52

Philia wants to go back out and ask the townspeople about Olivia, to see if the men who kidnapped her came through here on their way to Weeton. “I can’t just sit,” she explains, standing at my door.

“So don’t sit,” I say. “Go ask questions. You’ve battled far worse than these people.”

Separi offers to be the redhead’s guide. “Drunks abound in this town, and I don’t want Philia having to bash the heads of too many before supper. Ridget, my wife, would be angry, and you never want to anger the person in charge of the food.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Philia says, following Separi down the stairs.

I don’t want to join them. Neither does Jadon. He can barely keep his eyes open. “Go take a nap, Jadon,” I say. “You’re already asleep. You just don’t know it yet.”

He stretches and nods. “For the first night in a long time, you won’t have to hear me snore. You must be happy to finally have your own space away from me.”

“Thrilled,” I say, my face deadpan perfection.

He grins, steps away, thinks a moment, then steps back to me. His smile dims. “The other night, when you told me about your hair? I heard you, and I know I said it then, but I want you to know again that it matters to me. I want you to know that you matter to me, too.” He bites his lips as he thinks, his expression brightening with a weary smile. “We’re closer to the amulet and Olivia than we were yesterday. I saw the moths, too, back on the trail.”

I perk up. “You did?”

He nods, then swipes his hand over his face. “I’m going to collapse.”

“Take a nap,” I say, pushing him away. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”

He staggers over to the door and winks at me before drifting down the corridor and finally disappearing into his room.

I’m asleep across the foot of an unfamiliar bed when I’m jolted awake by a knock on the door. Clutching Veril’s journal to my chest, I sit up. My stomach growls, ready for dinner.

Another knock.

Where am I?

As I move to answer the door, my eyes skip from the hearth to the window, the large mirror, and the vase of fresh blue flowers. That’s right . I’m at the Broken Hammer, a guest of Separi Eleweg.

Ridget stands in the corridor, holding a velvet satchel and a bucket filled with water. “I thought you might like to wash before dinner,” she says.

“Yes, that would be wonderful.” I invite her inside.

She sets the bucket of steaming hot water on the floor, then pulls from her pocket a bottle of oil and a bar of green soap.

Ridget rubs her hands together, then says, “We will bring more hot water to bathe, but would you allow me to care for your hair first?”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I touch my heart. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, beloved.”

She instructs me to lean over a wooden tub, then pulls out a thick, bristled brush.

I kneel over the drum and sigh as she pours hot water over my hair.

Soon the room smells of peppermint soap. Ridget runs the bar through my thicket, her fingers rubbing hard enough to loosen the dirt but soft enough to avoid hurting my scalp. She hums a song that relaxes my muscles as dirty lather drips into the tub.

I close my eyes and enjoy this brief rest.

A young chambermaid brings another bucket of hot water, and Ridget pours that over my hair to rinse out the suds. She drapes a towel over my head that smells of lavender.

My eyes stay closed as she sprinkles peppermint oil into my locks. Ridget’s touch sends a wave of cold through my body that stings, then burns—but it’s a refreshing, soothing burn.

“Come, beloved,” Ridget coos as she plops onto a low stool, then taps the floor.

I sit cross-legged between her knees, my back to her.

She hums as she rummages through a satchel, gathering what she needs: a comb, a brush, and a jar of thick oil. “Your hair just needs a little love, Lady…and a lot of oil .”

I laugh. “True.”

Ridget places her warm palms against my cold cheeks. She squeezes my shoulders, and then she opens the jar. She scoops a thicker peppermint oil into her palm, then works the grease through my hair. She sections my hair with an ivory comb, then forces the comb through the snarls. “Such thick and healthy hair. Beautiful hair.”

A teardrop slips down my cheek. Embarrassed, I swipe it away. “It’s falling out.”

“Of course it is,” she says, “to make room for new hair.”

I say nothing, but I’m experiencing something more than typical hair loss.

She hums that song again as she pulls the comb through my tangles, softly apologizing anytime I wince. “Tender-headed?”

A memory lights in my mind, and muted joy dances across my lips. “Yes. My mother used to comb my hair like this.”

“Of course she did. A mother is the first guardian of her daughter’s hair.”

Another teardrop plops onto the back of my hand. “I don’t remember much about her.”

Ridget starts the first of two braids. “She still lives deep inside you. She still loves you and wants the best for you.”

“How do you know that?”

Her hands work quickly as she starts the second braid. “Because you are lovable, Lady. Don’t let any being in this realm or any other realm tell you any different.” She taps my shoulder with a comb. “Go see yourself.”

I stand at the mirror over the basin. Two braids sit perfectly on the sides of my head. Rose-gold thread travels through the braids and catches the lantern light. “Strange,” I say. “My neck feels stronger. My shoulders, too.”

“That’s because I threaded your hair with spun luclite. And what’s more—”

As though she planned it, there’s a knock on the door.

In walks Separi, back now from her jaunt with Philia. She’s holding a breastplate that shines with overlapping rose-gold scales. “Your luclite armor, dearest.”

My mouth goes slack, and I press my hands against my cheeks.

“May I?” Separi asks.

Breathless, I watch as she places the complete set of armor upon the bed.

The material of the long-sleeved tunic—as well as the breeches—has been woven with luclite. Like the breastplate, the matching vambraces and gauntlets to cover my arms and hands are fabricated from this rare metal. “And your cloak of wonder completes your moveable fortress.” Separi bows her head and adds, “I know the armorer who kept these items after the Great War. We hosted his wedding for a meager price—free. This is repayment for that debt.”

Stunned, I move over to the bed and fall to my knees. “It’s all so beautiful .”

Separi’s image wavers before me—not because she’s been enchanted but because tears pool in my eyes. “I’m so thankful to you—to both of you,” I say, acknowledging Ridget. “I will never forget your kindness.”

Ridget bows her head, and then she and Separi gather the buckets of dirty water and the dirty towels. “There are two more buckets of clean, hot water for bathing,” Ridget says. “Keep the peppermint oil and soap.”

Separi opens the door and turns back to me with a smile. “Dinner will be brought up soon. If you need anything before then, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” I say. Once they scuffle down the hallway, everything is quiet again except for the pounding of my grateful heart.