Chapter 9
Xari sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the floor as if it held the answers she so desperately needed. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the safe house walls, but inside her head, it was deafening.
Kaelira. My daughter.
The words wouldn't stop circling, curling around her like chains. Zara wasn't just some faceless enemy. She wasn't just another Venatori zealot to take down. She was her mother. And that changed everything .
Her fingers dug into the fabric of her pants as her mind raced. Maevaris had made it clear—she was off Venatori missions. Cut off. Sidelined. She should have fought harder, argued longer, but deep down, she knew it wouldn't have changed anything. Maevaris had already decided she was too much of a risk.
But how the hell am I supposed to find answers if I'm locked away like some fragile thing?
Xari pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face. And for the first time in a long time, she cried. A heavy, weeping cry. Filled with fear, exhaustion, loneliness, uncertainty. Her breaths came shallow as she tried to take in air between sobs. Her body trembled with each ragged breath, her chest tightening under the weight of everything crashing down at once. Now, alone in the quiet, the walls she had built around herself finally crumbled.
Tears soaked into the fabric of her sleeves as she curled in on herself, desperate to hold everything together, even as it all slipped through her fingers. The vision, the bond, the suffocating truth of who she was —it was too much.
She had no control.
No one to turn to.
Maevaris didn't trust her. She wasn't sure if she trusted herself, either.
A sob wrenched from her throat, raw and aching. She clutched at her arms, nails biting into her skin as if she could physically hold herself together. But she couldn't.
She had spent years searching for the truth, and now that she had found it, she almost wished she hadn't.
But even through the tears, through the heaving gasps and the silent screams trapped in her chest, something inside her refused to break completely.
She was afraid. She was lost.
But she was still here.
And as long as she was still here, she would not let Zara decide who she was. Or anyone else.
Xari sniffed, her sobs slowing as she wiped a trembling hand across her face. Her body felt heavy, drained, but her mind—her mind was sharper than it had been all night.
Maevaris thought she could keep her away from the Venatori.
She was wrong.
A sharp knock at the door made her tense, pulling her from her thoughts. She knew who it was before he even spoke.
"Xari."
Ashur.
She hesitated before answering. She couldn't keep pushing him away, even if she wanted nothing more than to be alone in the moment. "It's open."
The door creaked as he stepped inside, his presence filling the small space like a weight pressing down on her chest. He didn't move right away, just lingered near the doorway, studying her like he was trying to figure out what to say.
Xari didn't look up. "If you're here to lecture me like Maevaris, don't bother."
A quiet huff of breath. "I think you've had enough of that."
That was a surprise. She expected him to scold her, to remind her how reckless she had been, how she'd put herself in danger. But instead, his voice was gentle.
Slowly, Xari lifted her gaze to meet his. Ashur was watching her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—dark, warm, worried —told her everything.
"You scared me," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Xari swallowed hard. "I scared myself."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, carefully, Ashur stepped closer, his usual confidence subdued, replaced by something softer.
"I don't know what to say to make this easier for you," he said. "I don't even know if there is anything that can."
Xari let out a humorless laugh. "That makes two of us."
He hesitated for a moment, then finally sat beside her on the bed. Not too close, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, steady and grounding.
"I don't like that Maevaris is cutting you out," he admitted. "But I get it."
Xari's shoulders stiffened. "Of course you do."
Ashur sighed. "That's not what I meant." He turned to look at her, brows furrowing. "I know this isn't fair. I know you want answers. But after what happened tonight… Xari, you collapsed . You weren't even there anymore. You—" He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "I didn't know if you were coming back."
She flinched.
That was the problem, wasn't it? No matter how much she wanted to tell herself that she could control this—control her —the truth was, she couldn't.
Zara had reached out, and Xari had fallen right into her grasp .
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I don't know what to do, Ashur."
His expression softened. "Then don't rush into anything."
Xari turned to face him fully, frustration bubbling up. "That's easy for you to say. You don't wake up one day and realize your entire life is a lie. That your mother —" she spat the word like it burned, "—is the enemy. That she's been watching you, waiting for you."
Ashur didn't flinch. He just held her gaze, steady and unwavering. "No. I don't know what that's like." He hesitated, then added, "But I do know what it's like to feel lost."
Something in his voice made her pause.
Ashur had always been the confident one. The reckless one. The one who acted first and thought later. But in this moment, he looked uncertain .
She wasn't sure what to do with that.
Ashur exhaled, shaking his head. "You don't have to do this alone, Xari." His voice dipped lower, softer. "I don't want you to."
Her chest tightened.
For a moment, she let herself hold his gaze, let herself feel the warmth in his words, the quiet plea beneath them. Under his eyes, she felt safe. Like a tight hug from a long-distance friend, a warm meal prepared by a mother, a soft blanket after a bath.
Then, she forced herself to look away.
"I don't think I have a choice."
Silence settled between them again, heavier this time.
Finally, Ashur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just… promise me you won't do anything stupid ."
Xari smirked faintly. "I make no promises."
