Shetilted her head, then asked, “What is it?”
“It’sa concoction that Chester made me!I’msupposed to smear it on my wings and hair, andit’llhelp darken their colortemporarily.It’slikeink, almost. He said the main ingredient comes from some part of a fish he collected back inEchenBay, so Ican’timagine it would taste, or smell,very good.”
Rayven shot me a quizzical look, causing me to explain further.
“Back during the battle at Wittuck Woods, the ash and soot washed off my wings far too easily. You were there, Rayven—you knowI’mtelling the truth. If things were to go awry, and a weather or water wielder came at me, the soot would wash off again. This time, I wanted to feel more secure about my identity being hiddenif need be.Thoroughly,” I said. “Chess even made me a special cleansing oil that will help get all of the ink off when we’re done.”
“How did you know we’d need this?” Rayven asked as Matea put the cork back into place.
“I didn’t,” I said lightly, “but I wanted it, just in case.”
Rayven, seeming to find that answer sufficient, nodded.
Matea held out the vial towards me and said, “Here.”
“Actually, keep it. You have to help me put it on.”
I set my pack on the ground, then started unbraiding my waist long hair, freeing itofits plait.
“I can—” Rayven started.
“No,” I quickly interrupted.“Not this time, Rayven. I know you can, and I appreciate the offer, but ithas tobe Matea.”
Rayven shot me another questioning look, but before I could explain, Matea reached out and softly brushed a hand along the top of my left wing.
Chill bumpsimmediatelybroke out across my skin, the feathers sensitive to the touch.
The spy, finally realizing what I had meant, had the decency to look embarrassed before saying he was going to fill up our water skins anddippingout of our little cave.
Once it was just us females, Matea muttered, “About time. I thought I would never be able to get rid of him.”
“What’s your problem with each other?” I inquired.
“He’s just so…”shetrailedoff,making a nasty face towards the entrance of the cave where we last saw Rayven.
“Oh, yes, because that answersallof my questions,” I sighed.
Matea cleared her throat, then changed the topic.“Shouldn’t we get this gunk on you?”
One at a time, I stretched my wings out as much as I could inside therelatively smallcave. Matea and I passed the vial back and forth, applying a thin layer of ink-like liquid to every feather on my wings. We used strips of an old cloth shirt to apply the liquid, so as not to stain the skin of our hands with it. With every pass we made, my white and gray feathers turned a gray so deep they werenearly black.
The sight reminded me of Father, and once we were finished, I pulled my wings in close to my back and refused to look at them.
I wanted to be nothing like him, and yet here I was—lookingthe part ofhisdaughter.
Picking at my fingers, Icouldn’thelp but hate the way it made me feel.
“Viva?” Matea said, waving a hand in front of my face.
I jumped, but her expression softened slightly when she saw thatI’dbeen messing with the skin around my nails—something Icouldn’thelp but do when anxious.
“Come.” Matea gestured to the stone ground in front of her as she took up a spot with her back against the wall. “Sit, and let’s cover up your blindingly white hair.”
I couldn’t stop the sad smile that lifted my lips.
As I sat with my back to my older sister and her fingers slid into my hair to deposit the ink, I was reminded of Mother.
The way she would have me sit at my vanity and stand behind me to do my hair every morning.
