by Laura DeLuca
* * *
“This is madness!” Balen cried out from his straw bed. He tried to pull himself up, but the pain from his wound quickly quelled his efforts, and he fell back against his pillow. “Eartha, you shall be discovered! Worse yet, you will be killed! You will be discovered and then killed, for surely such deceit is treason!”
“Nonsense,” Eartha argued as she slipped into her brother’s finest tunic. “Do you forget so easily who bested all the boys in the summer games?”
Balen shook his head. “This is not a child’s game, Eartha! You will not be playing with wooden swords or racing to the top of the Tor. The boys you remember have been hardened by battle and greed! They will stop at nothing to win the hunt.”
“I can still whip your tail,” Eartha teased her twin. “What makes you think I fear any of those other weaklings?”
Balen continued to rage about the faults of her plan, but Eartha ignored him and went on with her preparations. She had already wrapped her chest to hide her breasts, and the added material made her torso seem a little broader and more masculine. Over the tunic she added an animal pelt to help fight the chill and dampness of early spring, but also to make her appear larger. The coating of war paint on her face hid the fact that there was no stubble on her cheeks. It was the final step that was the hardest part of the masquerade.
Eartha ran her fingers along her thick brown tresses. Her hair flowed in a soft blanket all the way down to the small of her back. In her youth, it had been a tangled and unruly mess that made her look like a wild spirit of the woods. Yet as she blossomed into womanhood, her curls had become her greatest beauty and the only part of her femininity she didn’t openly shun. But it was too thick to hide beneath a cloak, and even if she bundled it on top of her head, it was sure to give her away. There was only one thing she could do to avoid detection, but her hands were trembling too much for her to accomplish the task on her own.
“Take out your dagger,” Eartha ordered.
Balen stopped raving long enough to give her a dubious stare. “For what reason?”
Eartha took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his bed. She tilted her neck, gathered her hair in her fist, and pulled it taunt. “Cut it off.”
“What? Eartha, no!”
“Do it now, you damn fool,” she demanded, trying to cover the quiver in her voice. “How will I ever pass myself off as you with all these ridiculous curls? It’s nothing but a lot of unnecessary work anyway. It takes me hours to work out the tangles in the morning. I shall not miss that trial.”
Balen knew her well enough to know it was a farce, but he also knew better than to argue with his twin when her mind was set. Eartha was almost certain they both shut their eyes as locks of russet curls fell into piles at their feet. Refusing to acknowledge it, Eartha stood and faced her brother as soon as he sheathed his dagger.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Balen’s mouth fell open. “By the gods, it’s as though I were looking in a mirror.”
Eartha nodded in approval and hoped those same gods were on her side when the hunt began.
