Chapter 749 - Dressed in Chains, Laced with Fire (1)

The first thing Lirael noticed was how careful the silk felt against her scalp—no tug, no careless scrape of nails. The masked women treated her hair like spun moonlight instead of mud-clotted strands from a dungeon floor. One worked the comb with a jeweller's patience, gliding through knots her captors had ignored for days; the other followed with a strip of cloth soaked in rosewater, blotting grime from brow and cheek. Warm droplets slid down her temples, carrying the sour tang of old fear with them. The attendants' porcelain half-masks hid mouth and nose, but their eyes flicked once—quick, nervous—to the storm-bright collar sparking at her throat. They wiped faster after that, as if haste could muffle the magic's hiss.