Page 185 of Salt Between the Wolves

"It suits you."

The answer felt strangely embarrassing.

Before she could respond, the younger servant disappeared and returned carrying a small wooden box.

"We almost forgot."

The lid opened to reveal two combs carved from pale shell, their surfaces shimmering faintly in the afternoon light.

Eira recognized the material immediately.

The sea.

The servant carefully lifted one of the combs.

"These came from the western coast."

The second servant moved behind her.

"May I?"

Eira nodded.

The comb slid gently into her hair, followed by the second.

When the servant stepped away, silence settled over the room.

Eira looked up.

For a moment, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

The silver-white of her hair seemed brighter against the dark green fabric, and her eyes appeared clearer, warmer, and somehow older—not because she looked older, but because she looked more like herself.

The thought arrived unexpectedly and refused to leave.

The younger servant clasped her hands together.

"Oh, that's unfair."

"What is?"

"You have no right looking that beautiful."

Eira laughed, and it was a genuine laugh.

The room felt lighter than it had in days, perhaps even weeks.

She turned slightly toward the mirror, studying the unfamiliar reflection: the shell combs, the green fabric, and the woman she might have become if someone had asked what she wanted years ago.

The familiar awareness of Soren flickered unexpectedly.

Eira frowned.

At first she thought it was nothing more than a passing sensation, the familiar awareness of Soren that had become as natural as her own breathing. Even separated by mountains and distance, she could still feel him sometimes—a steady presence beneath everything else, distant but unmistakably there.

Then something answered.

The sensation struck so abruptly that her hand tightened against the edge of the dressing table.