Ashur shook his head, but a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Of course not."
Ashur lingered, his fingers twitching slightly against his knee like he was debating something. Then, with a quiet breath, he said, "I care about you, Xari."
The words weren't grand or poetic, but they still knocked the breath from her lungs.
She turned to him, her heart suddenly pounding harder than it should. "Ashur…"
He shook his head, as if he already knew she was going to argue, to deflect, to turn this into something easier than what it really was. "I mean it," he said, voice steady but softer now. "You drive me insane. You make reckless decisions, you don't listen, and you never let anyone help you." He let out a small, breathy laugh. "And still… I care."
Xari stared at him, her throat dry. There were a thousand ways she could respond, a hundred different excuses she could give. But none of them made it past her lips.
Instead, she moved.
Before she could second-guess herself, before she could convince herself this was a bad idea, she reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she pulled him toward her.
And then she kissed him.
For a split second, Ashur didn't move, as if the reality of what was happening hadn't quite caught up to him. Then, with a quiet inhale, he responded, his lips pressing into hers with a softness that surprised her.
It wasn't rushed or desperate. It wasn't a mistake born from too much drink like before.
It was intentional.
Xari's fingers tightened slightly, and Ashur tilted his head, deepening it just a fraction, his hand hesitating before settling lightly against her waist.
And then, just as quickly, reality came crashing back.
Xari pulled away, her face burning, breath uneven. She didn't know what to say, didn't even know why she had done that.
Ashur blinked at her, slightly dazed, his lips parted like he was still catching up.
Xari opened her mouth, then closed it again, completely out of her depth. She never blushed , and yet, her entire face felt like it was on fire.
"Uh," she muttered, gripping the sheets beneath her like they might somehow anchor her.
Ashur let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well. That happened."
Xari groaned, burying her face in her hands. Maker, why did I do that?
Ashur chuckled again, but when she peeked through her fingers, he wasn't smirking like he usually would. He was watching her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those damn eyes—were warm, something quiet and unspoken lingering there.
She had no idea what this meant. No idea what to do with it.
So, like the absolute coward she was, she cleared her throat, straightened, and said, "You should probably go."
Ashur arched a brow, amused. "Oh? That bad, huh?"
Xari shot him a glare, though it lacked any real bite.
Ashur exhaled through his nose, standing slowly. He lingered by the door, and for a brief moment, she thought he might say something else—something that would make this whole thing even more confusing.
But he didn't.
"Get some sleep, Xari."
Then, with a final glance, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Xari sat there, staring at the empty space where he had been.
Then, groaning into her hands, she flopped backward onto the bed, heart still hammering, mind still reeling.
What the hell, Xari?
—
Sleep did not find her. Not that she went looking for it, anyways. It was out of the question, for tonight at least. Xari laid on her bed, sprawled out, staring at the stone ceiling above her. Her mind was raging, whirling, chaotic. Even if she wanted to sleep, there was the fear of Zara entering her dreams. She would not let that happen, not after tonight. Instead, she studied the ceiling until she felt like she was about to go mad.
How do I know I'm not already insane? Xari exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over her face. What the hell is wrong with me?
Tonight had been a disaster in every possible way. First, she had almost compromised the mission. Then, she'd been benched indefinitely. And then— then —she had kissed Ashur.
Her stomach twisted at the thought. She could still feel the ghost of it, the way he had hesitated for only a moment before kissing her back. The warmth of it. The intentionality of it.
Xari groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. Stupid. Reckless. That wasn't like her. She wasn't impulsive when it came to this .
Fighting? Absolutely. Infiltrations? Without question. But feelings ? Maker, no.
She wasn't even sure what she felt. Was it real? Or was it just— need ?
Need for something solid, something warm, something to remind her that she was here , and not trapped in some suffocating vision of serpents, blood, red lyrium and icy eyes that saw too much.
She turned onto her side, staring at the wall.
He said he cared for me.
Her fingers curled into the blanket. She didn't doubt that Ashur meant it. But did he mean it in the way she wanted him to? In the way that made her chest feel too tight whenever he looked at her like that—like she was something more than just a mission partner, more than a soldier standing beside him in the dark?
Do I even want him to mean it that way?
Xari let out a slow breath, her pulse still uneven. She had no answers. Not about Ashur, not about herself, and certainly not about Zara.
But one thing she did know?
She wasn't going to sit around and wait for them to come to her. Not Maevaris. Not Ashur. And definitely not Zara.
If they weren't going to let her be part of the fight, then she would find her own way in.
One way or another.
Her mind led to Neve. Private investigator, mage, fashion connoisseur… a possible key to answers. The mage had told her she was taking her to a stylist, and while Xari wasn't sure how to feel about that– a sprout of hope rose in her chest. But she also knew Neve was close-knit with Dorian and Mae, so whichever way she was going to use Neve for her knowledge, she needed to go about it carefully.
A twinge of guilt hung in the back of her mind; She wasn't using Neve. She was just… taking advantage of an opportunity. That's what she told herself, anyway.
