Page 42 of Hair, She Bears
“Do you want to try?”
“You’ll have to show me how.” He rose, grabbed a cushion from the sofa, and tossed it onto the floor directly behind her stool. Kneeling, he slid his hands down her arms, over her wrists, and wrapped his fingers around hers. His hands moved in unison with hers. Leaning forward, his mouth touched her ear. “Like this?”
A shiver rolled down her spine. “Yes.”
“Tell me about your birthday.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear, sending a cascade of tremors rippling down her spine.
She withdrew her hands from the pestle and dropped them to her sides. Warmth curled through her body, the soothing result of Malik’s skin rhythmically rubbing against her arms.
“It was the first one I ever had.” She spoke to the mortar, watching the green color fade, and the powder took on a slight lavender tinge. “Mother appeared in my tower that morning, holding a large burlap sack. He flung it at my feet and announced he discovered it was my birthday.”
“What did he give you?”
She stiffened, the long-buried memory flaring from her subconscious.
“Peaches.”
Malik froze. “Why would he give you peaches?”
“They were filled with Votras Alute.” She felt the muscles in Malik’s arms tighten.
“Is this why you know the powder doesn’t work on you?”
She nodded, sinking teeth into her lower lip to hold in a sob as she shuddered. He leaned his head against hers in a comforting gesture.
“Mother said it was a special birthday present, one that would make up for the previous years’ oversights.”
“He expected a bag of fruit to compensate for years of neglect?” Malik asked as Zenna guided his hand to the side of the mortar. She knocked the pestle on the edge of the stone and indicated for him to resume grinding.
“I’d never had a peach before,” she replied, her tone heavy as the past surrounded her. “I thought it was a gift… but it only took one bite. The amount of Votras Alute in the peach was equal to four vials.”
“What happened?”
“I collapsed, convulsing on the floor. Mother stood over me, his laughter echoing around the tower, growing louder and louder until I passed out. When I awoke, I was bound and gagged on the sofa.”
“Where was my father?”
“Sitting beside me.” Another tremor rolled through her. “He drew my head onto his lap and removed the handkerchief. I tried to sit up, but his hand slammed into my chest. Before I could speak, he shoved half a peach into my mouth and clamped his other hand over my face. He refused to let me breathe until I swallowed the fruit.”
She fell silent, lost in the recollection—Mother’s acrid scent in her nostrils, the taste of his skin on her tongue, revulsion rolling through her as Mother’s hand slid over her chest, down her body, and pressed into her abdomen, restraining her against the sofa as wave after wave of tremors assaulted her. Malik’s arms wrapped around her, breaking the trance.
Reaching beneath her hair, she pulled a stark white strand over her shoulder and wound it around her finger. “This is what happens when I use the drug.”
“Is it dead?”
“Yes. Mother was ecstatic when the strand changed color. He managed to shove three peaches down my throat before the transformation occurred. He cut a portion of the white piece to make a new batch. The hair caught fire within seconds and disintegrated, leaving a small pile of ash in his palm.” She flinched when Malik touched the tress. “Mother beat me until I vomited out the peaches.”
“Only this section transformed?”
“Over the next few days, I pulled out the other strands before Mother noticed.” Zenna’s gaze dropped to the lavender powder. “He hoped ingesting Votras Alute would make my hair more powerful. Instead, it stripped all its healing capabilities. Mother took the remaining peaches and left me on the floor, bound, bleeding, and throbbing in pain.”
“I’m sorry.” Malik murmured against the back of her head. “I wish I had known about you earlier.”
“Thus, the reason he hid my existence from you and everyone else.” She twisted around and placed one hand on his cheek. “Mother’s cruelty is not your fault, you are not responsible for his actions.”
“But I will be responsible for his demise.” Malik’s face hardened. Picking up the pestle again, he attacked the powder, his vicious grinding pulverizing the remaining chunks in the mortar. Beneath the dull edge of the pestle, the drug transformed, illuminating the bowl in glittering deep purple.
“Stop,” Zenna said, detangling the pestle from Malik’s cramped fingers.
