There’s a tall mirror along the wall. I sidestep until I can see myself in it, and freeze.
I don’t know what to make of the woman staring back at me. He told me last night that my eyes were burning, but I was too exhausted after we made it upstairs to see for myself. My iris rages with deep blue fire. Crackling, shifting, writhing. It glows so brightly that blue light colors the top of my cheekbone and the ridge above my eyes. I look like I belong here. I look like I’m one of them.
I’m not used to my right arm yet, and it’s strange to see the thin limb instead of the armor I used to wear. The hair growing on the left side of my scalp is a tangled mess from being slept on wet. The sword is on the wrong side of my body, so I can draw it with my left hand.
But as unfamiliar as I look… all of it feels, somehow, completely right. I’m seeing myself, not who the War-Father made me into.
Roiven approaches and ties my right arm into a sling, so I can fight without it getting in the way. I blink back tears, then squeeze my eyes shut and drag a ragged breath. I don’t miss the armor, now that I know what it was doing. But even if I haven’t had natural use of my arm since Roiven attacked my Hellion, I haven’t had to face it until now. Not like this.
“Do you want me to tie your hair back, too? For the flight?” Roiven’s voice is gentle.
My eyes open and drop down to the floor as shame blisters in my stomach. How can I simultaneously be Roiven’s last hope forhis people, and be so incapable of taking care of myself that I need him to help dress me?
“You aren’t a burden,” he says flatly, reminding me he can feel what’s happening in my head. “Everyone needs help.”
“Youdon’t seem to.”
“I need yours,” he offers quietly. “I haven’t been strong enough to stop this. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve cost my people lives we didn’t have to lose.”
“Some of them at my hands,” I whisper. “I don’t deserve your help.”
Roiven shakes his head.
“I’ll ask Aria to do your hair. If you’d rather.” He steps to the door.
“No,” I say quickly.
“You want me to?” he asks. I shrug. My throat feels too tight to speak. From the corner of my vision I see Roiven slowly nod. He fetches a brush, the handle made of bone and the bristles dark, and slowly moves behind me.
“I’m making us waste time,” I tell him.
Roiven’s hand grazes the back of my neck as he gathers my hair together. A shiver runs down my spine and I stand straighter, far too aware of how close he stands behind me. If I took a step back I’d be pressed to him.
How can this man want anything to do with me?
“It’s not a waste,” Roiven says. With my hair gathered in one fist he brushes at the ends, unhooking the first snarls.
“Every minute we spend…”
“If we’re too late by thirty seconds, I’ll bear the guilt of it,” Roiven tells me. “We’ll make it in time. And rushing to battle unprepared isn’t virtuous.” He moves higher with the brush. I feel it tug at my scalp; hear theshushof the bristles raking through my strands of hair.
“Maybe I should just cut it all off,” I mutter. He’s right that it should be tied back, if it’s long. Having your hair snap in front ofyour face at a critical moment is a disadvantage, and if I’m not capable of braiding it myself… I grit my teeth.
“Whatever you like,” Roiven answers, his voice low. “I am… sorry for what I did to you.”
“I’m glad the armor’s off. I had no idea what it was doing to me.”
“Not that.”
I blink and glance back into the mirror, at the scars on the right side of my head where the hair no longer grows. Roiven has moved higher now, working out the last of the tangles. A section of my red-brown hair already falls smoothly past my shoulders.
“You can’t mean when we fought, years ago.”
“If I’d known who you were...” he starts.
“That’s ridiculous. I was trying to kill you and Sava. Of course you defended yourself.”
“Well, I was the one who attacked your ship.”