Xari rolled to her side, facing the window. A waft of her own scent hit her nose, and she winced. I smell awful. I just kissed Ashur, and I stink.
Sighing, Xari swung her legs over the side of the bed and made way to her wardrobe. She quickly grabbed a shirt and pants; an off-white woven tunic and faded black drawstring trousers. Then she made her way to the safehouse's bathing room.
Hopefully, this would relax her somewhat. She needed a distraction—anything to stop thinking. A bath. A bath would do. She pushed open the door to the bathhouse. It was the dead of night, so surely there was no one else– "Oh, my God!"
Dorian froze mid-step, towel barely secured around his waist, his damp curls clinging to his forehead. His usual confidence faltered for just a second before he let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as if he were the one whose eyes were now burning.
"Xari, dearest," he drawled, regaining his composure almost instantly. "While I am, admittedly, a vision to behold, I'd appreciate some warning before you come storming in like a Mabari on a rampage."
Xari, still reeling, slapped a hand over her eyes and spun around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. " You should have locked the damn door!"
"Well, excuse me for assuming I could bathe in peace without fear of being ambushed ," he shot back, unimpressed. "Truly, what was I thinking?"
Xari groaned, her face burning. Of all the people she could have walked in on—why him ?
She took a step toward the door, but Dorian, now apparently having recovered from the sheer horror of being interrupted, smirked. "Oh, don't be shy now, darling. I can't say I blame you. Many have tried to sneak a peek, but you—" he let out a mock gasp "—you were bold enough to succeed."
"I did not —" Xari sputtered, mortified. "I just wanted a damn bath, and now I want to die ."
Dorian chuckled, thoroughly amused as he secured his towel a bit more before strolling toward the mirror. "Relax, dear. If anything, this is a lesson for both of us. You? Learn to knock. Me? Well, I shall continue being devastatingly attractive. A burden, truly."
Xari groaned again, already regretting every choice that had led her to this moment. "I'm leaving."
"Mm, probably for the best," Dorian mused, picking up a comb to run through his curls. "Wouldn't want Ashur getting jealous."
Xari's stomach twisted, her breath catching mid-step. She definitely wasn't thinking about Ashur, except—Maker's breath, now she was.
Dorian met her gaze in the mirror, his smirk widening ever so slightly. Oh, he knows.
"I—he's not—" she started, before realizing she had absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence.
Dorian raised a perfectly groomed brow. "Oh, my. That was a rather tragic attempt at denial. Shall we try again, or should I simply congratulate you now?"
Xari turned on her heel, face burning. "Goodnight, Dorian."
He hummed. "Sweet dreams, darling. And do try to knock next time, hmm?"
Xari shut the door harder than necessary behind her, muttering curses under her breath as she stormed down the hall.
Tonight could not get any worse.
After the humiliating disaster with Dorian, Xari finally got her damn bath, scowling at herself the entire time. It had been a long night, and by the time she dragged herself to bed, she was too mentally exhausted to keep fighting sleep.
Unfortunately, morning arrived far too soon.
A sharp knock on her door jolted her awake.
"Xari," came Neve's voice, far too awake for this hour. "I hope you didn't forget—you owe me this."
Xari groaned, throwing an arm over her face. She had agreed to this, hadn't she?
Mistakes were made.
The other woman let herself into the room, closing the door behind her. "If it helps, I brought breakfast. And coffee."
Xari peeked at Neve over her arm, bringing her gaze to the wooden tray she held in her hands– an ample serving of fruits, bread, and a steaming mug of coffee, neatly arranged on the tray.
" Oof. Didn't sleep well?" Neve studied Xari, amused, raising a well-defined brow.
Xari sat up, supported by her elbows. "Well aren't you living up to your title, detective."
Neve smirked, setting the tray down on the small table beside the bed. "It doesn't take a detective to notice you look like you got into a fight with sleep and lost horribly ."
Xari groaned, rubbing a hand over her face before reluctantly pushing herself upright. "It wasn't sleep I was fighting."
Neve's brow arched higher. "Oh? Something or someone?"
Xari shot her a glare before reaching for the coffee. "Not everything is a scandal, Neve."
The mage hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press. Instead, she leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Xari took her first sip of coffee with a quiet sigh.
"So," Neve said, tilting her head. "Still up for that stylist trip? Or do I need to drag you out of here?"
Xari paused mid-sip, eyeing her over the rim of the mug. Truthfully, she had almost forgotten about that part of their deal. After last night, it seemed like the least of her problems. But Neve was a resource , and if playing makeover was the price of admission, she'd pay it.
She set the mug down with a small clink. "Fine," she said, feigning reluctance. "But if they try to paint my face with makeup, I'm out."
Neve chuckled, pushing off the wall. "Noted. Now hurry up. If we're late, I'll be forced to tell the stylist you love elaborate Orlesian curls."
Xari's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."
Neve just winked. "Try me."
Xari ate her fruit and sipped her coffee in silence, willing herself to gather the energy she'd need for whatever ordeal this so-called stylist had planned. Maker help her—she had faced assassins and Venatori without flinching, but she had a feeling this was going to be a different kind of battle.
