to it,” she told me, with her own long, lustrous, beautiful hair rippling down to her butt. She’d had it up before, in a no-nonsense bun, but tonight it was down and it was glorious.
I sighed.
“Can I see the brunette one again?”
She obliged and I tugged it on, but the same problem persisted. It’s hard to fit a wig, any wig, when your own hair is so lopsided. After a few frustrating moments, I pulled the dark, shiny mass off again and stared at my terrible reflection.
Maybe I’d just get room service.
“There is another option,” Maha said, holding out her hand. On the palm was a familiar sight, although not a familiar shape. I picked up the little golden item she was offering and frowned at it. It was beautiful, like a delicate brooch made in the form of a spray of flowers, with the gold work so fine that the tiny stems quivered whenever it moved.
But it wasn’t a brooch. The tell-tale thrum of a magical tat vibrated against my palm, although softer than I was used to. Not weaker but . . . different. There was magic here, but not a kind I knew.
“It’s a weapon?” I asked, looking up at her.
Maha laughed. And then the laughter faded, and her face became somber. “What kind of life have you lived?” she asked softly. “That that is the only magic you know?”
“It isn’t the only kind,” I said, feeling defensive. An emotion that melted away into wonder when she turned me around to face the mirror again, and placed the tiny object—not in my hair, as I’d expected, since I didn’t see what else she could do with it. But on my bald skin.
No, make that in my skin, I realized, as it melted into the surface the same way that my little bird had done. But while the birdie had had an immediate effect on my senses, this charm didn’t seem to make any difference at all. And then the most amazing thing happened.
“Do you like it?” Maha asked, watching my face.
Well, obviously, I didn’t say, but not because I was practicing my diplomacy. But because I was honestly speechless for a moment. The delicate spray of stems, flowers and leaves had expanded, twining along my bare patch of scalp until they covered it in an exuberance of beauty. And unlike most tats, even magical ones, this wasn’t a mere blue outline. This looked like the tattoo had been made with liquid gold.
It glimmered against my skin and set off my dark hair like a diadem. I laughed in wonder, and felt it gingerly when it finally stopped. It was solid and cool under my fingertips. It was amazing.
“I look like that chick from Hunger Games,” I said. “You know, the one with the camera crew?”
“You look beautiful,” Maha said, and it sounded genuine.
I met her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you.”
She ducked her head. “There is a command for when you wish to remove it. I will write it down for you.”
“I’ll return it in good condition,” I promised.
She looked startled. “But it is a gift.”
“A gift?” I put a hand back to the delicate tracery, feeling it slide solidly under my touch. “But . . . I couldn’t. It’s too much—”
“Too much?” Those beautiful eyes flashed.
“Uh, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” It was grim. “I have seen how you have been treated, since you arrived. I did not add to it, but I did not object, either, to my shame. The men’s crude comments; the women’s jealousy; virtually everyone declining to so much as touch your hand, thinking you tainted. And for what? An accident of birth you could not control, and which gave you the abilities to save us all?”
I blinked at her. “I . . . didn’t exactly—”
She didn’t want to hear it. “You saved our consul. Our leader for time out of mind, and my Sire. I will not forget that. I do not speak for the others, but as for me, you have made a friend this day, Dorina Basarab.”
“Dory,” I said, and tried to ignore the pang that the other name caused. It was hard considering that, while I may have helped to solve a problem for Hassani, I hadn’t done a damned thing about finding my sister. She’d been gone for almost a day, and I knew little more than I had when she was taken.