He reached out to grab me, but finally,finally, the Hair mustered enough strength to lash out like a whip and bind itself around his wrist, the thick braid strong as a rope. He yanked his arm back, and the braid tore at my scalp, making me yelp. And then, incredibly, he smiled.
“Very good,” he said. “I think this is progress.”
The Hair was still wrapped around his wrist. He read a line from the book, and the pain came again, seeming to start at my scalp this time and then reverberating through my body like the strike of a gong. My bones seemed to press against my skin, as if under immense pressure, and my eyes felt swollen in their sockets. The engagement ring was so tight now that I wondered if it would sever my finger.
Ban Morin took the book from my hands just as my grip on it started to slip, and yanked roughly at my hair again. Specks of light dazzled my eyes, and I felt as though I might pass out, but the terrible pain would not let me—it kept me immobile and imprisoned, refusing to let me have the comfort of unconsciousness, keeping me in its embrace like a jealous lover.
“Good,” I heard him say as if from a great distance. “Much better.”
The pain released me as suddenly as it had come, and I fell limp and unresisting to the soft carpet. After a few moments of silence, I dared to look up.
Ban Morin had gone.
I sank down into myself again.I am not here. I am in my bed back in the Tower, and Mother will wake me soon. I am curled among the sleeping books at the Book Man’s shop, breathing in the comforting dust. I am hugging my knees in a steaming copper tub.
My own teeth felt loose in my mouth. The Hair hung about me like the canopies around a bed, making a small, private space where I could hide, moving lightly back and forth against the skin of my ears, the friction making a sound like someone whispering—oddly comforting. The door opened, softly, and the tears I had managed to hold back so far started to burn behind my eyes.
Footsteps.
“Mieka?” I whispered.
I waited for the comforting sound of Mieka’s voice, a shawl around my shoulders but … nothing. The steps paused in front of me, and I peeped through the red strands. Elegant, embroidered slippers with a squared toe; gold laces. Not Mieka.
A susurration as Milady crouched down beside me, gold skirts spreading out in a shining mass that stung my eyes. Every part of me felt delicate, easy to break. I felt like the slightest movement, even a blink, could snap something irreparable inside me.
Her hand rested on my cheek. I forced my eyes upwards. Her eyes were very blue.
“I told you to submit,” she said. And then she stood, and I watched her slippers move almost soundlessly on the thick carpet, over to the chaise longue beside the fire. I laid my head flat again and closed my eyes against the pain. I lay on the carpet, limp as a dress discarded after a night of dancing, and was paid as little attention.
I suppose I must have passed out. When I swam to the surface of myself, I heard Milady and Ban Morin talking.
“There is a limit to how much we can do without the book,” he was saying. A clink, and then the sound of wine filling a glass. “And you are no closer to finding it.”
“The Book Man was a miscalculation,” she said. “I didn’t know my sister had worked with him, or that he was harboring the girl.”
“You should have.”
Milady’s voice sharpened. “How, exactly? My sister has hidden from me for twenty years. She is very skilled at wards and concealment. You have no idea of her power.”
“I have a very good idea of her power, which is exactly why I want to be the one to wield it.” His voice came closer, became softer. “Let us not quarrel. We will find it. And until then, we have the girl, which is the next best thing. Her own power has a certain … piquancy. I am interested to explore its limits.”
“My love,” she said, and I heard a purr in her voice. “Do I not bring you the greatest gifts?”
There was a crowded silence and the rustle of fabric. I imagined their kiss, and my stomach turned.
I fell into blackness again. I was barely aware of the maidservants who lifted me by the elbows and marched me down the corridor to my bedroom, releasing me just inside the door so that I fell to my knees on the floor.
Baldbeak was tapping frantically at the window, hard enough to chip the glass. It felt an insurmountable distanceaway, but I managed to drag myself over to the casement, fumbling at the latch with numb fingers until it came loose, and the glass swung open just wide enough for the raven to wriggle through.
He seemed to know I was in pain; he did not hop to my shoulder, as usual, but flapped to the bedpost and perched there, puffing himself up a little against the chill and making small, concerned noises, little clicks and mutterings.
Are you all right?
“I will be,” I murmured, hoping it was true.
I will stay with you.
“Thank you.”