As she swallowed the last bite of fruit, she watched with mild exasperation as Neve tore through her wardrobe like a woman on a mission. The mage tsk'd under her breath, pulling out a plain tunic, inspecting it critically, then tossing it back in with a dramatic sigh.
"No, no, this won't do… perhaps a visit to the tailor as well, hmm?" Neve mused, hands on her hips as she surveyed the lackluster selection before her.
Xari huffed, setting down her mug. "Are you redesigning me?"
Neve turned, raising a brow. "I'm saving you." She gestured toward the wardrobe. "Because, darling, this ? This is tragic."
It took every ounce of willpower for Xari not to roll her eyes. Still, she couldn't help but be slightly amused. Neve's interest in fashion—her sharp, discerning eye—wasn't arrogance, just… taste . Appreciation. It reminded Xari of her mother, Livia—always polished, always composed, but never vain.
It also reminded her of Dorian. No wonder the two got along so well.
Xari sighed, rubbing her temples. "I feel like a dress-up doll."
Neve smirked. "A dress-up doll that desperately needs my help." She plucked another shirt from the wardrobe, scrutinized it, then promptly discarded it with a shake of her head. "Yes, a visit to the tailor is definitely in order."
Xari groaned. She had signed up for a stylist, not a full-scale intervention. But, it seemed the two were not mutually exclusive with Neve.
The mage clasped her hands, eyes bright and cheerful. "Alright, then, let's get going."
The morning air in Minrathous was bright and sunny, the morning dew still evaporating off of the windows and weeds. Children had begun their day of play, dipping through market stalls and around pedestrians, giggling and laughing. A group of elven house slaves, keeping their heads low, made their way to the merchants. Xari watched them as they strode by, the memories of that fateful day tugging at her heartstrings. Not much had changed, even after the riots and protests. If anything, there were more guards patrolling the streets.
"Here we are," Neve announced, interrupting Xari's thoughts. The mage stopped in front of a shop, built into a long building with other suites that lined the street; boutiques, apartments, barbers, restaurants. The shopfront before them was smaller, the name Ember & Silk engraved on the sign that hung on the door. The woman led the way, pushing open the door, a bell above the frame announcing their entrance. Inside, several mannequins lined the wall with fine yet folksy dresses and co-ords.
The scent of rich fabrics and faint incense filled the air as Xari stepped inside, her boots sinking slightly into the plush rug spread across the wooden floor. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, casting a warm glow over the displays. Ember & Silk was larger than she expected, but refined—every article of clothing was carefully placed, each mannequin dressed with an artist's precision.
A woman at the counter looked up from where she had been sewing pieces of fabric, her sharp eyes flicking over Neve before landing on Xari. She was tall and slender, her dark hair pulled into an elaborate twist, a single silver pin securing it in place. Olive skin, while smooth and rich in complexion, was wrinkled gently, suggesting her wisdom and experience.
"Neve Gallus," she drawled with a thick accent, setting down the fabric with a knowing smirk. "Back so soon? Surely you haven't run out of silks already ."
Neve grinned, placing a hand on her hip. "Not this time, Selene. Today, I've brought a special case."
Selen's gaze shifted back to Xari, assessing her in a way that made Xari resist the urge to fidget. "Hmm." The shopkeeper hummed thoughtfully, stepping around the counter. "And what, exactly, am I working with?"
Xari crossed her arms, already regretting this. "I just need—"
Neve cut her off. "She needs a wardrobe update. Something practical, but with style ." She gave Xari a pointed look. "No more dressing like a street rat ."
Xari scowled. "I do not —"
Selene held up a hand, cutting off the brewing argument with a knowing smirk. "Say no more." She stepped back, giving Xari a once-over. "You have a strong frame, good posture—you carry yourself like someone who's ready for a fight, even when standing still."
Xari wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but Selene had already turned, rifling through a rack of clothing.
Neve leaned in. "Trust me, she knows what she's doing."
Xari sighed, bracing herself for whatever was about to happen.
This was going to be a long morning.
—
Selene had thrown Xari into countless outfits as her and Neve critiqued them, talking amongst themselves as if Xari was just another mannequin on the wall. She stood stiffly in front of the gilded mirror, arms crossed as Selene circled her like a hawk inspecting prey. Every time she so much as shifted, another piece of fabric was draped over her, a belt cinched tighter, a collar adjusted.
"I am not a dress-up doll," Xari muttered under her breath.
Selene hummed absently, completely ignoring her. "This cut flatters her shoulders, but the fit needs adjustment at the waist. She's too used to loose tunics—she needs structure."
Neve nodded, tapping a finger against her chin. "Agreed. And the boots need replacing. Something sturdier, but still sleek. She needs to move ."
Xari let out an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands up. "I am right here, you know."
Selene gave her an unimpressed look. "Yes, yes, you're very present. Now stop slouching."
Xari scowled but straightened anyway.
