Heroes Return (22 page)

Into the bowl I cracked the egg and poured the sap, the wine, and the water. I sliced my palm and let some blood drop in. I mixed the ingredients.

I felt foolish at several points in this process, and I almost stopped, but I kept convincing myself to go on. I wanted to see if it would work, and it would cause me no harm if it didn’t. None of the ingredients was dangerous.

Once the mess I was going to be putting in my hair was the right consistency, I referred to the book again and spoke the incantation written there. “Oh, forces of the world, hear my plea, change the adornment to one of youth, to one more pleasing to the eye. I offer to you the emblems of youth, the fruits of spring. Adorn me with the feathers of youth.”

I repeated the nonsensical paragraph several times until I had it memorized. I continued to repeat it as I bent over the bowl and, with some effort, sank all of my hair into the mess. I recited the incantation eight more times, my neck and back aching due to the unnatural position. The combination of the ingredients was more potent than I’d thought, for I was feeling a little dizzy and jittery.

Once I’d repeated the phrase twenty-eight times, I pulled my hair out and wrapped it in a towel that I’d lined with dried mint. The worst part of this process was that I’d have to keep my hair wrapped up until the following dawn. It didn’t make sense to me that something that was supposed to be an illusion took so long to set in. It probably wouldn’t even work.

And I’d ruined a towel that didn’t belong to me. I would have to give Fiona a gift.

I heard pounding on the door to our suite. I ran to it. “Who’s there?”

“Why the hell is the door locked?” Taro demanded.

“Is anyone with you?”

“No. What’s going on?”

I opened the door. He walked in. He appeared agitated and his hair was in disarray. “What’s happened?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sick?”

A valid question, as it was early in the day for me to be in my dressing gown. Clearly I should have waited until the evening to try the spell. “I’m trying to dye my hair.”

“You’re what?” he demanded, his voice cracking high.

He heard me. “I’m trying to dye my hair.”

“What the hell are you doing that for?”

That was a rather explosive reaction to the news. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have black hair.”

“Black? Are you insane? That will look terrible with your coloring. And your eyebrows will still be red.”

Oops. I hadn’t thought of that. But surely the spell would address my eyebrows, too? “I’m trying a spell.”

“You’re trying a spell?”

“Aye, I wanted to see if I could do one.”

“So you chose to start by changing the color of your hair?”

That seemed more disturbing to him than the fact that I was trying to perform a spell. He had the queerest priorities at times. “Why not?”

“You didn’t even ask me!”

One of the maligned undyed eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me!”

“When did you develop the delusion that I need to have my physical appearance approved by you?” Arrogant ass.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, sounding just like his mother. “What if I thought to shave off all my hair? If I just went out and did it without telling you first? That wouldn’t disturb you at all?”

Well, to be honest, aye, it would. A lot. But I didn’t have to admit that, and if it had happened, I would have kept my displeasure to myself, because I wasn’t an arrogant ass. “You hacked off most of your hair when we were in Flatwell. You didn’t talk to me first.”

The look on his face implied that he had forgotten about that completely. “I was roasting,” he said in what I considered a lame attempt to justify his behavior. “It was hotter than hell.”

“My hair was longer than yours, and I didn’t cut it.” I did enjoy being right.

“You didn’t feel the heat like I did”—which was true—“and you did plenty else.”

Which was also true. “None of that matters. You set a precedent that I’m following now.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He threw up his hands. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So what’s happened?” I asked again, because he looked ready to start pacing.

“What?” he responded with an air of distraction.

“You were upset before you saw me.”

“Her Grace,” he muttered.

“What did she do?”

He pulled in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “She accosted me in the garden. She got a grip on my arm and I wasn’t prepared to shake hard enough to be free of her.”

“Was she trying to drag you to the dowager house to meet that friend of hers?” I should have expected something like that.

He laughed a little hysterically. “If only it were something so simple. She told me the Emperor would support me if I chose to pursue the title again.”

I stared. What? I mean, what? I thought this had all been put to bed. And, what? “Is she insane?”

“I know,” he said wearily.

“Fiona has the title.”

“I know.”

“She’s already picked an heir, so that even if something did happen to her, you wouldn’t be first in line for the title.”

“I know.”

“What is she thinking?”

“She said . . . She hinted—” He broke off, biting his lower lip.

“What?” What was the crazy old bat thinking now?

“She seemed to imply that there were ways to remove someone from a title.”

“My gods.” Would she never give that up? “What’s the Emperor’s interest in this? He doesn’t even like you.” Then again, I didn’t think he’d liked Taro the first time he’d tried to bend the laws to get Taro the title after he’d abjured it. “What the hell is he up to?”

“I thought this was over the last time.” Taro’s shoulders slumped in fatigue. “I really don’t understand all this interest in my life. I can’t imagine she was so active in my brother’s life.”

“Maybe if you had the title, she’d leave you alone.”

“That possibility is almost enough to make having the title an attractive prospect, but that’s not going to happen. I have her attention now and it seems I can’t lose it. I don’t understand why she can’t just forget it all. It doesn’t affect her life at all.”

Truly, I didn’t understand her interest. I was sure she didn’t either like or love Taro. So why did she care? Why did she waste the effort and attention? It couldn’t purely be because the current titleholder wasn’t a Karish. That just made no sense. “What did you tell her?”

“That I wouldn’t take the title. That no matter what happened, if the title was presented to me on a platter, I’d find another relative to give it to.”

“And she said?”

“Something along the lines that I didn’t know what I wanted, and I let you influence me too much. And to remember I had the support of the Emperor.”

“I influence you too much?”

“She said that it was in your best interest to keep me as your Source, because if I became a duke, you wouldn’t be any use to anyone.”

