Page 37 of Keldori By Daybreak

She grimaced at Ciarán, who was still struggling to pretend to be fine.

“Right,” I sighed. She was right. It was the easiest way forward, as unpleasant as it would be. “Let me know if I mess him up.”

I covered my face with my hands and focused on my hair first. It turned to dust on my shoulders, leaving a short hairstyle that swooped upwards like a cockatoo’s head feathers. The fabric of my clothes and armor shifted and snaked against my body as I altered them to better fit the typical Second Sentinel fashion.

The bone beneath my Skal-made skin rippled, and my cheeks shifted beneath my palms. Bristly beard pushed against my fingers, and the itchy feeling made me drop my hands.

Both Ciarán and Orla grimaced at me.

“Do I look alright?” I winced at the sound of Ferrin’s voice coming out of my mouth and raised a hand to my throat. “Oh, I hate that.”

“You can’t hate it more than I do.” Ciarán turned away to look back towards the prison suite.

“You’re fine,” Orla insisted, but her wide eyes and hunched shoulders suggested different. “You even got his clothes right.”

I looked down at the leather vest and white tunic that had replaced the black clothes Ciarán had summoned me in.

“Let’s get this over with, Blue.” He still refused to look at me. “Get up there, get the girl, and let’s leave.”

Orla nodded at me, and I nodded back, tugging on the hem of my vest.

“Right,” Ferrin’s voice replied from my throat. “Easy.”

“And don’t use Skal if you can help it,” Orla said. “It’s going to be hard to pretend to be a Quillguard if you’ve got orange magick.”

“No Skal. Got it.” I looked to Ciarán, but he continued to refuse to look my way and leaned against the wall for support. “Are you good?”

“Get out of here, Blue,” he growled. “We want to be fast.”

“Forgive me for asking,” I snapped back and strode around the corner and out onto the walkway.

The Second Sentinel opened up beneath me as I walked towards the railing. I craned my head back to look at the stairs that glittered in the swath of sky visible through the open mountain top.

“Alright, Ferrin,” I murmured to myself. “What could be so difficult about a prison break?”

I ran a hand through his swooped brown hair and then scratched at my neatly trimmed beard. Facial hair, I decided, was an absolute sensory nightmare. I pulled a strand from my chin, and the tiny bit of hair turned to Skaldust in my fingers.

As terrible as the habit was, plucking the hair steeled my resolve and settled my nerves. I pushed away from the railing and marched towards the sweeping steps ahead.

“Shoulders back,” Ciarán hissed in my head. “And longer strides.”

I adjusted my gait but scowled as I took the first stairs.

“Are you done pouting then?” I hoped my mental voice sounded like my own in Ciarán’s head instead of Ferrin’s.

“You mean because I wouldn’t look at you? You’ll have to forgive me. The Quillguard killed my parents.”

My stomach tightened. “He killed Orla’s mother, too. She was just fine.”

“She’s still fond of the man, even after everything.”

“No,” I asserted. “She’s definitely not.”

Ciarán hummed noncommittally in my head.

I reached the top of the first staircase, but I still had another floor to ascend before I reached the prison suite. I tried to peer into the darkness that shrouded the off-shooting corridors, but Ciarán chided me.

“Stop gawking and try to look like you know what you’re doing.”