I held her eyes. “Yes. It’s enough.”
Amryssa sighed, then turned back to the window. An age seemed to pass before she spoke again.
“Then I suppose I’ll have that bath, now. If that’s what truly makes you happy.”
5.
After I’d cleaned Amryssa up and brushed the snarls from her hair, I put her to bed. She’d barely slept last night, and while a nap wouldn’t restore her completely, it might ease the shadows beneath her eyes.
Once her breathing lengthened, I slid her wedding gown from its hanger and brought it next door to my room, where I spread it across my bed. The dress would never accommodate my average-sized torso and generous backside, and I didn’t have the sewing skills to alter it. But Ididhave another means to solve the problem. I slid my dagger free and went to my vanity, where I plunked down before the splotched mirror.
My lip curled. I looked like lukewarm vomit. Zephyrine knew I would’ve liked to stay that way—to repel Kyven through sheer disgust—but I couldn’t give him any reason to balk at this sham of a marriage.
Best reel him in with something at least halfway enticing.
I laid my dagger on the vanity. When I brushed the hilt, something quivered inside. I didn’t know what, exactly—Olivian had never told me where he’d gotten this thing, and I’d neverasked. But whatever witchery answered my summons felt...old. Primal, almost, though I’d never equated its single-mindedness with simplicity. I’d instead concluded that at some point, the dagger’s inhabitant had gotten broken. Fragmented. Like a sheared-off piece of something that had once been whole.
“What are you?” I murmured.
The dagger’s awareness pulsed beneath my skin. But it never answeredthatquestion, no matter how many times I asked.
With a wry laugh at myself, I set to work. Magic trickled from my fingertips, softening my flesh and turning it pliable. With careful strokes, I smoothed the hollows beneath my eyes, then sharpened the arch of my brows. I left my nose alone, but honed my cheekbones and chin. My skin warmed and reshaped, the magic seeping in like rainwater permeating soil.
When I finished, I looked different. Not so much that the prince would notice—he’d only assume I’d cleaned myself up, hopefully—but I’d accomplished what I wanted.
I looked...fiercer. Hawklike. Not beautiful, but striking enough to stand out in a crowd, and I wanted people to startle when they saw me. To sneak glances when I wasn’t looking, to guess at whether the contours of my face divulged those of my soul. I wanted them to wonder whether I only looked like the sort of woman who’d slice them apart if crossed, or if I actuallywas.
I smiled, pleased to find an edge of menace there. Briefly, I tried to recall the face I’d been born with, but I hadn’t glimpsed it in so long that my mind held only the vaguest impression of bland features, dishwater eyes, and a weak chin.
I didn’t regret having shed that skin. Having forgotten.
Next, I smoothed a hand over my lank hair, infusing the locks with gloss and adding another inch of length. This was my one concession to vanity—this raven mass, so thick and blackand slippery it shone even at night and resisted any efforts to constrain it in a braid.
That done, I went to work narrowing my waist. The result looked borderline absurd and squished my organs into places they didn’t belong, but I would reverse this particular change the moment I wriggled free of Amryssa’s dress tonight.
I rose to try on the gown, but a soft knock interrupted. Its distinct pattern shot a tiny smile across my lips.Merron.
I veered to the door and opened it. Our head steward waited in the hall, as solid and compact as if hewn from brown oak. Scruff clung to Merron’s cheeks and last night’s storm had carved new lines around his eyes, but somehow, he only looked handsomer for it.
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, startled by the softness in that word. Somehow, Merron always relaxed my defenses.
“Sorry to show up unannounced. I just needed to know you were all right.” His voice was husky, the usual byproduct of our nightmarish ordeals.
Not that I would ever point it out. Merron had never told me which truth the storms excised from his soul, honed to an edge, and used to lacerate his mind. But he always screamed sooner than the rest of us, so it had to be particularly bad.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired.”
His gaze narrowed, sweeping my face. “Did you...change something?”
I glanced toward the vanity. “Yeah. A little of this, a little of that. Nothing I won’t put back eventually.”
“Oh. Well. It looks good on you.”
My lips flirted with a smile. He always said that, no matter what I did. I could probably remold myself as a hag and Merron would react by singing her praises. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said. “Could I...come in, maybe?”
