Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) by Kathryn Kingsley (great novels to read txt) 📕

in a long time. She looked like a disaster, especially compared to Lyon and Maverick in their pristine clothes. She took in a deep breath, held it for a long time, and then let it out in a rush.

Going to the wall, she picked up a chair and went to the door. Wedging it under the handle, she shook her head. She knew it wouldn’t stop them from getting inside, but old habits tended to die hard.

Next, she checked the windows. She was on the third floor—too high for any drengil to climb. But who was to say about the new monsters she had yet to face? She locked them and pulled the curtains all the same.

She took her spear off her back and leaned it up against the wall, along with her bag. All of her supplies should be in one place just in case she had to run.

Then she explored the room she was almost more excited about than the wine.

In her travels, she had seen rooms like this. But she had never seen one intact. She ran her hand over the countertop. It was made of smooth and polished wood. Twisting one of the spigots in the sink, she smiled as water rushed from the tap. Clean water. Drinkable water.

And then there was the tub! Unable to stop her excitement, she laughed and sat on the lip of it. Twisting the knobs, she groaned as her hand touched the hot water pouring into the large basin.

Hot water.

Screw it. She knew she shouldn’t trust them, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Clean water, food, and somewhere to sleep that might be safe from the monsters. If this is a cage, then it’s not so bad.

She shrugged out of her clothes and piled them up on the floor, before unwinding the bandages she used to wrap her breasts down. They tended to get in the way in a fight, otherwise. She kept her long knife on the edge of the tub as she stepped in, the water instantly turning dark around her. She sat down, groaning again as she sank into the glorious hot water.

There was a bar of what she could only assume was soap sitting in a little basin. She hadn’t seen it since she was a child, and even then, it was only at the market.

Twice she had to change the water in the tub because it had turned so dark it was embarrassing even to herself. She scrubbed herself with the soap and a cloth until she was certain every bit of dirt was gone. I may never get a second one of these. After discovering liquid soap that smelled like flowers in another bottle, she set to cleaning her hair. It was gnarled, and the braids needed to be redone.

By the time she climbed out of the hot water, her fingers had begun to prune. Plucking a towel from a rack, she dried off and wrapped it around herself. It felt wrong to put on her dirty clothes after working so hard to get clean. She could at least wait until the morning.

A morning that would come without a sun.

She shook her head. Another thing she would have to learn to live without—for as long as she survived, at any rate. Which, judging by how bizarre and dangerous Under seemed to be, would probably not be for very long.

The clothes at the foot of the bed looked simple but well-made. She pulled on the cotton pants and the top, loving the feel of soft, clean clothes on her skin. Plucking up the tray from the bench at the end of the bed, she sat in the chair by the fire and ate, forcing herself to take her time. She took particular care not to drink the wine too fast.

She should be sober if she had to fight or escape in the middle of the night. But that said, she could hold her own in a brawl while tipsy.

After finishing the food and half the bottle of wine, she yawned, stretched, and decided it was time to crawl into the cozy-looking bed. She pulled back the thick, fluffy covers, and climbed under the sheets.

It felt…so good.

So damn good.

I don’t even think the citadel rulers had it this good. Was this what it was like in the old world? Soft beds, good food, and hot water on demand? Did everyone live like kings?

She let her head sink into the pillows. It was so cozy. So wonderful. If I die like this, at least I’ll die happy.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Even if she did keep her knife in her hand.

“What do you make of our guest?”

Lyon glanced at Maverick from where he sat in front of the fireplace in his receiving room. The Elder of Words sat across from him, a large glass of brandy in his hand. He debated his answer before giving it. “She is terrified.”

“She seemed fine to me.”

“On the exterior.” Lyon sipped his wine. “She has been trained to cope with chaos and death. We are merely the next challenge to confront her life. Far more fantastical, perhaps, but all the same as the death she has faced before.”

“Mmh. I suppose.” Maverick spun the glass idly between his fingers, watching the firelight glint off the cut sides. “She’s bright. For that, I am glad. But what are we to do with her?”

“I fear I do not know. I am at a bit of a loss. I will serve as her protector and her host, at the very least.”

“The last time we had a mortal amongst us, it did not go well.” Maverick grimaced.

“Aon might wish to argue otherwise.”

“The King of Shadows can lodge his opinions up his arse.” The Elder of Words sipped his brandy. “I do not want a repeat performance the likes of what happened during the Rise.”

“None of us do, old friend. None of us do.” Lyon shut his