“When you crave something, it means you need it.” He breathed a laugh and his eyes momentarily turned inward. “A crucible’s craving is her mechanic’s mandate.” The way he’d said that made Lily think it was something he’d learned by rote, and that it had a much deeper meaning than was immediately apparent. “Trust me, in another day or two, this is going to become a big problem for both of us,” he continued. “And I can’t bring you back into Salem just yet. Not for another three or four days, at least.”
“Okay. Is there any way to get more salt?” Lily asked equitably.
“Yes. I could kill an animal, and you could drink its blood.”
Lily gave Rowan a withering look.
“Look, you don’t have to eat the meat,” he began, his tone near to pleading.
“I’m not drinking blood, Rowan.”
“There are no other sources of salt out here. Otherwise, we have to go back to Salem.”
“Then we go back to Salem,” Lily said simply.
“Right. Because that’s the smartest choice,” he said sarcastically.
“I refuse to consume any part of any animal. It’s not an option.”
Rowan paced around the fire, biting his lower lip to keep himself from spea
king.
“Just say it,” Lily said, jumping to her feet.
“Fine. I really want to know if there’s a universe, any universe, where you’re a reasonable person who knows how to compromise even a tiny bit?” he yelled back at her. “Does every version of you have to be so ridiculously stubborn that you won’t even do the littlest thing I ask?”
“Drinking blood is not a little thing,” she sputtered incredulously.
“You do realize who you look like?”
“Yes!”
“And you realize that you’re a bit conspicuous?” He pointed to her bright red hair. “And that it would be nearly impossible to get you back into Salem right now without someone spotting you from, say, a mile away?”
“So cut off my hair. Dye it,” Lily said, her voice wavering when she realized what she was saying. Rowan’s angry expression switched to surprise, and Lily strengthened her resolve. “Do what you have to do. But I am not drinking blood.”
* * *
Lily saw the first tress of her hair fall at her feet and nearly told Rowan to stop.
She heard his knife slice through another hank, and tears started welling up in her eyes. She tried to tell herself it was just hair, and that she’d never liked her hair to begin with, but that only made her cry harder. If she didn’t like it long, how much worse would it look short? Lily’s breathing skipped with tears and Rowan’s hands stilled.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly.
“No.” Lily’s voice came out high and childish. She cleared her throat and continued. “It’s too late anyway, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Keep going.”
He lifted another lock and cut through it. “I think short hair will be really flattering on you,” he said optimistically. “You’ve got a beautiful face. It shouldn’t be covered by hair.”
Lily watched more strands fall to the ground. Her neck could feel everything, even the weight of Rowan’s eyes as he looked at her. She felt exposed.
When he was finished cutting, Rowan took up a bundle of Lily’s shorn hair, a twig, and some twine from his pack. He sat down next to her while he wrapped the hair onto the end of the twig, binding it tightly with the twine. He trimmed the ends of the hair bundle evenly, and in a few moments he’d fashioned a rudimentary paintbrush. Lily watched every neat motion of his hands. His dexterity fascinated her so much she momentarily forgot about herself.
“Nifty,” Lily said, truly impressed.