“My Lord.”
“Let me see it, Joclyn,” Ilyan commanded sternly, his eyes glancing toward my hair line. I removed the towel obediently, feeling uncomfortable. I felt the two remaining clumps of hair swing forward, a chilled breeze tickling my neck.
Ilyan came forward and ran his fingers through my wet hair as he dutifully inspected Wyn’s work. My hair was now so short, I could feel his fingers rub against my scalp. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, and my shoulders jerked up toward my ears. Ilyan just smiled at me.
“Good, Wyn. The darker, the better on the face, I think.” He moved away from me, his small entourage following him to the door.
“We leave tomorrow at nine. Sleep well, Joclyn.” His voice softened just enough to take away the tension that had formed in my neck. He motioned the others out and closed the door behind him, leaving Wyn and me alone.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated.
My nerves and butterflies came back instantly; twenty-four hours and Ryland would be here. Safe.
I could do this.
Thirty
After Wyn had finished with me, I didn’t even recognize myself. My eyes looked like pools of black on a pure white face. Every time I opened them, the glittering silver of my irises flashed menacingly, the shimmering color surprisingly bright against the black. My lips were dark, too; the dark burgundy setting off the vibrant red that saturated the front of my hair. The severe cut was nothing near what I would have chosen for myself. It was almost like a reverse mullet; a short, boy-cut in the back and stark, straight, longer lengths plastered to my head near my face. The back was dark black that faded into the bright red framing my face.
Wyn had gone one step further by giving my body the persona to match my hair. She had insisted I place a small magnet in my nose that resembled a nose ring and had taken about an hour to draw on a tattoo with a ball point pen. The constant pressure of the tiny pen-tip against my skin had hurt, although not as much as I assumed a real tattoo would. After an hour of being drawn on, my skin had thankfully gone numb, and she had left me with an intricate spider web that stretched all the way down my left arm and across my back.
I wore what could only be described as “club clothes”: tight black pants that Wyn had to magically get me into, matched with what my mom would deem stripper heels, and a lime green, loose-fitting, backless shirt. Combine the face and hair with the tight-fitting, revealing clothes, and it gave me the appearance of a popular girl on her way to the club. I felt a desperate need to appear more confident than I really was.
I still felt like the insecure, scared girl I had always been. I looked at myself in the mirror and tugged at my clothes, desperate for some sort of comfort. Standing there alone reminded me so much of my first day without my hoodie. I clutched my necklace, remembering how Ryland had been right there to support me that day, how he had only looked into me and told me how beautiful I was. I exhaled deeply, the memory heaving through me like caffeine.
After Wyn had placed the finishing touches on my disguise, about twenty of us met in the middle of the courtyard in preparation for leaving. I wasn’t the only one who had changed my appearance. Ilyan had cut his hair short and dyed it brown. Talon had kept his hair long, but had bleached it white; from the back he almost looked like Ilyan. I got the distinct impression that was the idea.
I pulled and tugged at my clothes as I walked toward the group, not wanting so much of my body to be visible. We all gathered together and took off into the sky, following Ilyan to a small run-down conference center in a city I didn’t recognize. He herded us into a small room, with the sole intent of holding a planning meeting.
Ilyan had been speaking nonstop since the meeting began; he wrote on an old chalkboard, separated us into groups, and spoke to each member of each group individually. I didn’t understand a word; everyone was speaking only in Czech. I shifted my weight again, my body sore and stiff against the folding metal chair I sat in.
I looked around; luckily, I wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. Wyn sat in the back next to Ovailia whose icy stare was penetrating Ilyan as he continued to lay out what I could only assume was the plan of attack. Ovailia had spoken up several times during the meeting, and although I had no idea what she was saying, her voice was still venomous.
Suddenly, everyone stood in succession, the quick movement startling me. I stood with them, but immediately regretted it as they all began to pull chairs together and sit down in smaller groups. I sat back down, hoping no one had seen my blunder, and focused on my strappy four-inch heels as I once again adjusted my clothes.