Jolin stood in an alcove, parting her jaw-length hair exactly down the middle. Lilette moved in beside her and wiped the condensation from the mirror, her palm squeaking against the glass. She stared at herself, blurred and distorted by the imperfections in the mirror and the water running down it in streaks. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was pink and peeling from sunburn. Her eyes held a hunted, hard look. She didn’t recognize the girl staring back, and that frightened her more than anything.
Keeping her eyes averted from the mirror, she randomly chose a bottle of oil and rubbed several drops it into her tresses. The oil smelled of something fresh and light—like bottled sunshine. She laboriously untangled her hair from the ends up before twisting it in a bun at the top of her head. Last, she slide her comb into place.
She felt a small measure of relief. “When will we have our things back?” Lilette directed her question at the wastrel. The armor and clothes were Han’s, after all.
“Sometime tomorrow,” the woman replied.
Lilette and Jolin followed her out of the tree. Han silently moved to Lilette’s side as if he’d been waiting for her. He was still dressed in his leather armor, like he expected trouble even here.
“Didn’t they take your things to launder?” Lilette gestured to his armor.
“I always care for my own equipment.” There was a hint of mistrust in his tone, and Lilette wondered if she shouldn’t have let them take his other set of clothing.
They started downhill, following the woman through the twisting paths of the inner city. Lilette moved closer to Han. His arm brushed hers, and she had to resist the urge to lean into the steel-and-leather smell of him.
As they started up a rise, the hem of her skirt tangled around her feet. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling. She steadied herself against the side of his leather breastplate. “Why do you wear these things?” she asked.
“You have to hold up the hem a little, especially when you’re climbing.” Jolin demonstrated, her own skirt lifted in her hands.
Lilette copied her, and the hem no longer tripped up her feet, but her hand was full of skirts. It seemed a ridiculous waste of energy.
They passed another group of women wearing the wastrel’s drab dress. All of them nodded to the wastrel and eyed Lilette curiously. Jolin dropped back to walk beside them. “You shouldn’t stare, Lilette. Wastrels of the inner city all wear the uniform and hair veil. Witchlings and apprentices wear dark green. Keepers wear what they want.”
Lilette forced her gaze away as the cluster of women continued past them. Then she looked down at her own dress. “If they can wear what they want, why dresses?”
Jolin hefted her dark green skirt to climb the steps to a door, where the wastrel was already waiting for them. “That you will have to ask of someone smarter than I.”
The wastrel motioned for them to enter. As soon as they were all inside, she shut the door behind them and said, “The nearest food pavilion is a short walk down this trail. Meals are available morning, midday, and eve, with fruit and bread on hand at all times. There is a room upstairs with beds. I took the liberty of bringing a light meal for you.”
Lilette marveled at the simplicity and beauty of the room. Everything was made of pale wood that blended seamlessly from floor to ceiling, and ceiling to floor. In the center stood a magnificent spiral staircase, shoots of pale wood anchoring it to the walls above their heads. Off to the side was a small cooking stove bolted to a brick platform. The tabletop sat much higher off the floor than a Harshen’s low table.
She had a sudden memory of herself as a child, eating a bowl of soup, her legs swinging through the open air as she sat at a similar table. Her father had chided her to tuck her hair behind her ears so the ends wouldn’t hang in the broth. Overcome with the remembrance, Lilette stared blankly at the platter of fruit, cheese, and bread.
Han brushed his fingers along the back of her hand. “Are you all right?”
She let out a slow breath and turned to him. “I’ve forgotten so much, and it’s coming back to me now.”
His expression softened. “I hope they’re good memories?”
Lilette shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Suddenly the door burst open behind them. Han whipped around, his hand on his sword.
A woman with brown hair threaded with gray stood in the doorway. Her gaze locked on Jolin. “You’re late.”
Jolin’s mouth tightened. “We were delayed.”
“So I heard.” The woman’s gaze flicked to Han’s hand on his sword. Then her gaze settled on Lilette. “You should not have come back.”