Page 70 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

No claws, see?

Somehow, it was a vulnerability she couldn’t endure. She worked off the other glove and placed them neatly on the ground. They looked unbearably intimate, folded up on Sylvia’s makeshift bedclothes, so she focused her attention on getting the rest of her supplies ready.

Lorelei fetched alcohol, needle and thread, and a clean rag from her backpack. She poured the antiseptic over the cloth, then set to cleaning the wound. Sylvia made only a soft sound of protest before setting her jaw, nobly stoic.

Lorelei brandished the needle. It was hooked like a thin crescent moon, glinting eerily in the firelight. “Will this become cursed if I disinfect it in your lantern?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Sylvia said testily, but there was a note of genuine curiosity in her voice, as if she hadn’t entertained the possibility before.

Lorelei scoffed as she heated it in the flame. “Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

Sylvia hardly made a sound as Lorelei stitched the wound shut. The blood seeping out between her fingers made her stomach feel slippery, as though she’d swallowed a fish whole, but she finished as quickly as she could. Tying off the knot, she snipped the thread with a pair of scissors. A cold sweat had broken out across her forehead, but she felt oddly proud of herself. “That should hold.”

“Thank you.” Sylvia hesitated. “You have a steady hand.”

“My father is a cobbler. I apprenticed with him for a year before Ziegler took me in. Skin isn’t so different from shoe leathers.” She wasn’t sure why she’d offered thatup—andso easily, as if she were in the habit of making small talk about herself at all.

“Shoe leathers,” Sylvia repeated. It sounded almost as if she were smiling. “I’m not sure whether I should be offended or not.”

“Take it as you will.”

Lorelei’s ears burned with embarrassment. She busied herself putting away her supplies while Sylvia produced an improbably ornate comb out of her bag. It had an opal-inlaid handle that gleamed like bone and teeth of silver. From the corner of her eye, Lorelei watched Sylvia struggle with it.

She sighed piteously as she attempted to lift her injured arm. Then, with great effort, she pulled the comb feebly through the snares and tangles with her non-dominant hand. It seemed to Lorelei a pointless vanity, given everything they’d endured tonight, but she was too tired to comment on it. She was too tired to even enjoy her suffering.

“Allow me,” said Lorelei.

Sylvia clutched the comb to her chest as if Lorelei had just asked her to hand over her firstborn. “Why?”

“Because this is unspeakably painful to witness. I’m not entirely heartless.”

Sylvia reluctantly placed the comb in her outstretched hand. Lorelei knelt behind her, lifted the weight of Sylvia’s hair, and let it fall downher back in a wild spill. It was mercifully still damp; Lorelei did not want to imagine the nightmare of wrestling a comb through it dry.

She began to work through the knots from bottom to top. Nothing but the sound of their rasping breaths and metal catching in Sylvia’s hair filled the heavy silence between them. Warmth radiated gently from Sylvia’s back, and her pulse thrummed in the arch of her pale throat. It was exquisite torture. Lorelei had never touched herhair—neverbut in herdreams—andshe’d so desperately wanted to. It was as luxurious as she’d envisioned. With every stroke of the comb, she swore she smelled rose water.

After a few minutes, she’d managed to pull all the snarls loose until it fell in sleek coils down Sylvia’s back. Some part of her was tempted to rifle through Sylvia’s things until she found her oils, or perhaps a scrap of ribbon.Ridiculous, she thought. She would have to settle for braiding it.

“Where did you learn to do this? Your hair . . .” As if it were taboo to mention, Sylvia lifted her uninjured arm and brushed her fingers along her own jawline.

“I had long hair once. A very long time ago.”

Sylvia laughed. “Really? I can’t imagine it at all. This style suits you.”

Lorelei did not know what to do with such a compliment. “I often braided my sister’s hair. She was a sickly child and would lie in bed for days at a time. Someone had to take care of her hair to keep it from matting. I find it rather relaxing, actually.”

She realized after a moment that she wasbabbling—atleast by her own standards. Sylvia put her out of her misery quickly. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Lorelei fastened the end of the braid and absently tugged on the loops to loosen it. “Why would you?”

The silence stretched out like a fraying rope. “What is her name?”

“Rahel.” Lorelei hesitated. “I also had a brother once. Aaron.”

She could see Sylvia fighting to ask more questions, shifting under the weight of her curiosity. “You must be the oldest.”

Lorelei considered replying sarcastically but thought better of it. “I am.”