Tanymede helps me pick out a bloodred dress. I try it on for her. It's unlike anything I've ever worn. There are no sleeves, the dress stop a hands-breadth below my collarbone, a small "v" cut in the direct center of the top hem. The dress flows out around my waist and down my legs to my feet. From the waist down, tiny crystals are sewn into the fabric.
"It's beautiful," I say. "Where did you get it?"
Tanymede's eyes turn nostalgic. "It was Sani's," she says. It was for her first village dance. That was years ago, but I haven't been able to part with it."
"Now take this back to your tent. I have to go help with food preparation."
I strip out of the dress and back into my tunic and pants. I help Tanymede pull the sheets over her wares before taking the dress back to Ezzi's tent.
I haven't felt fully comfortable inside, but it's better than the awkwardness of sharing a tent with Rogue and Sailor. At least in here I can breathe without worrying about every possible little misstep I can make with Rogue. He barely even looked at me earlier.
I drape the dress over the bed mat I've acquired and lean a pewter serving tray against the tent wall to serve as a sort of mirror.
I split my hair into three parts. All I know is a simple plait, but if I twist the braid just so, I can have it hang over one shoulder, rather than fall down my spine. I wrap a thin ribbon around the end and tie it into a bow.
For the past few days, I've been sanding down bits of broken glass from the kitchens. I'd thought of making it into jewelry to sell at Tanymede's but since the edges are dull enough not to cut my scalp, I stick a few pieces into the plait, hoping it'll glitter in the firelight.
"That's a lovely touch." The breathy voice startles me so much I nearly topple over.
The tall woman from the Scout smiles warmly at me. She's much younger than she looked from afar, and even taller. And there's something so achingly familiar about her, I just can't place it.
"Thank you," I say. I stand. "I'm Mira." I stick out my hand.
The woman shakes it stiffly. Her hands are encased in those shiny, black leather gloves. They disappear up into the wide sleeves of her teal cloak.
"Surma," she says. With each word I worry that she won't have enough air to speak the next one. Her skin is as pale as moonlight, and her eyes are a crystal blue more arresting than Sailor's. She wears her hood low over her face, leaving just the lowest tips of her translucent eyebrows visible. But there's something about her nose and the shape of her cheeks that I recognize.
"Do you mind if I take a look around?" Surma asks.
"Not at all," I step back, letting her further into the tent. I try not to look too closely at her face and I try to figure out where I might have seen her before, other than that one time in the Laplands.
Surma walks slowly around the tent. Something dims in her eyes as she takes in the painted images.
"Did you know her?" I ask. "Rogue's sister?"
"Yes. Esmeralda." Surma whispers.
The tent walls waver in the breeze, almost as if they've heard Esmeralda's name.
Surma turns back to me. Behind her, the painted image of a drop of water and a lick of flame seem to dance.
"She was the fire that fed Haven," Surma murmurs. She looks to the painting on her left. A single tear rolls down her cheek, a mirror image to the drop of water.
"I loved her," Surma says, looking to the flame. "We promised we'd be together forever."
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
Surma smiles sadly. "Me too." She twists something on the left finger of her left hand, and I wonder if she wears a wedding band beneath her glove.
Surma takes a deep breath, collecting herself.
"I was wondering if I might ask you some questions," she says.
"Of course," I say, though I don't know how I'll be of much help. I didn't know Esmeralda well enough to talk at length about her.
"Do you think the king might be holding anything over Alani other than her family?" Surma asks.
I blink in surprise. I take a strand of hair and twist it around my finger before tucking it behind my ear. "Uh, well, that, and possibly the healer," I say.
"Gregor, of course," Surma says. "Why didn't I think of that." She clasps her hands before her.
"Is he still at the prison?" Surma asks.
I hesitate. I don't like what I'm about to say.
"I'm not sure. After Alani...after the warden died, Alani told the guards it was the healer. I think she did so because she wanted to buy me time to run away. I haven't heard anything more about him, so I don't know if he got away safe, or if the guards found him."
Surma wets her lips. "We should expect everything," she says. "We should anticipate that the king has Gregor. I know he doesn't have me, but Alani doesn't know that. Nor does she know about our brother. I'll have to get him. If Alani can see that the two of us are safe, then perhaps she'll be willing to read the missive."
"I'm sorry," I say slowly, "but 'our' brother?"