Neve smirked. "You act like you're suffering, but I know you're enjoying this at least a little."
Xari grumbled something incoherent as Selene tugged at a sleeve, pinning the fabric in place.
"Oh, hush. You'll thank me when you look formidable and fashionable," Neve said, grinning.
Xari huffed, but as she caught her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit…
She did look good.
Her reflection looked back at her, almost unrecognizable. What was once a girl who wore the same plain, woven tunics and pants which hid her frame, with dusty combat boots, was replaced by a striking, almost intimidating young woman.
Selene stepped back, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. "Now that is more like it."
They had dressed Xari in fitted black leather pants, tailored to her form but flexible enough to move in. They showed off her chiseled thigh muscles, and sat snugly at her waist, secured by a sleek belt with a silver buckle, accentuating the deep curve of her hip—something she hadn't really noticed before.
The top was a deep charcoal, a high-collared shirt with reinforced stitching along the seams. The fabric was soft but structured, cinched at the waist by an asymmetrical wrap of deep burgundy, fastened with subtle clasps. It framed her torso in a way that made her shoulders seem broader, her waist narrower, accentuating the athletic shape she had earned through years of training.
A fitted, sleeveless leather vest layered over it, hugging her frame in a way that felt… powerful. It was lightweight but sturdy, the dark material edged with delicate embroidery that caught the light when she moved. Functional, yet undeniably elegant.
The finishing touch? A pair of new boots—sleek, well-made, rising just below her knees. They weren't heavy, nor were they the dusty, beaten-down things she'd been wearing before. These were meant for movement, for precision, for someone who belonged in the shadows.
She barely recognized herself.
Neve grinned. " Now you look like someone who could break hearts and snap necks. At least, you will once we fix your hair."
Xari scoffed, but she couldn't deny the way the outfit made her feel . Strong. Capable.
A woman, not just a rogue in borrowed clothes.
Selene tilted her head, appraising her once more before giving a satisfied nod. "That will do."
Xari smirked, turning away from the mirror. "I still don't see why my clothes needed this much attention."
Neve sighed dramatically. "Because, darling, presentation matters . And whether you realize it or not, you are stepping into something bigger. It's time you look the part."
Xari held her gaze for a moment, then glanced back at her reflection one last time.
Maybe Neve was right.
"Thank you again, friend," Neve smiled at the tailor woman, handing her a sack of coins.
Selene grinned proudly. "Please do come visit again soon. Here's the rest of the clothes," she turned to Xari now, handing her a knit bag full with her new wardrobe.
Xari gave the woman a soft smile. "Thank you. I do appreciate it."
Her and Neve walked out of Ember & Silk, a newfound pep in Xari's step, though she made sure not to show it too much. No need to fill Neve's head with hot air any more than it was.
But, the mage must have noticed the shift in Xari's demeanor because she smirked knowingly as they strode down the bustling street. "See? I told you this would be worth it."
Xari rolled her eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself. It's just clothes."
Neve scoffed, flipping a loose curl over her shoulder. "Clothes make the woman, darling. And from the way you're walking, I'd say you agree—whether you admit it or not."
Xari fought the urge to adjust the strap of her bag, as if that would hide the small spark of confidence humming beneath her skin. She wasn't about to give Neve the satisfaction of gloating.
Still, she couldn't deny the feeling. The subtle strength in the fit of her new attire, the way the fabric moved with her rather than just hanging off her body.
Maybe it wasn't just clothes.
As they walked, the streets of Minrathous pulsed with their usual energy—merchants calling out, nobles parading by in their embroidered finery, slaves moving swiftly through the crowd with their eyes downcast. Xari felt the familiar sting in her chest at the sight, the past creeping up on her before she shoved it back down.
Not today.
Neve looped her arm through Xari's, startling her slightly. "Come now, time for part two."
Xari shot her a wary glance. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
Neve grinned. "Absolutely."
With a resigned sigh, Xari let herself be dragged toward The Gilded Tress—the final step in her transformation.
I wonder what Ashur will think…
The thought slipped in before she could stop it, and Xari immediately wanted to strangle herself.
Maker's breath. She was in trouble.
The beauty shop wasn't far from Ember & Silk, located in the same strip of building, but past the market. As the two women pushed through the shop's entrance, the stark contrast from their previous errand spot was a shock.
It was not a large space, but it was filled to capacity with chattering women, loudly babbling and gossiping amongst themselves. The bell above the door frame was hardly audible above the noise.
The Gilded Tress was a whirlwind of color, movement, and noise. The air was thick with the scent of fragrant oils, floral perfumes, and burning incense, creating an almost dizzying mix. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars of butters, oils, and pomades in elegant glass containers, their golden labels glinting under the soft lantern light.
Chairs were scattered throughout the shop, each one occupied by women in various stages of styling—some with their hair sectioned off for intricate braids, others having their curls set or smoothed with rich creams. Their voices overlapped in waves of conversation and laughter, a bubbling, chaotic energy that made the small space feel alive.
Xari hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag as she shot Neve a nervous glance. This was… a lot.
