it open. His hand reaches up to grip mine, stopping the shaking, but also stopping me from opening the robe. For a second I expect he’s going to pull it open himself and I wonder what his hands will feel like there. Somewhere my mother’s voice calls to me, but it can’t compete with the roar of blood that floods through my body, igniting every inch of my skin.
“You don’t have to do this, Ad,” he whispers instead. His hand pulls mine away from the belt and we stare at each other for a long moment, and then I listen to my body and sink against him, my legs straddling his lap, my arms wrapping around his neck. His breath is hot against my collarbone and as he slides his fingers through my loose hair a shiver runs down my spine. He’s bringing his lips to mine when another knock interrupts us.
“What is it, annual knock-on-Adelice’s-door day?” I grumble.
Jost’s hands fall from me and he grins shyly and then casually pulls me up to my feet.
“Come on, Kincaid is probably inviting us to another wild party.”
“Can we be so lucky?” I ask.
But it’s not a valet waiting outside the door. It’s Valery. Her cosmetics are perfectly applied, less drastic than the first night we saw her here, but she still looks exotic with her wide, dark eyes and midnight hair. She’s wrapped in the same robe she wore last night, but it’s clear that she’s done up for this afternoon’s event.
“I thought I could get you ready,” she offers. Her eyes flash to Jost, who’s standing awkwardly by my bed.
Like old times, I think. I want to send her away. She might feel the need to hide under a painted mask when she’s with Kincaid, but I’ve got more important things to do than getting primped for a charade of civility.
“That sounds nice,” Jost answers for me, grabbing his tuxedo box. “I should get dressed. Check in on Erik.”
Check in on Erik? Erik is the last person he’d want to see. He’s trying to avoid where we were going a few moments ago. “Sure,” I say. “Help him tie his bow tie. Curl each other’s hair.”
I don’t try to hide the annoyance in my voice.
Jost smiles and shakes his head slightly as if to remind me to watch myself. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses my forehead at the door, then looks to Valery and back to me. “You two have fun.”
Fun is probably the last thing we’ll be having, but I give him a small smile.
Valery wastes no time once he’s gone.
She rushes to my bed and lifts the silk dress from the heap I’ve left it in. Smoothing it out, she crosses to my closet and hangs it carefully on the closet door.
“Lovely,” she says, surveying the gown. “You should wear your hair down. We’ll put some waves in it.”
I open my mouth to ask her why she’s doing this, but then I shut it again. It’s the friendliest Valery has been since we discovered her here. Perhaps she feels badly about what happened with Deniel. I can’t exactly blame her for being cold to me after Enora’s suicide.
But I can wonder what she’s up to.
“It’s good I came now. They don’t have the kind of tools I had at the Coventry. This will take some time,” she says.
I follow her into the bathroom and she urges me toward the sink. There’s no fancy chair for me to sit in while she dampens my hair, so I bend awkwardly and she presses my head down under the flowing water. It’s freezing and my body tenses.
“Sorry,” she says absently, and I feel the water grow warmer. A moment later, her long fingers run through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp. It feels good for a moment but then her fingers grow more frenzied in their actions until she’s practically scraping me with her fingernails. I wince, and she repeats her apology. She lets the water rinse out the soap and it slides into my eyes. I squeeze them shut but feel the sting of the shampoo. She lifts my head and wraps a thick towel around me, offering me a washcloth to wipe my eyes.
When we return to my room, I sit at the vanity and she pulls the towel from my head. Water drips down my back, and my robe sticks to my skin from the moisture.
I feel a comb running through my hair and water gushes to my shoulders as she pulls it into a straight line.
“You should cut this,” she says. “Less work.”
“I like it long,” I say. My mother’s hair was long. My mother’s hair
“As you wish.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “I mean, I can get ready on my own.”
“I’m sure you can, but Kincaid expects a certain level of aestheticism when it comes to his guests.”
“I can put on cosmetics,” I snap.
“Fine.” She drops her hands and steps back from me. “I thought we could talk.”
I soften a little at her words, feeling ungrateful and confused at the same time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. You aren’t my aesthetician anymore.”
“I know that. I liked doing your cosmetics, Adelice,” she says. “I’m not offering out of obligation.”
“In that case, thank you,” I say.
She retrieves long, thin pieces of fabric from her pocket. Her eyes meet mine and she pulls one taut between her hands, and for a moment I’m scared of the stranger I see reflected there. Who is this?
But then she takes a section of my hair and wraps it with precision around the fabric, tying it off at the end.
“Like I said, we don’t have the same tools at our disposal here.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Is that why you wear your cosmetics differently?”
“Kincaid likes the geisha aesthetic. It’s an old Earth style,” she responds in a quiet voice. “I often do my cosmetics to please him.”
She repeats the action until most of the hair framing my face is wrapped up into the rags. She faces me and leans in, taking my chin in her hands and studying me. Her breath smells of cinnamon.
Even here, after everything that’s happened, Valery is the essence of poise. Her skin silky, everything about her soft. Her fingers, though, are cold on my face and they pinch my skin as she turns my head to inspect me.
“How am I holding up?” I mutter through my nearly closed mouth.
“Well enough. A little cosmetics and no one will see the damage.”
I frown. Damage?
“None of that,” she says in regard to my dubious expression. “It makes it worse.”
In fairness, I’ve been through a lot. I’m not exactly looking forward to another round of cosmetics, but if it gets Valery talking, it will be worth it.
She reaches for the bag she brought and pulls out a cream, which she smooths over my face. Her brushes dance over my cheekbones, glide against my eyelids, and line my lips. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine I’m in my quarters at the Coventry. Enora will meet me to take me to training or a meeting or a carefully prepared feast. This will have been a dream—or will it have been a nightmare?
I’m not sure.
“Open your eyes,” Valery commands. I do so, and she brushes a mascara wand roughly through my lashes. I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror. She’s concentrating, which makes her look like she used to—engaged in her work. She did truly enjoy it. She hadn’t been lying about that. Her robe has fallen off her shoulder and there I spy it—a thick purple mark running across her olive skin. It creeps toward her neck, but doesn’t quite reach it. A lavender scar. Her eyes catch mine staring in the mirror, and she tugs the robe back up.
“Let’s get that dress on,” she suggests.
I stand and let my dressing gown fall to the floor in a puddle.
“You should be more careful.” Valery clucks under her breath.
My eyes follow hers and I see a patch of blue blooming on my calf.
“Probably from Deniel’s attack,” I say, shrugging it off.
