Before the tears can fall, I put the items back in their place and push the bag away. I lay down on the bed, settling in as I stare at the ceiling.
My heart weeps like an open wound. I feel shame. Regret. It would be nice to stay here a little longer, but I do not live only for myself.
Enduvida will still be here when my mission is finished. I will do my part to make sure of it.
Chapter 11
RA’SA
The Next Day…
Ihardly slept last night. I should regret my decision to go to Zlosa, but I can’t. I can’t stop hearing Melisa’s words or remembering what it felt like when she told us about the hell she’d crawled out of.
It haunts me.
So much so that I barely register the motions of the day. I hardly feel it when they take me to the elves to fix my face.
When the queen asked me to cut my hair—an act that an Enduar would only take upon the death of a mate—I gritted my teeth and thought about how human women only want roofs over their heads.
Until an hour ago, I had long hair that any Enduar would be proud of. Now, it is black and falls to my chin.
Comparison can be the thief of joy, but it can also put life into perspective. Traditions, though comforting, must fall to the wayside when so many lives are at risk. I will be a slave, and human slaves regularly cut their hair. The reasons do not matter. I must do what needs to be done.
“Use this. Keep one next to you while you sleep so the glamour will replenish every evening around midnight. Otherwise, you will wake up as blue as the day your mother birthed you, my fiendish friend,” Thorne says.“If you need to call upon the magic outside of midnight, sayBlàth.”
My mouth trips on the word as I try to repeat it, and he smiles reassuringly.
He’s one of the only men in the elven resistance, and I’m convinced his leader sent him here to spy on us. I shouldn’t like him.
But… he is helping us—particularly me—so I remain undecided on my loyalties.
His white hair falls in orderly curls around his face, and I eyeball the length. It’s short, just as mine is now.
“Thank you,” I grumble as I take the small sack of pebbles in my hand.
It is small, barely larger than my palm, and the stones inside are practically shards of rock. But the contact causes a buzzing to skitter across my skin.
Elven magic.
I wonder what my father would think about my cutting my hair and using foreign magic. Perhaps he would find it amusing. He had a seriousness about him, but he so dearly loved to laugh.
In that regard, we are different. But laughter has meant little when all that’s left of our family of seven is me and my mother. The first time I laughed in years was when Melisa jumped into that pool after me.
My gaze travels over to Melisa. Queen Estela holds her close. The two of them smile at each other, and I strain my ears to hear the words pass between them, when Melisa turns her head to meet my gaze.
Until now, my heartbeat has been slow and steady, but when I look into Melisa’s unflinching, golden-warm gaze, I feel like I’ve just spent two hours training with the stone benders.
I sweat, my muscles feel strange, and, if I still had my tail in this form, it would probably be swishing back and forth.
When she smiles, it feels like my chest might burst.
Is this matehood?
I listen closely to the air around us, waiting for the access to her mind that comes with a mate, but her thoughts are silent. No song sings to me, and no pain appears on my neck, signaling mating marks.
Melisa turns back to Estela, who hands her a few small trinkets. The glint of a red stone makes me tilt my head to the side.
Red beryl—a healing stone. It matches Melisa’s dress.