Neve, completely oblivious, scanned the room with ease, eyes searching for her beautician friend. "Ah! There she is," she announced, grabbing Xari's wrist and pulling her deeper into the fray.
Xari swallowed hard as they approached an older woman—seemingly Rivaini—her wrists stacked with golden bangles that chimed softly as she worked. She was turned away, twisting her client's hair with precise, practiced movements, smoothing the strands with a light butter.
Her hair, dark as coal, was streaked with strands of silver, pulled into thick curls that framed her face. Even with her back turned, she exuded confidence—the kind that came with experience.
Then, as if sensing Neve's presence, the woman turned.
Her face was striking, full of character, her sharp cheekbones softened by the warmth in her gaze. Her skin was a rich brown, kissed by the sun, with faint freckles at the highest points of her face, and soft wrinkles that suggested this was a woman who loved to laugh. She held several strands of her client's hair securely between her lips, keeping them in place as she worked.
The second she saw Neve, her smile deepened, eyes crinkling at the corners—but she didn't drop the hair.
"Neve, my beautiful sister!" she exclaimed, her voice rich with affection. She turned further, yanking her client's head with her. The poor woman in the chair let out a sharp hiss of pain, but the stylist simply patted her on the shoulder, unfazed.
Then, her gaze landed on Xari.
"And what a lovely girl you've brought with you," she mused, still speaking around the strands of hair between her lips. Her sharp eyes flickered over Xari's head. "I'm assuming you're the one in need of service, yes?"
Before Xari could speak, Neve brought a hand to her shoulder and spoke, raising her voice over the chatter of the salon. "Marisol, this is Xari. She begged me to take her for a new hairstyle." Neve winked. She just couldn't help herself. "I told her you were the most skilled with braids and textured hair."
Marisol turned back to her task, continuing with the effortless twisting, and spoke over her shoulder. "You said it, not me. I'm almost finished with Yvelda here, and you can take her spot."
Xari shot Neve a glare, her lips parting in protest. Begged? She most certainly had not begged.
Neve, completely unfazed, just smirked.
Marisol, meanwhile, remained focused on her work, her hands moving with practiced ease as she twisted the final strands of her client's hair into place. The motion was fluid, almost rhythmic, as if she had done this a thousand times before—because she had .
Xari shifted her weight, suddenly unsure. It wasn't that she didn't want this, but there was something about Marisol's presence, the way she carried herself with such effortless confidence, that made Xari feel like she was stepping into unfamiliar territory.
As if sensing her hesitation, Marisol flicked a glance over her shoulder, amusement dancing in her warm brown eyes. "Relax, mija . You're in good hands."
Yvelda, the woman currently in the chair, let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "Finally! I swear, Marisol, you take ages when you're chatting."
Marisol smirked. "And yet, you keep coming back."
Yvelda huffed but didn't argue.
Neve nudged Xari forward. "Go on, take a seat before she changes her mind."
Xari inhaled deeply before stepping forward. This was fine . It was just hair.
Right?
She decided to pass the time by observing the other shop patrons. Lively, vibrant conversations filled the room. A stylist and her client in the corner caught her eye, as they seemed to begin bickering about something, but their words were lost in the noise. Xari raised a brow. This might be entertaining. But then, the two women burst out into laughter, their expressions changing from frowns to playful. Xari hummed in amusement, thinking of how her and Ashur and Corin endlessly teased each other, only to go back to laughing and jesting. She imagined for a moment what it would be like to have some girl friends. Her gaze went back to Neve, who stayed next to Marisol and Yvelda, effortlessly joining in their conversation.
Xari leaned back into the chair, her mind drifting as she watched the people around her. It was strange, being here in this space filled with such openness and chatter. It felt like a stark contrast to the world she knew—the world of shadows, secrets, and whispers. Here, everyone seemed to have their place, moving through the motions of daily life with ease. She caught herself smiling at the thought of being a part of something like that, even if just for a moment.
Neve's good at making people feel welcome , she thought, watching her friend effortlessly navigate the conversation with Yvelda and Marisol.
Xari almost wished she could be more like that, less guarded, but old habits were hard to shake. She wasn't used to letting people in so easily. The loyalty she shared with Ashur and Corin, though, was different—it was earned through time, action, and shared purpose, not small talk or pleasantries.
"Are you alright?" Neve's voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present. "You've been quiet for a while."
Xari flashed her a quick smile. "Yeah, just... thinking."
Neve raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but let it go. "If you say so. Marisol's done with Yvelda, it's your turn."
Xari nodded, turning to Marisol, who was now finishing up with Yvelda. The weight of the moment seemed to press on her chest. She still wasn't sure what she wanted from this, or even if she wanted anything at all. But for now, she decided to just let go of the tension and go with the flow.
Marisol stuffed some coins into her pocket, facing Xari. "Alright, mija, let's see what we're working with." She smiled softly, patting the back of the chair as a gesture for her new client to sit.
