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Judging by the dirt that washed off my skin and knotted hair, I’d done more than a bit of rolling around on the arena floor. Also, I’d been apparently absorbed enough in the question of Titania’s previous visits and on dealing with the hampering claws that I’d never combed out my hair after Rogue washed it for me. Something Starling went on about at some length as she did the washing this time—which I let her do because it made her so happy.
All this time I’d avoided looking in the mirror, frankly afraid of what I’d see. The time had come for it, however, and I sat in the vanity chair as instructed. Starling dove into detangling my locks with such great enthusiasm that I bore the painful tugging and didn’t add any magical unsnarling assistance. Plus the distraction helped me avoid looking too closely at my face.
Finally she finished and I looked, seeing my eyes go wide in my paling face.
The pattern had grown exponentially. What had been a small tendril of silver at my temple now spiraled with metallic brilliance around my left eye, over my forehead and cheekbone, then down to my mouth, jaw and trailed off into fine points on my throat. Spiking out from the lines, which were unmistakably more sinuous and feline than the ones on Rogue’s body, like thorns on a climbing rose vine, were finely honed claws.
The similarity to the blood-poisoning streaks didn’t escape me. A contamination of another sort, the cat spirit’s magic infecting me, affecting the composition of my skin and very likely more. Only this toxicity wouldn’t kill me when it reached my heart.
I hoped.
Interesting—and perhaps salient—that the corruption originated at my temple, like a brain tumor that eventually revealed its presence through changes in the surrounding bone and surface tissues. Something to consider. Would I have time to make notes on this before the feast?
Following on that thought came the realization that I’d be able to handle this too. Inside, I remained myself, with my same thoughts. The external didn’t matter. The cat chuckled, somewhere in the vicinity of my heart, and I ignored her.
By way of settling myself and fixing up for the party, I “did” my makeup, magically adding the colors and shadings I would have used in my old life. Might as well make an effort to look nice tonight. Though it warmed me that Rogue hadn’t apparently cared about my rat’s nest snarls and smudged appearance. It certainly hadn’t dampened his ardor any, which spoke well of him and argued well for our long-term chances, since I was unlikely to improve on that front.
The clawed vines around my left eye gave me a bit of trouble. I couldn’t change the color of that skin, which didn’t really surprise me. More troubling, when I wished up eye shadow and a brush—mostly for experiment’s sake—I couldn’t cover over the pattern either. The powder fell away, much as water parts and beads off on an oily surface.
No hiding who you are.
Starling, with her innate talent for knowing what I most needed, had left me alone for this confrontation with my new face. Now she bustled back in with the dress she’d chosen.
“All right then?” Her tentative smile told me she’d understood far more of how I was feeling than I thought. Come to think of it, she hadn’t said as much while I bathed as she usually did. Tremendous restraint on her part.
So I resolved to play nice and put on the dress she liked—even though it reminded me of Scarlett O’Hara’s mourning ball gown, with easily twice the flounces and entirely covered in glittering black jewels. The thing had to weigh fifteen pounds. All in the skirt because the long, glove-tight sleeves ended at my upper arms, leaving my shoulders—and, more notably, most of my cleavage—totally bare. To exacerbate the situation, the bodice fit more like a corset, complete with laces up the back, which worked to raise my breasts into alarming mounds.
Sue me if I tried to tug up the neckline a little. Though that was a misnomer—more like nipple line.
Starling smacked my hand away. “Stop that. And no magical additions, either.”
“It’s a little much for an evening home with friends, isn’t it?”
“This is the welcome feast. Weren’t you listening?”
“Apparently not closely enough. Aren’t we just welcoming you guys?”
She sighed, shaking her head so her golden hair swept her shoulders with its paintbrush-thick ends, and tightened the bodice laces more. “No, Gwynn. This is to welcomeyou.As the new Lady of the Castle of the Dark Gods. Everyone who can manage to be here will be, to look you over, if nothing else. And to make sure to wrangle an invitation to the wedding—which, as I’ve mentioned, will be the event to attend. They’ll be looking to curry favor with you too.”
I groaned, summoned my glass of wine and took a hearty—no, a tiny—sip. “Kill me now.”
“Sit.” She gave me a little shove back to the vanity chair, then took up various implements of destruction to put my hair up in some elaborate, formal do.
“Yes, yes.” I glowered at her in the mirror. “Sit. Stay. Roll over. Get married.”
“You didn’t look unhappy about it when Lord Rogue kissed you in the hallway. In fact, you absolutely glowed.”
“Well,” I conceded, hating that I actually blushed, “I like that part quite a lot.”
“Do tell.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on, Gwynn.” Starling pouted, but her brown eyes sparkled. “Just tell me if he’s amazing in bed.”
“No.”
“Let this old spinster live vicariously through you.”
