Page 43 of Wolf of Ashes
“I’m not a Brett.”
I narrow my eyes at him and take another stab, this one closer to a name I suspect he might enjoy. “What about Diavolo?”
His lips stretch into a smile that should make me worried.
“Devil,” he says, the dark light in his eyes growing.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Well?”
“I don’t hate it.”
I give him a victorious smile. “Good.” And then a solemn nod. “Well met, Diavolo.”
His gaze passes over my face. “And you? What is your name?”
My grin rapidly fades. “I don’t have a name.”
His eyebrows rise.
“Mom taught me that names have power,” I explain. “She said I would need to make a name for myself.”
“Names do have power,” the keeper murmurs. “But what didshecall you?”
“Daughter.”
“And what did you call her?”
“Mother.”
The keeper—whom I now need to think of as Diavolo—acknowledges my reply with a brief nod. “Family roles have power, too.”
He appears to think for a moment. “Does that mean I should call you… Traveling Companion? Wild-Haired Woman?” He pauses, and it seems he’s holding his breath before he speaks again. “Friend?”
I screw up my face in disgust. “Don’t you fucking dare call me ‘friend.’ Friends arenice.”
“Well, you need some sort of name in the interim before you choose your own.” He leans back on his elbows and stretches out his legs. “Just keep in mind that Diavolo is taken.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes, scoffing. “Wild-Haired Woman.”
It’s not inaccurate. My tresses are bunched across my chest, irrevocably knotted. The thick strands are so heavy and long that they extend all the way to my waist. I tug at the matted knots as I consider whether or not the keepershouldcall me “Wild-Haired.”
There are worse names.
His voice breaks my thoughts. “I can unravel those knots if you like?”
I purse my lips at him, dubious of his offer. “Another illusion?”
“No, an unwinding spell. And don’t worry, I won’t have to kill a tree to do it.” A hint of emerald light plays around his fingertips. My doubt only increases. I’m coming to associate the emerald light with witch-like powers. He’s using that power to keep the wind at bay, but his translocation effort wasn’t quite so successful. I’m wary of the calamities that could befall my tresses if I let his magic near them.
Diavolo casts me a baleful expression and I can only imagine he’s sensing my feelings on the matter.
“It’s your choice,” he says.
“Fine. Okay. Do it.”
I try not to hold my breath as I turn my back on him to give him full access to my hair. He doesn’t waste time getting started and I’m immediately aware of the growing emerald glimmers, then a sense of weightlessness as the clumps lift off my back without tugging against my scalp.
A few seconds later, the mass of hair nearest to my left cheek unravels before my eyes, the strands neatly separating and then falling softly to my chest, where they float a little around my body.
