Page 37 of Hair, She Bears
He crawled to the side of the bed, shoved his arm between the bed frame and the wall, scraping his fingers across the wooden planks, then jerked his arm up. The small silver disc glistened in his fist.
“While my father was occupied with my punishment, Carlyle filched his mirror. I carried it in my beak for miles. It’s the only way to communicate with her.” He raised the mirror to his face, his thumb on the clasp.
“Don’t you think you should cover up?” Zenna asked, her eyes flicked down.
He smirked and tugged the thin quilt over his waist. “Does that make you more comfortable?” She glowered at him as he popped open the mirror.
“Malik!” The breathy voice exploded from his hand. “What took so long? I was afraid your father had captured you.”
A red tinge crept into his face. “To be honest, I was preoccupied.”
“I gave you plenty of time for a reunion, Malik. You should have been less… preoccupied.”
“I was distracted a second time.”
“A second time?” Curiosity dripped from her voice. “May I see her?”
Malik passed Zenna the mirror. She took a deep breath and turned it around to face her. A woman, her long black hair interspersed with silver strands, stared through the glass, her stoic gaze a duplicate of Malik’s.
“So, you are the girl who has given my son back his heart.” Moira’s musical voice rang in the loft. “I owe you a great debt. I thought Malik was lost forever the day his father took me from him, but you have brought him back to me. There is no way to repay that kindness. It would be my pleasure to call you my daughter.”
“I didn’t propose.” Malik pressed against Zenna’s shoulder, his face squeezing into view.
“Why not?” Moira’s eyes flicked to him. “You love her, don’t you?”
“People don’t get married before knowing each other longer than a day.”
“Again, why not?” Moira asked.
“It’s not practical.”
“That is your father speaking.” Pressing her lips together, Moira glowered at him.
“My mother is a romantic,” Malik murmured in Zenna’s ear. His lips brushed over her earlobe, sending a cascade of shivers rippling down her back.
“Your fiancée is too,” Moira needled him.
“She’s not my fiancée,” Malik said
“Yet,” Moira replied.
“Can we rescue Zenna before we plan the wedding?” Malik growled.
“So, you admit there will be a wedding?” Moira’s eyes sparkled.
“I’m not admitting anything.” Malik folded his arms across his chest.
“Before you escape, I ask that you free your Uncle Carlyle,” Moira said, effectively ending the discussion. “I’m not certain how he fell out of favor with your father, but I heard he was trapped in the underground prison as well.”
“Zenna healed his leg.”
Moira arched a black eyebrow, her gaze slid to Zenna.
“Without request for compensation?”
“He was in pain,” Zenna replied.
“Interesting.” Moira drew out the word. “Carlyle owes you favor.”