"Yes. Alani is my sister," Surma says matter-of-factly. "Eldest sister. She left when I was quite young, and never came back."
"Because she married the warden," I say, filling in the rest.
"Because she married the warden," Surma agrees.
That's what's familiar about her face. She has Alani's high cheekbones and narrow nose.
"Do you mind if I remove a glove? I'd like to touch these paintings, at least once more."
I shake my head. I watch as Surma pulls on each fingertip of her left glove. The black leather slides free from her hand.
Her entire left arm, from elbow to fingertip, is a mass of mangled skin.
Surma smiles apologetically. "It's not much to look at," she says, "but it still works." Surma flexes her fingers.
"They burned them," Surma says, looking at her arm. "My village elders. They thought they could burn the Ill-Fate out of me, so they held my arms to the flame until the skin seemed to melt. But still the Ill-Fate remained. I was younger than Sailor then. That's when I realized how dangerous this is."
Surma holds out her arm so I can see her Fate. The word Deathbringer crawls across the burns, its letters misshapen.
"Not dangerous for them, but dangerous for me," Surma says.
Who would do that to a child? I think.
People who are scared of what they don't know, a voice says in my head. I swallow.
She takes her hand and reaches out, pressing a palm to the image of the fire licking the water drop. She murmurs something inaudible under her breath, before bringing a finger up to tap her forehead.
There is indeed a thin silver band around Surma's left finger. My heart cracks at the sight.
"Thank you," she says, taking her hand away from the wall.
"Of course. Come back any time. Or take the tent. It's yours," I say.
Surma shakes her head. "I don't think I can but thank you." She looks to the red dress. "Do you need help?" she asks.
"Yes."
I wriggle out of my tunic and pants, Surma helping to pull the sleeve over my splint, and together we pull the red dress up and over my waist. I hold it in one place while Surma zips up the back.
"You look beautiful," she says. "Now I'll need to find something equally suitable."
She's already stunning in just her teal cloak.
"I'll see you down there," she says, and leaves.
I look down at my arm resting in its sling.
Not dangerous for them, Surma said of her Fate, dangerous for me. I've spent my whole life running from my Fate. I saw it as ruthlessly negative, a weight I could never let go. But what if it doesn't have to be just that? What if I can use my Fate for something good?
My feet are moving before my head catches up. Without knowing what I'm going to say, I've made my way to Rogue's and Sailor's tent. I knock on the tent pole.
"Come in," Rogue says.
I step inside. It's only Rogue in the tent, both Sailor and James are already gone. Good. I want to say what I have to say without anyone else listening in and making me nervous.
Rogue turns around, and his eyes widen.
"Well don't you look devastating," he says earnestly.
I flounder for something to say. His hair is standing on end like fire itself. I don't know if it naturally sweeps up that way, or if he's added a special oil to help it stay standing. I'm guessing the latter. The red of his hair matches the silk sash around his waist. He's wearing a loose cotton shirt with an immaculately tailored white coat. Gold buttons are sewn beneath the lapels with gold thread. There's even a light embroidery in gold along the hems of his sleeves. Below the sash are tight-fitting white pants tucked into high, black boots. Not a speck of dirt or dust can be seen anywhere.
"You look great, too," I manage.
He half smiles at me. "Did you come here just so we can compliment each other back and forth?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No," I say. I take a deep breath. "I want to go with you. To the prison."
Rogue's hand falls still where it was adjusting the sleeve of his shirt.
I push on. "I know the prison. I've been there. I know which keys you need and who to...who to steal them from. Besides, Alani knows me. And Surma apparently. But she'll be sympathetic to me if you need someone to speak with her. I can do this."
"Are you certain?" Rogue asks. He looks at me through his long lashes.
No. I'm not certain. I'm not certain that I'm ready to go back to the place that took everything from me. But I can't let another child have their hands burned, or their spirit destroyed just because of something that's not their fault. It's the fear that fuels the hatred, and I have to do all that I can to stop it.
I grit my teeth, and nod. "Yes."
Rogue stares at me for a moment longer, his tugs on the ends of his sleeves and smooths the front of his shirt.
I squirm under his scrutiny.
"Welcome to the team," he finally says, holding out a hand.
I reach out and shake, trying not to focus on the nervous sweat that's broken out along my hairline.
"What do I need to do?" I ask.
"Enjoy tonight's festivities," he says, "for tomorrow we leave for the prison."