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Springs Eternal
When Verve dragged herself to Lotis later that afternoon, she sneaked not only back into the village, but up to her room in Hadiya’s loft, where she’d tucked away a nice hoard of liquor and her dwindling supply of puffers. Thanks to Hadiya’s ongoing improvements to the barn, Verve’s makeshift “home” was no longer exposed to the elements. Four walls and a roof made sleeping more comfortable, but such structural integrity also made it more time-consuming for Verve to slip in, drop off her crossbow, and slip back out with bottles tucked in her coat pockets. She clinked a little, but not much, and a little unnecessary noise was a small price to pay for a way to numb the roil of emotions.
But why she went from “her” loft to Alem’s cottage was the real question, one she didn’t care to answer just yet. He wasn’t home; she could sense him in the Willow, engaged in some industrious, no doubt dutiful, task. All she really knew was that Alem’s cottage smelled of lavender, jessamin, and rosewood, and even though he wasn’t there now, if she was, she wouldn’t feel quite as alone.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her chest, she slunk passed the still somewhat-battered lavender bush, wrestled open the backdoor, and stepped inside his home. She didn’t bother climbing up to his loft bed, only sunk beside his hearth, where embers glowed softly. Verve exhaled and leaned her head against the hearth wall. Everything hurt from her toes to her ears. Even her hair ached. The foolish fancy made her laugh, then cry out because laughing was a terrible idea when one had almost been incinerated from within.
But that didn’t matter. Within minutes she’d burned through a puffer and made good progress on a bottle of Redfernian brandy, and her mind was once again a pleasant, dull haze. Thank the One, the puffer smoke didn’t bother her throat. Nor did the liquor; the folks from Redfern Province certainly knew how to craft a smooth brandy. Attention summarily shifted from her horrific failure that morning, Verve would fight a battle she knew she’d win: her hair.
* * *
Some time later, the cottage door creaked open and Alem called, “Hello?”
Verve frowned over the tangle of hair in her grip. “It’s just me.”
“What are you…” He trailed off as he came in and found her seated on the floor, half her braids undone, two empty bottles at her side. “What in Ea’s name are you doing?”
She tugged at her shredded braid, where she’d been trying to wrestle her comb free. “They’re filthy. I’ve been meaning to clean them, but it’s just so much work. Sometimes I want to just cut it all off, but…”
But she could still feel her mother’s gentle strokes at her hair. They’d had similar hair, so tightly curled that it looked like a cloud when allowed total freedom. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I can’t fix it.”
Alem knelt by her side. “May I see?”
“Sure, but there’s nothing you—or anyone—can do. I’m a lost cause.”
He skimmed his fingertips over the half-done braids, then he glanced at her. “There’s a lot, isn’t there?”
“So much,” she said. “And it’s stubborn.” She smiled at the waves of silky black falling over his shoulders. “Not like yours.”
He chuckled and smoothed a hand through his hair. “My hair has its moments. I’ve got to wash it about every day, else it’s a greasy mess.” He glanced at her. “How long have you been back?”
“A while.”
“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question.
“Mostly my pride.” Well, maybe more than that, as her chest ached, and she couldn’t fight back a wince.
“Seems more than that,” he replied.
But he didn’t ask, and she almost let the moment pass by, but some defiant part of her brain asserted itself. With effort, she shrugged out of her hematite coat and hood, leaving her in a simple tunic and her leather pants. By the One, she must have looked like… well, like wild animals had mauled her. So about normal, then.
“Is there anything you can do?” she ventured, not looking at him.
His reply was warm. “Aye. Hold still, and I’ll take a look.” He reached for her, but stayed his hand at the last moment. “Actually, ‘take a look’ is misleading. I’ll need to touch your skin.”
“I know.” She lifted her chin, exposing her neck, and tried to quell her instinctive panic at the notion. They’d kissed before, so how was this any different? But it was. “Do what you need to,” she added.
His fingertips brushed her neck lightly to move her tangled hair aside, and closed his eyes, and she prayed he couldn’t feel her leaping pulse.
After a few moments, he exhaled sharply and looked at her. “No lasting damage, but I reckon what’s there is painful. What’d they do?”
“One of them made the air…hot,” Verve replied. “Not with fire, exactly, but enough to burn with each breath. And all the metal on my kit got too hot to touch.” She gestured to her belt buckle.
Alem’s brows knitted. “Any pure iron in your kit? Apparently it hurts meridians.”
Celidon’s memory of iron cuffs clamped around his wrists made Verve want to sink into the wall and disappear. “No pure iron,” she managed. “Just steel and some brass.”
“Well,” Alem said. “As far as I can tell, those mages did no permanent damage. Hold still.”
