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“There,” she said, putting the finishing touches on my cheeks.
“What hair will I wear today?” I asked, imagining all the possibilities she could’ve brought in her oversized bag.
She reached inside, pulling out a wig I recognized at once.
“Your own,” she said.
I could’ve cried as she placed my hair back on my head. It wasn’t about the hair, really. It meant that today I could show up as myself and no one else.
I might even find the strength to stop hiding behind my lies.
“How did you get it back?” I asked.
“I told Sir Brennin the name of a young noblewoman who had purchased it and he paid her a visit. I believe he paid her handsomely for it, so I hope you thank him.” Zenitha twisted and styled the strands, pulling them up into a bun at the back of my head, a style both scholarly and graceful.
“I will,” I said, “and thank you for?—”
Zenitha held up a hand mirror, making me forget my words as I stared back at a face I actually knew. My blonde strands framed my features, as at home and natural as if they’d never been shorn from my head.
I grabbed the mirror, looking at what I felt was the best version of me—smart, elegant, and trustworthy, a woman who felt no need to hide. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’re more than welcome,” said Zenitha, reaching up to adjust a strand of my hair. “And thankyoufor being a friend I can trust. I don’t have many people I know will hold truth safely, but after I met you, I told Cait she had my permission to share any secrets of mine with you.”
“I’ll keep them safe,” I said with a fervent nod. I tried not to show my surprise at hearing her say she trusted me, butI realized that was something I did well—hold truths safety. Maybe there was an underestimated power to that ability.
Graham, in all his glorifying of the truth, failed to realize that the dance of truth and trust was complex, making up much more than plain facts. This Cambrian culture of rank and exclusivity bred secrets, and these secrets were the only way of finding a bit of freedom under oppression. I had to consider what truth I had a right to share and who had the right to hear it. If I told the wrong truth, the consequences could be far greater than a lie.
“You look like therealyou,” Zenitha said as she gathered her supplies, then leaned down to kiss my cheek. “You are so very brave. I wish you the best of luck, Imperatrix Mara Stroud.”
I laughed. “I’m not queen anymore, you know.”
“Well, you should be.” She gave me a warm goodbye as she put her bag on her shoulder and left the room.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Graham returnedonce Zenitha was gone, stopping in his tracks as he laid eyes on me. “It’s nice to see your hair back on your head,” he said, “as much as it saddened that poor noblewoman to lose it.”
“It sounds like she ended up as arichnoblewoman,” I said. “Thank you so much for buying my hair back, even if the price was high.”
“It was worth it,” he said. “Hair like yours is a once-in-a-lifetime find.”
I suppressed a laugh. “You exaggerate. It’s just blonde. Plenty of people are blonde.”
“But it’s regal.” He examined me from head to toe, his eyes shining. “Youare regal.” His face grew serious, and he put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?
“Well . . .” I smoothed my dress, though it was already perfectly pressed. Fear blocked my throat, telling me that if he knew everything, he’d take me straight back to prison. “I suppose you heard about the Enforcer who was . . . found dead in the aqueducts.”
His brows lowered. “Don’t tell me?—”
“It was my fault,” I said. “I killed him.”
“No,” said Graham, his former hope draining from his face, the hand on my right shoulder growing heavier. “That was one of Cael’s accusations, but I thought he was lying. I didn’t think you were a killer.”
“It was an accident. I was only trying to get away, but in my struggle, his head hit the stone and—” My eyes welled with tears. “I’m not a killer, Graham. I’m not like Cael, I swear.”
I was sure he was about to reprimand me, tell me I was a monster.
