Page 61 of Hair, She Bears
“No, I didn’t, and there is no need for violence.” Carlyle placed a heavy hand on Jax and squeezed his shoulder. “Your debt is cleared.”
“Only Mother can do that.” Jax glared at him.
“Or Mother’s successor…” Carlyle shifted his gaze to Zenna. “Where’s Malik?”
Zenna pointed down. “They’re both in there.”
Carlyle’s eyes popped. He stepped toward the thicket, his path instantly blocked by giant thorns.
“Can you reach them?”
“I don’t know.” Zenna chewed her lip, she glanced down at the make-shift rope. Would it hold her?
“Malik would do the same for you,” Carlyle’s voice drifted through the window.
“He did more than that,” Zenna murmured to herself.
She grabbed the curtain-rope, walked to the armoire, and tied an end around the leg, yanking it tight. As an added measure, she wrapped the end around the armoire’s leg twice and flung the remainder of the make-shirt rope out the window.
“Is that safe?” Carlyle asked.
“Nope.” Zenna climbed onto the windowsill, her gaze on the thicket. “Deep breath, Zenna.”
She spun around and crouched down. Grabbing hold of the rope, she exhaled once, then slid out of the window, her fingers curling around the thin material. She climbed down the side, her feet planted against the side of the tower. Halfway down, the tension in the curtain eased. She glanced up. Fraying against the windowsill, one-quarter of the curtain’s threads snapped.
“Hurry!” Carlyle’s urgent warning echoed across the compound.
Dropping hand over hand, Zenna descended another ten feet before a horrific ripping sound vibrated through the courtyard. She screamed and fell backward, crashing through the middle of the thicket. Thorns carved up her back, shredding her skin to ribbons, then she landed with a grunt on a squishy surface. A groan echoed in her ear. Her heart squeezed, terror constricting her chest. How could Mother still be alive? She would never be free of him. A sob hovered in her throat.
“Zenna?” Surprise filled Malik’s voice.
“Malik!” Her heart soared. She flipped over, ignoring the pain that accompanied the movement, and wrapped her arms around his torso, squeezing him with the exuberance racing through her body. He moaned. She released him, an apology on her tongue. Her forehead wrinkled. “When did you become a man?”
“Somewhere around the age of fourteen.” His arms slid around her waist, and he drew her head down, brushing his lips over her mouth.
She pulled away. “I thought you couldn’t transform—”
“Unless my father died.” Malik tilted his head. “I don’t think he survived the fall.”
“And the thorns?”
“A little present from my mother to deter anyone who wanted to rescue my father.”
“Miss?” Carlyle’s voice floated through the bramble. “Are you alright?”
Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed up. “I found Malik!”
“Is he breathing?” Carlyle asked.
She glanced down at him and raised an eyebrow. “Are you breathing?”
“Barely, you’re crushing my chest.” She shifted, but Malik’s arms tightened, pinning her against him. “It wasn’t a complaint.”
“He’s alive!” she called back to Carlyle.
“I’ll cut through the bramble from this side, but it will take some time. Crawl toward my voice.” Slashing sounds followed Carlyle’s command.
“What should I do?” Jax asked Carlyle, hesitance in his voice.
