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Inej groans as the comb gets stuck in her hair once more. It was a morning after a night with little to do, and she was almost sure she wouldn’t get that reprieve today. In other words, she needed this damned tangled hair brushed, plaited, and tucked beneath her clothes.
Braiding and anything related to the maintenance of her hair was something that was engraved into the very nature of Inej Ghafa. It had proven useful in the menagerie; Heleen never had to busy herself with taking care of Inej’s hair, she only needed to give her a comb. Her fingers moved swiftly to secure her hair in place even when they shook. They shook often.
“Stop.” She commands herself, glaring at herself in the dusty, cracked mirror that hangs in front of her. Forcing patience, she picks up the comb again and slowly runs it through a section of her hair at a time.
Once she was with the dregs, her appearance received little attention. Picking up the skills that befit a wraith was energy-consuming, and the shallow “beauty-maintaining practices” she had been forced to adopt in the Menagerie slowly crumbled. Yet she had never stopped taking care of her hair. She was proud of the way it hung in a curtain to and below her waist, silky and thick.
However, as her responsibilities to the dregs grew in danger and number, her hair was sidelined.
By the time she realised that it lacked the care it needed, it was too late.
Traces of years of careful oiling and regular hair washing first by her mother and then by Inej herself only remained in the strength of her hair. It was no longer glossy, now dull and frizz-prone.
When she looked at the mirror the night the realisation had dawned, she lost it. Foregoing sleep, she spent the night with her feet tucked under her chin, silently sobbing on the bathroom floor.
It had taken an undue amount of willpower to drag herself to Kaz’s office the next morning. Even then she felt none of her usual eagerness to prove her usefulness. Losing pride in her hair felt like losing a bond with her younger self, severing their connection even further than it already had been.
Kaz had noticed. Of course he had, considering it had driven her to such distraction that it had hindered their usually efficient work ethic.
“Anything I should know?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No.” It had felt like something trivial to be so crushed over, and she didn’t want him to see her as a weak person.
Kaz nodded, and they continued, her mind an active war zone all the while.
That night, she considered chopping it off. Positioned the dagger and everything. She dropped the dagger when the solution hit her. Then, as though she had been waiting to do this all along, she found herself once more at Kaz’s window.
“Wraith.” His concentrated gaze was on a heavy pile of documents, one of which he was perusing carefully.
“I need oil.”
He simply stared at her for a moment, and she rushed to clarify, “ Hair oil.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “You’ve come to the right man.” He got up and entered the small bathroom attached to his office as she perched herself in a more comfortable position upon the windowsill.
When he came back, it was with a clear dust-ridden bottle filled with a clear, pearly liquid clutched in his hands.
“I used to slick my hair when I was young. Didn’t stick. You’ll be happy to know that when I procured this the shopkeeper told me it was Suli-grade.”
“You used to slick your hair back?” Her mind scrambled, putting the picture together.
“Unimportant. That’s all, I assume?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The words are simple, but Inej felt gratitude well up inside her for this man who apparently had slicked back hair once upon a time.
He gave no response, and she didn’t expect him to, as she slipped back out the window.
Oil wasn’t the only thing she needed, of course, but a good few hours of detangling and a great many hair baths later, she felt like herself again.
Inej smiles at the memory, thinking of the small bottle that still stands on the sink in front of her. She’s refilled it, but it’s always been the same bottle. Finally, she has completely untangled her hair. Good saints, she hopes it never takes this long again. Now, to braid it.
She recalls vividly her mother’s patient fingers separating her hair into three strands as she does now, her own fingers not as graceful but just as skilled.
In her caravan, the day always started with her mother sitting on the edge of the bed with Inej kneeling on the floor in front of her, groaning when the comb, controlled by her strong-gripped mother, got caught in a particularly vicious tangle. It was monotonous and usually ended with Inej screaming for her mother to be gentler. Inej missed it most out of all the mundane routines that used to be her life.
Back at the caravan, Inej’s hair had usually been worn in a loose plait running down her back, preventing any strands from distracting her when she was practising. For performances too, her hair had been in a braid, but one decorated with small golden pins and bright flowers, a string jasmine at the crown of the braid.
She had never cut her locks, only allowing her mother to trim it every few months. It had always hung to just below her waist, and she loved it that way; it felt like someone always had her back.
The first time she had drawn blood from an enemy was because of her hair. About six months after she’d joined the dregs, she’d been snooping on some merch when someone from a rival gang ambushed her, she doesn’t recall which. He had only a thin blade for a weapon, so Inej only blocked his strikes with her knife, trying to find a clear path to the compound wall, so she could climb it and slip away.
This was before she had started carefully tucking her braid under her clothes. In fact, this started that practice of hers. One moment, the man’s blade was aiming for her throat and the next she saw a mass of black fall to the floor.
A quick glance told her that he had managed to chop off a good five inches of her hair. Horror filled her as she questioned why her hair had chosen that day to slip out of its braid. Not thinking, she raised the knife once more, before driving it into the man’s shoulder blade- his right.
He dropped his knife. She climbed the wall.
Assessing the damage in her mirror that night, she could see the jagged way the man had cut it, making the ends all go this way and that. Carefully, she evened it out with the sharpest of her blades: Sankta Alina . After, it hung only to her mid-back; not as short as she’d feared, but shorter than she’d wished it to be.
Thankfully, it had grown. Month by month, inch by inch, it reached down to its old length once more, even a little longer. The braid Inej ties off now is similar to the one that was chopped off that night, though today she has no plans for espionage.
She eyes herself in her trusted mirror. The braid runs down her shoulder, overlaying her dark blue shirt with a glossy black. There is familiarity in the hairstyle, and it is her favourite. One morning, she had learnt that it was Kaz’s too.
It was a couple of days before she was to set off on her maiden voyage on the Wraith . Recently, she had taken up the habit of perching herself on Kaz’s windowsill, even when he wasn’t there. She fed the crows and gazed at the rooftops. Sometimes she left before he came, and others she would go from enjoying solitude to enjoying his company.
She had been sitting there for almost an hour when she noticed her hair tie slip off the end of her braid. Groaning, she realised her plait had come completely undone. It was a pain to braid your own hair, especially in a less-than-completely steady position.
As she extended her hands back to start rebraiding her hair, a voice behind her said, “Let me.”
“Kaz.” She turns, smiling at him. He has the appearance of someone who’d just stumbled out of bed; rumpled shirt, no tie, and mussed hair. “You know how to braid?”
“I’ve seen you do it enough times. Turn?” If she’s not wrong, there’s a hint of unsureness in his tone. She does, and she feels him gently separating and then slowly braiding her hair. It’s comforting, reminding her of her mother doing the same thing. She closes her eyes, taking in the feel of Kaz’s presence, the cool morning air, and the tightness of the braid.
He’s done in a matter of minutes. When he ties it off, he meets her eyes with an expression that asks for approval.
“You’re a natural.” Inej runs her fingers down the plait, admiring the tightness of the braiding. Kaz never seemed to stop surprising her.
Well, it was her turn to surprise him now. In about two hours, the Wraith would be docking at Ketterdam. She’d told him she was coming a week later, but the lead she had gotten turned out to be much more easily solved than she had anticipated. She could’ve rushed to inform him through a letter, but the surprise felt like the thing to do.
Inej smiles to herself when she thinks of being able to see Kaz again so soon. Jesper and Wylan too, of course. But mostly Kaz.
God, she was ridiculous.
Inej Ghafa smiles at herself in the mirror before placing her comb next to her oil bottle and excitedly making her way to the top deck. Her braid shimmers in the sunlight, as does the grin on her face all the way to Ketterdam.