Red Magic - Jean Rabe [54]
Wynter sighed. "Nice try, Brenna, but it won't work." He stepped toward her, bent over, and reached forward to feel around her shoulders until he grabbed a handful of hair.
"I can't see it, but it's there," he stated. "Amruthar's filled with wizards. Some of them are bound to see through your illusion. We can't risk it. You'll have to shave it off."
Brenna's shoulders sagged. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I should have known I was going to have to do this if I entered Thay." She gritted her teeth, picked up the shears, and tossed her head forward. Grabbing a handful of hair with one hand and wielding the shears with the other, she began cutting.
"Look at it this way," Wynter teased. "You'll be right in style in Amruthar. And if we live through this and you get back to Aglarond, maybe you can start a fashion trend there." He grimaced as he watched the shears slip in her hand and nearly nick her head.
When Brenna was finished, about a half an inch of hair remained on her head. It was uneven and looked comical, but the Harpers remained straight-faced.
The druid padded forward, knelt in front of her, and held up his scimitar. "Here, let me help."
Brenna bent her head forward, and Galvin began to scrape the sharp blade across the back of her scalp. The druid was careful, not wanting to cut her. Wynter had told him most Thayvians prided themselves on their appearance, and he doubted that scars were in fashion. When he was finished with the back half of her head, he tilted her neck upward and started to run the knife across the front half of her scalp.
"I don't know why Thayvians have an aversion to hair," Wynter said. He wanted to make conversation because the silence in the barn felt uncomfortable. "They've been shaving their heads for more than two hundred years. It all started with a few wizards, I understand. Now only slaves have long hair. The longer the hair, the longer someone's been a slave."
"You mean everyone but slaves is bald?" she asked softly, looking slightly sick.
"All the wizards, everyone considered wealthy or middle-class tharchions, merchants, and even most of the peasants-they don't want to be mistaken for slaves. Most centaurs cut their hair as short as mine. Everyone in my family had short hair," he concluded.
"Was it hard for you to leave your family?" Brenna asked. Galvin winced at that question as he finished shaving the last of her locks. He began to run the blade across her now bald head to smooth it. He was surprised when Wynter answered.
"Yes," he said slowly. "My family was my life, and the slave plantation was the only home I knew. I had three brothers. They took to the life there. I just never fit in. When I was old enough to make it on my own, I left. I don't even know if my father ever went looking for me."
The centaur stood still in the center of the barn. "I cut my ties with my family when I left Thay. I'm only here because of Harper business. When we're done in Amruthar, I'll leave again." The centaur paused and looked at the councilwoman. She was rubbing her head, obviously uncomfortable with the feel of it.
Brenna stared at the pile of red curls in her lap. Ten years' worth of hair, she thought. No use regretting it. Shrugging her shoulders, she stood up, shaking the curls off her dress.
"Beautiful," Wynter observed.
Brenna tittered and twirled to brush the last of the hair from her dress. "At least it won't take me long to wash it," she said, finally smiling.
The skin on her head was an even, creamy peach tone, free of blemishes. She had a high forehead that glistened in the light that filtered through the barn. The absence of hair drew more attention to her eyes, which Galvin found himself staring into. They were large and round and ringed by long lashes.
Brenna blushed and bent to pick up an armload of hay and deposit it on top of her hair. "A pretty dress, right? That's all I need to look like a wealthy Thayvian."
"Almost," Wynter said. "We'll have to paint your head first. When you were… sleeping,