Page 77 of Fires of the Forsaken
And watched his brow furrow. “Is that meant to be a crude gesture?”
“This?” I wiggled my thumb. “Nah. This means ‘you got it.’ Nowthis,” I flipped my middle finger up, “is a crude gesture.”
Cheriour huffed and turned to my guard. “You can bring her down at mid-day.”
“Is lunch included?” I asked.
Cheriour didn’t respond as he ducked out of the room.
“Guess not.”
23
Love Tap
“Seriously,” I insisted, “a pair of scissors, that’s all I need. You wanna know how good it’ll feel to have that hair off your neck?”
My chocolate-haired guard grunted noncommittally but kept walking, her heavy, matted braid bouncing with each step.
Outside we went, where the afternoon sun was searing hot and the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. I was already sweating—no surprise there.
“You would lookamazing,”I said to my guard’s back. “I’d give you a side-swept cut—very easy to take care of. Just wash and go.”
She grunted again.
“Or we can stay with the longer style. But I think you’d love a short bob if you gave it a chance,” I pressed.
That remark didn’t even earn me a grumble.
Instead of taking me to the courtyard, the woman led me around the side of the castle. The sun-burnt grass crinkled beneath my boots as we walked.
Cheriour sat cross-legged in the field between the castle and a small lake. A long wooden pole lay draped across his legs, and he used a knife to whittle bits off the end.
“Thank you, Lottie,” he mumbled to my guard, although he didn’t pull his gaze away from the pole. “You don’t need to stay.”
With a curt nod, Lottie turned and marched back to the castle. Probably (definitely) happy to be rid of me.
“Her name’s Lottie?” I asked. “That’s cute! I’m trying to talk her into letting me cut her hair. She’s not having it. But I’m persistent. We’ll get there.”
Cheriour said nothing. Just kept chopping on the pole.
“You could be my next makeover,” I said. “You’ve got pretty coarse hair…”Understatement.His thick hair curled in every direction, even though he’d tried to tame it back into a ponytail. There was literally a frizz halo around his head. “But I could get some of the bulk out—”
“Take this.” Cheriour thrust the wooden pole into my hands. I scrambled to catch it but only held onto it for a brief second before he shook his head and snatched it away.
“What’d you do that for?” I huffed.
“It’s too long.” He shaved another inch off the end and handed it to me again. Only to take it away again.
The third time was, apparently, the charm.
“Good,” he said gruffly as I leaned the top of the stick against my shoulder.
“You’re sure?” The pole was almost as tall as me. “Still seems pretty big.”
“It’s meant to be.”
“Oookay. I mean, I don’t know much about this fighting stuff, but I've never seen a five-foot sword—”