Xari exhaled, standing up. She wasn't sure why she felt so nervous, like all eyes were on her– they weren't. Everyone around her was consumed in their own gossip, barely noticing she was there at all. That didn't make her feel much better. She felt small .
Taking a seat in front of Marisol, the older woman grabbed a few locks with her fingers, spreading out Xari's curls. "When's the last time you combed your hair, love? Better yet, washed it?"
Xari flushed slightly, her fingers instinctively gripping the armrest of the chair. "Uh... it's been a while," she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady. "I don't really have the time for stuff like that."
Marisol raised an eyebrow, but there was no judgment in her gaze. Instead, a sly smile tugged at her lips. "Well, we'll fix that, won't we?" She paused for a moment, inspecting the texture of Xari's hair. "You've got good hair, though. A little wild, but that's nothing we can't work with."
Xari offered a faint smile, appreciating the woman's nonchalant tone. She wasn't used to people being so straightforward about things like this, especially when it came to her appearance. It almost felt comforting, in a way, that Marisol didn't seem phased by the state of her hair.
"You know," Marisol continued as she worked through the tangles, "people like you usually have stories behind their hair. You don't strike me as the type who spends a lot of time with a mirror."
Xari tilted her head slightly, the question surprising her. "I don't... I wasn't really taught how to care for it. My mother had straight hair, but she did her best with mine. I usually just braid it back."
Marisol nodded knowingly, her fingers deftly working through the curls. "Mmm. I can tell. Sometimes it's the small things we overlook that make us feel a bit more... human, though." She glanced up, eyes catching Xari's in the mirror. "You ever thought about doing something different with it? Changing things up a little?"
Xari thought for a moment. She'd never really considered anything but keeping it practical, often tied back or hidden under hoods. But, maybe... for once, she could let herself experience something different. Something simple, like getting her hair done.
"I... haven't really thought about it," she answered quietly, glancing at her reflection. "What did you have in mind?"
—
It seemed like hours Xari had spent in that salon. After Marisol had finished scrubbing her scalp at the wash basin, and then rinsing out the suds, she brought her back to the chair and applied a lightweight butter. A few minutes of torture while the stylist tamed her knots with a wooden comb, she began to apply more of the mixture through the layers of hair. It smelled heavenly.
"What is that?" Xari asked, eyeing the jar as Marisol set it on the table next to her.
Marisol grinned, clearly pleased with Xari's curiosity. "Ah, this?" She picked up the jar, tapping her fingers on the lid. "This is a custom blend I made. Shea butter, a bit of coconut oil, and a few drops of lavender and rosemary for balance. It's all about nourishment and a little luxury for the senses." She unscrewed the lid and gently waved it under Xari's nose. "Smell that? That's a calming blend. Great for hair and even better for the soul."
Xari inhaled deeply, the soft, earthy scent filling her lungs. It was soothing, unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She could feel her shoulders begin to relax as the calming fragrance worked its magic.
"That's incredible," Xari murmured, watching as Marisol carefully massaged the mixture into her hair, working it into the strands with precision.
Marisol smiled, her hands moving smoothly through Xari's curls. "It's the little things, you know? Taking a moment to slow down and pamper yourself... most people don't realize how much it can make a difference."
Xari nodded, her mind wandering for a moment to the way things used to be—quick and purposeful, always rushing toward the next mission or task. She never had time for luxury like this, never really allowed herself to indulge in something as simple as enjoying the feeling of smooth, nourished hair.
"Maybe I need more of that in my life," she said softly, almost to herself.
Marisol and Neve began to debate with each other about what kind of style would suit Xari best.
"I saw the most gorgeous style in Orlais-"
"I think she would look great with one I did the other day-"
Xari stared at herself in the mirror, tuning out the other women's conversation. She'd never seen herself this polished. Her curls were moisturized and bounced with a healthy shine. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her hair, even though it was still wet, was voluminous. It created a halo around her head. Just the right products, the right care, brought out something she'd never seen in herself. She almost didn't want to braid it, leaving the shop like this would've been more than enough. But, she knew herself. Leaving her curls loose would be nice for a day, maybe, until they started getting in her face, or she got called on a mission.
Xari began to look around the room, watching the other stylists create unique braids and twists. To her right, a woman with sandy brown coils was getting braided down. The beautician braided her hair to her scalp, stopping at the crown of her head. Her hair was kept out of her face, but her curls still the star of the show. It was perfect.
"What about that?" Xari pointed. Neve and Marisol stopped talking amongst themselves, turning to meet where Xari was pointing to. Marisol smiled, leaning down to meet her gaze in the mirror.
"Beautiful and practical. Perfect for you, mija."
Xari felt an unexpected warmth spread through her chest at Marisol's words. Perfect for you. She wasn't sure why that struck her, but it did. Maybe because no one had ever really thought about what suited her before—not in this way, at least.
Marisol wasted no time, gently sectioning off Xari's hair and beginning the intricate braiding process. Xari sat still, watching her work in the mirror as her fingers wove through each strand with practiced ease.
