Page 11 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Four

Ivy

Istare at my reflection in the cracked mirror for a few moments, taking in the results of my efforts at disguise. The dye Garom included in the supplies his people brought us has darkened my reddish-blond hair to a chestnut shade that makes my skin look even more sickly than usual and my blue eyes stand out starkly.

But not as unnervingly brilliant as the sea-green irises of the daimon in our midst.

Rheave comes up beside me and peers over my shoulder into the glass. I’m still not sure how much of the initial attitude I saw from the false guard is part of his personality or something imposed on him by the scourge sorcerers. There’s a much more open vibe to his comments now.

“Humans can change their appearance so easily,” he remarks studying my reflection, his tone awed.

Casimir lets out a soft laugh from the other end of the room where we’re making our final preparations for our escape. “I suppose daimon don’t have much of an appearance to change in the first place.”

Rheave tilts his head to the side, watching his own reflection next to mine. “We don’t normally need one. But it’s interesting having that too.”

He touches the face I’ve always thought was far too beautiful to belong to a soldier. “I wonder how I would look with pale hair.”

I nudge him gently with my elbow. “We don’t have time to find that out now. You can experiment with makeovers when we’re out of this mess.”

My jacket shifts around my scrawny form. Casimir carefully pinned it so it looks like almost a perfect fit, but I can still tell it’s too big for me.

Rheave is the only one of us who came by the clothes he’s currently wearing honestly. We simply left him in his typical guard uniform.

Garom has supplied the rest of us with a set of Crown’s Watch uniforms he came by through means he wasn’t willing to share.

I glance down at the smallest of the uniforms—the one I donned. I checked over every detail in comparison to Rheave’s sapphire blue jacket and trousers, and Stavros examined them too, and as far as we can tell, they’re perfectly authentic.

Perfectly designed to convince the guards at the gate that we’re colleagues of theirs leaving the city on the king’s authority. As Garom pointed out to me when he went over the plan, soldiers are the only people allowed to come and go during a lockdown.

I’m not loving the idea of marching out right under the noses of the people who most want to execute me, but I can’t think of a better gambit.

Julita sounds as if she’s suppressed a snicker. I mean no offense, but I don’t think military garb suits you.

I snort in agreement and turn away from the mirror.

Casimir is just putting the finishing touches on Alek’s face. The scholar has his back to me, but I can see plenty of tension in the rigid set of his shoulders.

He hasn’t gone without his leather mask covering most of his face in public for years. It was hard for him just to let me and Casimir see his scarred skin before.

But we know the king will have put out descriptions of us, and it’d be hard to explain him away as a different man with a dark brown mask. So he’s tucked it away in one of the saddle bags and agreed to let Casimir cover the mottled area over his forehead, cheeks, and one side of his jaw as well as the courtesan’s skills with makeup allow.

“There,” Casimir says, stepping back. “It isn’t flawless up close, but from the distance everyone outside our group will be seeing you, especially with the daylight fading, no one will notice anything unusual.”

Alek turns hesitantly. When his bright brown eyes meet mine, a stutter runs through my pulse.

Julita gasps. Cas really can work a kind of magic with that palette.

Casimir has managed to paint over the ridges and streaks of reds, grays, and browns to match the smooth bronze skin that’s Alek’s natural coloring. Well, not quite as smooth as the unmarked side of his jaw, but awfully close.

I’m looking at the scholar as he would have appeared if he’d never let jealousy lead him down a vicious path that ended with a burning potion splashed in his face.

He’s absolutely stunning.

But he’s also not exactly the man I’ve fallen in love with. I’m torn between catching my breath at how striking he is and wishing I could wipe away all the makeup to see the real Alek underneath.

He’s stunning with his scars too, just in a different way.

“It looks great,” I tell him with a reassuring smile.

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