10th of Eylestre, Continued

I folded another skirt into my valise and looked around, going down my checklist of everything I would need for the two weeks we would be gone. Three blouses, two skirts in plain colors, three plain stockings, three sets of the plainest unmentionables I could find, two scarves, a hat, a pair of black gloves, a sturdy jacket, and two pairs of decent leather shoes, one of which I would be wearing.

It had been almost unbelievably difficult to find all of that in the mountain of glorious clothing Ina had packed into my traveling trunk. Everything had been made for a duchess, not a woman who would blend into the docklife of Vreis. Even the simplest things were in the height of fashion and trimmed up a little too nicely.

You'll stand out like a pickle on a pudding in that party dress.

Arramy's words tugged a smile free as I gathered up the last of the items on my bed, buckled the valise shut and set it on the floor by the door. Then I dug into my father's satchel, found the jewelry bag, and emptied the opals into my hand. The rest of the jewelry Braeton had bought was too recognizable and rare, and Orrelian didn't want to risk trying to fence any of it. He could use the opals now, though. I had pried them free of their settings, and opals weren't so precious that it would seem strange Orrelian had them.

Then I took the metal box and went out into the hallway.

Orrelian, Arramy and Ynette were at the table, discussing how they were going to get their hands on a boat large enough to carry all the refugees. As I had guessed, finding that much money fast enough seemed to be the main problem. Orrelian glanced up as I came in. "What's this?"

"Braeton had Marin make me some false papers. They're even registered. They should pass a routine check if we're stopped." I put the box on the table. "And... you might be able to get enough for these to buy a boat," I added, placing the opals in front of him. "Or, at least they might rent one."

Orrelian's brows shot up to his hairline. "Jus might, yeh." He picked up one of the larger teardrops and held it to the light, watching blue and green fire dance in the black. Then he looked at me. "Got any decent papers fer Cap'n in there? We're playin' fast wiv registerin' eighty refugees as is, won't 'elp if Magis be lookin' sideways at our boat pilot."

I frowned and bit my lip, regarding the metal box. A hot pang of guilt slid through my middle, but I nodded slowly. "Yes. I do." My eyes found Arramy's hair. "It'll take some work, but —"

"Excellent. 'Ave Marin 'elp-ee," he ordered, his mind already moving on to the logistics of getting eighty people out of the tunnels and into a boat large enough to hold them all, without attracting attention.

I swallowed hard, still looking at Arramy's hair. The other papers were NaVarre's. I was supposed to wait a month. It had been three, now, and if Arramy was right, NaVarre wasn't going to need any papers. It would be foolish to waste them, but... it wasn't just identity papers in that box. Did I really want to be paired up with Arramy? It had been one thing with NaVarre. Acting like a couple had been easy. Fun, even. With Arramy?

A blush promptly worked its way over my face and my heart did a funny little tumble in my ribs. Quickly, I turned and headed for the tunnels and Marin's underground studio, mentally kicking myself as I went. NaVarre, Arramy, it didn't make any difference. It was only a cover.

~~~

The sound of dripping water and the shish of the hair sheers made a lulling, syncopated rhythm.

Another flurry of trimmings fell to the floor and I stopped, eyeing my progress. I wasn't taking off much at all, just enough to dull the 'military officer' edge. Braeton had been quite shaggy in that identity picture. Arramy might manage slightly unkempt.

How many times had I trimmed my father's hair? Since I was twelve, so, hundreds perhaps. It was an oddly endearing task, giving a man a trim, and I watched, mesmerized, as my fingers passed through the strands of Arramy's hair. It gleamed like silver wire, but it slid between my knuckles more like heavy silk. I grinned as it sprang up in a thick crest of messy spikes, still damp from the prewash. He hadn't cut it since we arrived and it was beginning to show a definite tendency to wave. My grin turned into a full smile when I ran the comb gently through his hair again, and his head began dropping, his eyes drifting closed.

His chin hit his chest and he grunted, pulling himself back upright in the chair. "Sorry."

"For what?" I put the comb down on the edge of the washtub. "Relaxing?"

I unrolled the rubbercloth and draped it around Arramy's shoulders, then took up the bottle of goatswood dye Marin had given me. She had promised it would turn even the grayest head a deep sable. She was still elbows-deep in curing sylvos and making fake documents, though, so the actual dying was down to me. I started to unscrew the lid, then hesitated. I liked Arramy's hair the way it was. It made it hard to tell his actual age, but it also fit him, like the name Rathe and the confident, graceful way he moved. "Are you sure?"

Arramy gave me a dry glance. "It's only hair."

Right. Biting my lip, I opened the bottle. The pungent smell of vinegar and tannin filled the washing room as I loaded up the boar-bristle brush and began applying the dye the way Marin had shown me. Half an hour later my rubber gloves were covered in ink-dark goo, there were smears of it all down the front of Kaier's spare apron, and Arramy's head was slick, shiny blue-black.

I blotted the excess rinsewater from the nape of his neck with a clean rag, then stripped off the gloves and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. "There. I dub thee Kaen Anderfield."

Arramy lifted a newly darkened eyebrow at his reflection in the murky little mirror above the sink. The black completely changed his face, framing his long cheekbones, emphasizing his widow's peak and bringing out the hint of indigo at the edges of his irises. He was a little less cold and a little more fierce. I swallowed and looked away, annoyed by how easy it was to stare at him.

"Well, it'll have to do," he said, glancing at the forged travel papers propped on the sink counter. "You're sure about this?" He asked after a moment, picking up the marriage certificate.

My stomach did that weird little flip again. "It's not real," I said, trying for breezy and unconcerned and managing too high and a touch strained. I coughed and gave him a tight little smile in the mirror. "We can burn it later." I looked away, the echo of NaVarre's words jangling in my ears.

Arramy's lips twitched. "Aye, we could." He got to his feet and took off the rubbercloth. "I need to go over a few more things with Orrelian. Can you be ready in an hour?"

I nodded and started refilling the washtub, preparing to dye my own locks back to their more natural dark brown. The copper-blonde had started growing out in the weeks we had been at the Hedgerose, and I had never gotten around to fixing it. First Pretty Pendar, then the dress, now the opals. My hair was the last piece to go from that particular period in my life. It would be nice to just be plain old me again. I got down on my knees beside the tub and angled my head under the spigot.

"Brenorra?"

Surprised, I glanced out from under my arm as I turned off the water. Arramy was still in the doorway, gazing down at me. "What?"

"Thank you... For trusting me." He smiled a little. "I've missed it." 

My breath caught in my throat. I swallowed. Then I offered a tiny nod.

He dipped his head, those dimples hinting at a grin as he left, his footsteps moving out through the back room and into the tunnels.

I squeezed the water out of my hair. What was I doing? That nod hadn't been for appearances, it had been an admission. An agreement. An 'of course I trust you.' With a short, unsettled huff, I grabbed the pot of dye Marin had made for me and loaded up the bristle brush.

~~~

An hour later, I finished rinsing, drying, and pinning my hair up under the grey soft-brim hat I had chosen. Then I checked to make sure there weren't any blotches of dye anywhere, tucked the identity papers into my valise, and stepped out into the kitchen.

Ynette and Rugga were packing the last of the supplies into a herring barrel, and Cog was at the map table, wrapping a rifle in what looked like waxed leather.

"Ready?" Orrelian asked, coming to stand next to me.

I lifted my valise. "As I'm going to get."

"Good. Let's get movin', then. Them opals came in right handy. Boat's waitin' down at the pier by Redtree."