do so. His forearms were muscled, well defined, their hair fair.
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. "Give me a bit of everything." My stomach gurgled at the idea of a measly bit.
Devich had brought fish. Fish. Raw salmon in slivers with lime and pepper dressing. Two large tuna steaks, grilled, and topped with thickened sour cream. Trout in a gelatinous sauce with root vegetables so fresh they were still topped with leaves. A salad of crab and green beans. Even prawns, darkened to red by a chilli crust.
More food than the two of us could eat together, even though we focused on the eating in near silence.
Finally, he heaped sugar-sprinkled strawberries on a plate, and we picked at them.
Devich leaned in his chair as he dusted pale sugar onto his knees, smugly. I supposed he wanted compliments for the food he didn't prepare, or perhaps, for the kopacks that bought it.
"Delicious," was all I could get out.
"Wasn't it?" He stood, graceful and smooth, swept plates from the table and piled them on the bench. For the cleaner. I stared at them. There were boxes in a heap on the floor beside the bench. Had he carried them all himself, or simply directed a young chef's apprentice to do it for him? Had he walked, or hailed a landau for the trip?
"Now, my lady, if you're still interested in tea." He held out a hand, and helped me to my feet. My stomach felt strange, not what I would call pleasantly full, just heavy. The result of such rich meat and thick sauces, I supposed.
"Yes. Tea would be lovely." As long as I didn't have to watch him drink it.
"You look tired." Devich traced his finger beneath my left eye. I glanced away. "Sit in your chair, and I will bring you tea. Can't have you too exhausted, can we?"
Despite myself, I grew hot as I left the kitchen and sank into the chair in my study. The lamp was low, its flicker unsteady. Like flames in a fireplace.
Devich brought me tea, and to my unmeasurable relief, hadn't made himself one. He sat on the floor, leaned against my legs, and wrapped an arm around my knees as I sipped. He was very, very warm.
"There's something I want you to do for me," he murmured, voice as soft as the lamplight.
"One meal and you'll think I'll do anything, is that it?" I sipped again.
He didn't laugh. "This is a favour. One friend to another."
"Is that what you are? I thought you were my overenthusiastic tailor."
"And this is me being serious, Tanyana."
"Then this is me listening, Devich." What right did he have to sit at my feet and be serious?
"Good, then this is what I want you to do. I want you to stop hiding yourself, my lady. I want you to stop believing any of what has happened makes you different."
The porcelain rim of the cup rested against my teeth. Steam moistened my upper lip. "Stop hiding?" I squeezed the handle so strongly my hand began to shake. "How dare you-"
"No, I'm not going to take any of that from you." Devich unwrapped himself and sat back. His green eyes seemed darker, the lines of his face stern. But far from making him unappealing, I found him arresting. More than with his smiles and easy laugh.
I set the cup at my feet. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do." He held up a hand. I surprised myself by shutting my mouth against a building tirade. "I've told you this before. You're not the first debris collector to pass through my door."
"Only the strongest," I murmured, and didn't say what that really meant. That I'd had more to lose, and fallen further.