Those were concerns I had had the first time it seemed he might end up with the title. But Flown Raven had been a cold site back then. Now that it had become active and needed a Pair, the situation was different. “If you actually wanted the title—”

“I don’t, all right?” he said impatiently. “I never have. But she talks at me like she thinks I did. That you were the only reason I abjured the title. That I have no mind of my own.”

That bitch. We had to find a way to keep her away from Taro. She was just too poisonous and relentless, and someday he was going to snap and throttle her. Then he would be weighted down by guilt for the rest of his life.

Taro paced for a while more, but it seemed to wind him up rather than relax him. He announced he needed to move and he left. I had to hide in my room, so, as uncomfortable as it made me, I asked to have my meals delivered to me, and wrote letters. Taro hadn’t returned by the time I went to bed.

Sleeping was a challenge, awkward because of the wrap I wore around my head. That was why I didn’t appreciate Taro’s startled shout early the next morning. “Who died?” I asked in a thick voice.

“Your hair!” he practically shrieked.

My hair had died? “What?”

“Your hair!”

Oh. I guessed it had worked. That gave me a little glow of accomplishment. It didn’t make up for being roused at a ridiculously early hour of the day. “It can’t look that bad.” I snuggled back down in bed.

“Oh no? Take a look in the mirror.”

“I will. When I get up.”

He tapped my forehead, and kept tapping until I opened my eyes. So I could see the strand of hair he’d pulled before them.

It was green.

Green. Not greenish. Not with a green tinge. Green as grass. My hair was green.

With a cry of dismay, I flew from the bed and flung open a window before seeking a mirror. In the bright light of the morning, I looked at my reflection. My hair, every single strand, was the same unrelenting shade of green.

My gods, what had I done?

Taro started laughing. And he didn’t stop. I could have thrown the mirror at him, only it wasn’t mine. “Will you stop?”

“That’s what you get for meddling with what you were born with.”

“It wasn’t supposed to do this.” How could I be seen by anyone like this? My eyebrows were practically gleaming in orange contrast. And the color was thorough, every hair, right to the skull. Green. What was I going to do?

Taro was still collapsed on the bed laughing.

“Keep laughing, my lord,” I said sourly. “You’ll have to go to the market for some hair dye.”

“How do you plan to make me?” he snickered.

“You’ll make me go out like this?” I asked, surprised.

“I think you should have to suffer for doing this without talking to me first.”

“Fine. If that’s the way you want to be about it.” It would be humiliating, of course, but there were worse things in life than green—green!—hair. I would go to the market myself, if I couldn’t wash this out or change it back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe I’ll start a new fashion.”

His laughter stopped abruptly. “You’re going to go walking around with green hair?” He looked appalled.

“I have no choice, do I?”

His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

Oh my gods. My hair was
green
.

Chapter Seventeen

I didn’t have a scarf that would cover my hair. After a frustrating expanse of time I managed to pin a pillowcase to my head in a manner that covered all my hair. It looked ridiculous, but less ridiculous, I thought, than my green hair.

Every single servant I passed on the way down to the sitting room turned and stared at me. I thought servants weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing, express shock at the strangeness of the guests. Surely I didn’t look weird beyond all comprehension and experience.

Fiona was with Stacin in the sitting room, and, like her servants, she stared at the pillowcase on my head. “Good morning,” I said, hoping I sounded like I thought everything was normal.

“What the hell is that?” she demanded.

So much for normal. “I just washed it.”

“And that requires a pillowcase because . . . ?”

“Pillowcases provide the optimum combination of exposure to air and protection from dust.” Hey, that actually sounded plausible.

“Really?”

“You’ve never heard of that?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Imagine that.” I headed for the coffeepot. I really needed coffee. “Does your market have a dye maker?”

“There is no market today.”

Oh, hell. “When is it?”

“Two days from now. It is held once every other week.”

“Damn it.”

Fiona’s gaze drifted up to the pillowcase again. “You need dye so desperately?”

“It’s not desperation,” I lied. “I was just hoping to get some things done today.”

“I’ll tell you how to find the dye maker if you tell me what color you’ve dyed your hair.”

So much for lying. “That’s not necessary.” Damn it, I wanted to know.

“So you’re going to wear that pillowcase for two days, and then wear it to the market with everyone there to see it?”

If I had to. I was not going to tell her my hair was green. I was not telling anyone. It was bad enough that Taro had seen it. And if he told anyone, I would kill him.

If Fiona could tell me where the dye maker was, so could others. Others who wouldn’t feel they had the right to ask me why I needed the dye, no matter how strange I looked.

I grabbed a couple of pieces of bread and hunted down Bailey. He stared at the pillowcase for only a moment, and cleared his voice before giving me the directions to the dye maker’s home. I headed out immediately.

It was drizzling outside, but not enough to divert me from my goal. Apparently it rained a lot in Flown Raven. I couldn’t let it stop me from doing whatever I wanted to do, or I’d never leave the manor.

Apparently I was due only so much humiliation that day. I didn’t pass anyone on the way. Would I be so lucky on my way back?

The dye maker’s name was Tish Rounder, and she lived in a small cottage set a little apart from the rest of the village. I could smell it long before I could see it. It was a horrible, gagging layer of stench, bringing tears to my eyes, and I almost turned back.

But I had green hair. I pressed on.

I knocked on her door, breathing through my mouth. That didn’t really help much. The air tasted foul.

The woman who answered the door was a stocky brunette a good many years older than I. Sweat shone on her face, explained by the blast of heat from the interior of the cottage. Her leather apron was stained various colors and her hair was tightly tied back from her face.

She looked at my pillowcase and laughed.