"This style will keep your hair out of your face but still let those curls shine," Marisol said, a satisfied smile on her lips. "You'll feel like yourself—just a little more put together."
Xari hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze drifting to Neve, who was beaming as if she'd been the one getting pampered.
"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you this relaxed," Neve teased, resting her chin in her hand.
Xari rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Don't get used to it."
Neve laughed, nudging her foot under the chair. "Oh, I will. And when you start coming back for regular appointments, I won't let you deny it."
Xari scoffed but didn't argue. She knew herself well enough to admit—at least internally—that this felt nice.
The beautician worked quickly, years of experience allowing her to breeze through each row of braids, while still keeping them neat. Xari was surprised at how fast she finished, but Marisol leaned back, inspecting her work, brow furrowed. Then, her eyes lit up. "I know just the thing-" she murmured to herself, reaching into a drawer beneath the mirror. Inside, baskets of gold and silver accessories made Xari's eyes widen. She had never been one for accessories and felt unsure, but she did trust Marisol with her work so far. The older woman grabbed a small handful of gold cuffs and rings. "Don't worry, I know what my clients like. Just a few here and there for some character… and, you're done."
Xari leaned closer to the mirror, admiring Marisol's handiwork. The small, golden adornments caught the light, weaving seamlessly into her new crown. It was subtle but striking—an elegant balance of practicality and beauty.
Xari smiled, impressed. "I love it."
Marisol smiled, proud of her project. "You look simply beautiful, mija. Here, take some of this- you'll need to maintain your curls the next time you wash them." She handed Xari the jar.
"Thank you, Marisol. I have a feeling she'll be back soon." Neve winked, offering Marisol a handful of coins.
How much money does Neve have ? Xari thought to herself, then criticized herself for being so nosy. At least she didn't say it out loud.
The stylist graciously accepted the coin, and the two women made their way out of the salon.
As they stepped out of the salon, the late afternoon sun bathed the bustling streets in a golden glow. Xari lifted a hand to her head, fingers brushing over the smooth braids and the small gold cuffs nestled within them. She still wasn't used to the feeling, but she liked it—more than she expected.
Neve stretched her arms above her head, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving." She shot Xari a knowing look. "And don't even try to tell me you're not hungry. You've been in that chair for ages."
Xari rolled her eyes but couldn't argue. The scent of sizzling meats, fresh herbs, and spiced bread wafted through the air, making her stomach tighten in response. She hadn't realized how long it had been since she last ate.
"Alright, but this time, I'm buying."
The marketplace was alive with energy—vendors calling out their wares, the clatter of pots and pans, and the steady hum of conversation. Neve wove through the crowd effortlessly, stopping at a small stall where a plump woman was grilling skewers of marinated meat and vegetables over an open flame.
Neve placed a few coins down with a wink. "Two, please. Extra sauce."
Xari raised a brow as she took the warm skewer Neve handed her. "You eat here often?"
Neve grinned around a mouthful of food. "Only when I want something good."
Xari took a bite, and the explosion of flavor caught her off guard—smoky, rich, with just the right amount of spice. She hummed in approval, and Neve smirked.
"Knew you'd like it," she said.
They wandered toward a quieter corner of the square, leaning against a low stone wall as they ate.
"You know," Xari said, smirking, "I think we've made a habit of visiting the market together."
Neve shot her a friendly look. "A good habit."
For a while, they sat in companionable silence, watching people pass by—families, merchants, performers entertaining small crowds.
Then, Neve nudged Xari's shoulder lightly. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say you love something."
Xari blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Neve smirked. "Back at the salon. You actually said 'I love it.'" She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "I like seeing you like that. Letting yourself enjoy something."
Xari hesitated, glancing down at the half-eaten skewer in her hand. The words settled strangely in her chest, warm and unfamiliar.
"…It was nice," she admitted after a moment. "Different, but nice."
Neve's smile was soft this time, not teasing, just understanding. "Well, here's to more of that." She lifted her skewer like a toast.
Xari huffed a quiet laugh, tapping hers against Neve's. "We'll see."
The two finished the rest of their meal, and as the sun set, they parted ways. Neve headed back to her apartment, and Xari to the safe house.
The walk back to the safe house was quieter than usual. The city had settled into the lull of evening, the streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, the distant hum of voices and music filling the air. Xari kept her hands tucked into her pockets, her fingers absently brushing against the gold cuffs in her braids.
She had meant to ask. Neve had information on the Venatori, on Zara. The question had been there all day, lurking at the edges of her thoughts. But every time she considered bringing it up, it felt… wrong. Forced.
For once, she hadn't been Xari the Shadow Dragon, the girl with secrets and missions. She had just been. And she didn't want to taint that with talk of blood mages and pasts she barely understood.
Not today.
She slipped inside, the familiar creak of the door barely registering in her mind. For now, she'd let herself hold onto the feeling of the day—warm laughter, the scent of spiced meat, the weight of her hair, carefully braided by hands that had treated her with care.
Tomorrow, she would remember Zara.
Tonight, she just wanted to be Xari.