Page 55 of Hair, She Bears
“There won’t be much Votras Alute,” she said, selecting the nearest vial.
“As long as he can walk, you can heal the rest of him after we escape.”
It was as though she had plunged into ice water. Was this his plan all along, to destroy his father and take over the business? She froze and swallowed.
“You want me to make more?”
Malik scooted closer. “There are people who need this drug, people who are dying. Would you deny them?”
“I’ve spent my life in this tower, suffering at the hands of your father because of this drug.”
“I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” He sighed and nipped her ear. “I’m asking you to consider helping those who cannot help themselves.”
“When did you become so compassionate?”
“When I fell in love with you.” He bunted her jaw with his head, tickling her chin with his feathers. “However, before I can show you how much I love you, we need to get out of here.”
She nodded, pulled the empty vial from the rack, and crossed the tower. Kneeling on the cold stone, she swept the residual powder into the vial, then held up the bottle, shaking it in the light. The vial was barely a quarter full.
“Is that enough?” Malik asked.
“Yes.” Zenna capped the vial. Taking Malik gently from her shoulder, she flipped him upside down and placed him on her lap. After pulling a thread from the hem of her shirt, she wrapped the string around the vial and tied it to Malik’s feet, then set him right-side up. “Can you fly?”
Malik flapped his wings, and his body lifted an inch from the floor. He dropped onto the ground, his feet resting on the vial. “I can manage.”
“I’ll give you three sticks of licorice root. Spread them across the floor of the western tower. You will need to shatter one vial on top of each root to ensure the powder reacts. The explosion should be large enough to break the other vials.” She laid on the floor, bringing her eyes level with Malik. “You must be out of the tower before that happens.”
“I will meet you in the center of the courtyard.”
Zenna rose and darted to the back wall. Grabbing a jar, she unscrewed the lid and dumped the contents on her worktable. Sorting through the licorice roots, she selected three pieces of equal size and spun toward Malik. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.
Lifting Malik from the floor, she gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head and strode to the window, setting him and the licorice root on the windowsill. He scooped the sticks into his beak and turned back, his beady eyes finding Zenna. Nodding his head once, Malik leapt off the window ledge and soared toward the prison window.
She waited until she saw him land under the archway. Turning away from the window, she gathered the curtain from the floor and carried it to the sofa. She dropped onto the sofa and began shredding the curtain into strips.
“Why aren’t you chained to the wall?” Mother’s ire caused her to jump. She balled the strips together into a formless bundle and twisted around as Mother appeared beneath the staircase.
She gulped, her chest constricted. “I picked the lock.”
“With what? I took—” A jar flew across the room, kicked by his boot, and shattered against the wall. The pungent smell of decay filled the room. He glanced down, his dark gaze sweeping over the remaining jars. “Why are these on the floor?”
“I was preparing for Malik. Did you bring him?” She shoved the curtain pieces into the sofa, and rose, clasping her hands in front of her waist. A flash of light zipped across the room.
Mother’s gaze followed the glow to the mirror, resting on the sofa cushion, a peculiar smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He strode across the room, shoved Zenna aside, and snatched the mirror from the cushion, prying open the clasp.
“Moira?”
13
“I’d like to say, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Mac, but it’s not.” Moira’s tight voice echoed around the tower.
“How is this possible?” Horror crept into Mother’s face. “I watched you take your last breath.”
“You always underestimated my skills.” Moira clucked her tongue, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You should have checked my pulse.”
“Who helped you escape?” Mother’s eyes bulged, and the hand gripping the mirror shook. “Was it Carlyle? I’ll kill the son of a bitch!”
“No…” Moira dragged out the word, clearly enjoying Mother’s vexation.
