Page 51 of Hair, She Bears
“Neither Malik nor Carlyle deserve your compassion.” He wrenched her head sideways, and the knife blade scratched across her skin again.
Lifting her chin, he turned her face to the left, inspecting her head. He rose, refolded the knife, and shoved it back into his boot. He strode to the fireplace, selected a burning log from the dying fire, and walked to the armoire. With his eyes on Zenna, he touched the flames to her hair.
Fire zipped through the tower, following the trail of dull gold. She gasped. Nothing remained of her hair except ash. Mother flung the log back into the fireplace as he lumbered to the table. Sliding his arms around the stone base, he lifted the bowl with a grunt.
“Have a pleasant afternoon.”
“You promised to help Malik,” she said, tears dripped down her cheeks.
“Did I?” Mother spun around, his eyebrow arched. “Think carefully, what did I agree to?”
“You agreed to let me save Malik.”
“And once I find him, I’ll let you try.” His mouth crooked. “In the meantime, I suggest you use the time to make more Votras Alute. Considering his injuries, Malik may need more than one vial.”
“How can I?” She touched her scalp, grimacing at the smoothness of the skin beneath her fingers. “You took my hair.”
“Yes, that is a problem.” Mother tightened his grip on the mortar and disappeared, his maniacal laughter circled around Zenna’s head.
12
Zenna scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the loft. The chain whipped up, grinding against the wooden beam supporting the staircase, and jerked her leg, the unforgiving iron cuff digging into her ankle. Wrapping her hands around the chain, she yanked, but the chain—connected to the wall through thick metal eyebolt—refused to release. Sweat pouring down her face, she yelled his name, the tower echoed with her heartbreak. No sound answered her frantic cry.
A sob ripped through her chest. She was too late, Mother had won. She sank down on the floor, hysteria bubbling through her veins, and drew her legs into her body. Malik was dead.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Why are you sorry?”
Zenna lifted her tear-stained face and frowned, her gaze sliding over the tower.
“Who’s there?”
“Just me.” A fluttering sound followed the statement.
“Malik?” She leapt up, her heart thrumming at a rapid pace. A soft scraping came from above her head. Stretching the chain as far as possible, she hopped out from underneath the staircase, her head craned sideways and caught a flash of black.
“You’re going to have to catch me,” his heavy voice replied.
“I’m right below you.” She held out her apron like a safety net and bent backward, arching her body. Without warning, the raven tumbled from the landing above. Zenna darted forward, her apron outstretched and caught Malik as he fell from the loft. She dropped to her knees and lifted the bird from her apron, cradling it in her palms.
“I much preferred my first hiding place,” he said, his attempt at humor accompanied by a groan.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Fairly close.”
“How did you make it to the landing?”
“He hurt you,” replied Malik, his voice dark. “I was halfway across the loft before I remembered I was still a bird.”
She stroked her thumb over his head in a gentle caress.
“Mother took the full batch with him, I have no Votras Alute to heal you.”
“I hate the stuff, anyway.” Pain laced his response. A tear slid down Zenna’s cheek and landed on his feathers. “I wanted to see you one last time.”
“No.” Zenna removed her apron, laid it on the floor, and set Malik in the center of it. “I’m not giving up on you.”
