Page 43 of Hair, She Bears
“Is it done?” He peered over her shoulder.
She nodded. “Would you like to test it?”
“No.” Malik climbed from the cushion, rubbed his legs, and stomped across the floor, working the feeling back into his muscles. Birds chirped outside the window. Malik turned, his mouth pulled into a grimace.
“It’s almost sunrise.”
“All that’s left is to fill the vials.” Zenna rose and walked to him. She embraced him, sliding her arms beneath his. “Concentrate on freeing the others. I can finish before your father arrives.”
“I will return for you.” Malik craned his neck and pressed his mouth to hers.
Extricating himself from her embrace, he guided her to the sofa and backed ten feet away. As the sun crested the mountains, sunlight filtered through the shutters, striking him in the back. He cried out and imploded in a burst of black smoke.
Zenna screamed, running toward him. As the smoke cleared, a small, winged shape appeared, hopping in a small circle, its wings flapping against the stone floor.
“Malik?”
The raven cawed in response and took flight, winging around the tower, its voice reverberated off the walls.
She dashed to the window, unlatched the shutters, and pushed them open. Malik circled her once, playfully diving at her head as if to say goodbye, then flew out the window, heading for the prison window.
He landed on the courtyard and toddled forward to the archway. As he reached the alcove, he turned and called out, his caw echoing across the empty courtyard. Behind him, a pair of hands appeared, reaching through the bars, and snatched him from sight.
10
Zenna clamped her hand over her mouth, her heart pounded with fear. Had Mother captured Malik? Her gaze slid to the staircase... and the mirror. Malik had said not to touch it, but if something happened to him, shouldn’t she inform Moira?
What if Mother answered instead? She gulped. Without the vials completed, attracting Mother’s attention too early would certainly result in his exacting a horrific punishment on her or her parents.
She hesitated, hovering in the window. A faint caw floated across the courtyard, breaking the early morning silence. She cupped her hands around her eyes, her gaze locked on the archway. Fluttering in the alcove, one black wing appeared—a message from Malik—and vanished.
Relief flowed through her. She grabbed the quilt from the floor and tossed it on the sofa as she floated to the wall of shelves. She selected the first bundle of vials and tucked them into her apron pocket, her gaze flicking back to the window.
“Good luck,” she whispered, sinking into the stool, and lifting the metal spoon from its hook. Dipping the spoon into the mortar, she scraped the sides of the stone bowl and filled the first vial.
“I’m pleased to find you working. I was afraid some other distraction had prevented you from your task.”
Zenna shrieked and twisted sideways. Mother stepped from the shadows beneath the staircase, his mouth pulled into a sour smile. His dark gaze flicked to the open shutters, then returned to her, asking a silent question.
“There’s not enough light in the tower,” she replied, using her previous lie, and filled the second vial.
He nodded and trudged to the shelves, walking between the sofa and the worktable. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“I didn’t expect you at sunrise,” Zenna said, filling another vial. She held it out to him. “Would you like to sample this batch?”
His eyes flicked down and narrowed. “No.”
“How will you know if it’s potent?” Her forehead wrinkled. Mother never refused a test bottle.
He stroked his fingers over his chin, his dark gaze on the outstretched bottle. His left arm whipped forward, and his fingers closed around the vial. Jerking his arm back, he waved his right hand in a small circle. A bare-chested man materialized in the tower, his body bent into a permanent ‘C.’ One chain stretched from the iron collar around the man’s neck, through the shackles on his wrists, and ended at the cuffs on his ankles. Blood and sweat dripped off his tanned skin.
“You remember Carlyle.” Mother strode forward and slapped a hand across the man’s back. Not one sound came from Carlyle, save a raspy wheeze in his chest.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” Zenna replied, her gaze sliding to Carlyle. He refused to raise his eyes to hers. Dread settled in her stomach. What was Mother planning?
“Carlyle has generously volunteered to test every batch of Votras Alute you produce.” With the edge of his thumb, Mother popped the stopper from the vial, wrenched Carlyle’s head up, dumped the powder down Carlyle’s throat, and flung him away. Falling to his side, Carlyle coughed, spraying blood droplets across the floor. He gasped, the rattling in his chest eased, and he drew in a deep breath.
“Congratulations.” Mother sneered, setting his boot on Carlyle’s knee. “You didn’t kill him.”
