Page 81 of The Winner's Curse
Sarsine returned.
“Bring me scissors,” Kestrel said.
“You know I won’t do that.”
“Because you’re afraid I’ll kill you with them?”
The woman didn’t answer. Kestrel glanced at her, surprised at the silence and the way Sarsine’s face had become thoughtful, curious.
“Cut it off then,” Kestrel said. She would have done it herself with the makeshift dagger hiding in the ivy if it wouldn’t have raised questions.
“You might regret cutting your hair, a society lady like you.”
Kestrel felt another wave of tiredness. “Please,” she said. “I can’t bear it.”
* * *
Arin’s sleep was fitful, and when he woke he was disoriented to be in his father’s rooms. But happy, in spite of everything, to be there. Maybe it was the happiness, and not the place, that was disorienting. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Old and somewhat stiff, as if its joints ached when it moved.
He passed a hand across his face and got to his feet. He had to leave. Cheat wouldn’t begrudge Arin his homecoming, but plans had to be made.
He was walking down the stairs of the west wing when he saw Sarsine on the floor below. She was coming from the east wing, a basket in her arms. He stopped.
It looked like she held a basketful of woven gold.
Arin leaped down the stairs. He strode up to his cousin and seized her arm.
“Arin!”
“What did you do?”
Sarsine jerked away. “What she wanted. Pull yourself together.”
But Arin saw Kestrel as she had been last night before the ball. How her hair had been a spill of low light over his palms. He had threaded desire into the braids, had wanted her to sense it even as he dreaded that she would. He had met her eyes in the mirror and didn’t know, couldn’t tell, her feelings. He only knew the fire of his own.
“It’s just hair,” Sarsine said. “It will grow back.”
“Yes,” said Arin, “but not everything does.”
* * *
Afternoon tipped toward evening. It was almost one full day since the Firstwinter ball, and more since Kestrel had slept. She stayed awake, staring at the outermost door to her rooms.
Arin opened it. Then he stepped back, inhaling as if she had frightened him. His hand tightened on the doorjamb, and he stared. Yet he said nothing of the fact that she still wore her black dueling uniform. He didn’t mention the jagged ends of hair brushing her shoulders.
“You need to come with me,” he said.
“To see Jess?”
His mouth thinned. “No.”
“You said you would take me. Apparently there is no such thing as Herrani honor.”
“I will as soon as I can. Right now, I can’t.”
“When?”
“Kestrel, Cheat is here. He wants to see you.”
