It was early morning, with the sun streaming through the windows all pink and gold—the day was shaping out to be cloudless and probably terribly hot as well. The light had woken Chaza up, and she had delightedly spun about her room, happy in some perverse way that Takan wasn’t there anymore. Her room was clean. She’d kicked all the servants out when they had tried to straighten it up even more, stolen one of their brooms, and proceeded to sweep all of Takan’s wing feathers into a little pile in the corner. She didn’t have the heart to throw it out. Maybe she’d toss them from the window later and watch them all spiral down…

She threw on something, the first thing she saw—a yellow dress; it was a bit too flowy for her tastes but at least it would keep her from imploding from the heat—and dashed out of the room. The hallway was empty, and it appeared to just have been waxed. She ran halfway down and then just let herself slide the rest of the way—

Right into the queen. Luckily the older woman just laughed and stopped Chaza from tumbling to the ground. She held something in her hand, something short, thin, and very pointy-looking.

“Chaza? You’re up early,” the queen said.

“Oh,” laughed Chaza nervously, “yes, I was just—celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“Life,” Chaza replied lamely. She cleared her throat. “Why are you here? –I mean, I didn’t think you went into this hallway often. Were you coming to see me?”

“Yes, I was hoping you were awake. Let’s go into your room.”

Without questions, Chaza followed her instructions, and together they sat down on the larger bed, the one Chaza slept in. She hadn’t even attempted to make it; last time she’d done that the servants just redid it, so she’d given up. The queen glanced down at it, bit her lip, and said nothing about its disheveledness. She took the pointed object out from behind her back—Chaza wasn’t able to identify it, though she did get a good long look, and it did not look a bit friendlier—and set it gently on the edge of the bed. “Do you have your own hairbrush? Hopefully one was put in the room for you—is it here?”

“Ah—yes—” Chaza ran to retrieve it.

“Now, sit down. I’m going to brush your hair.” She gently undid Chaza’s braid and smoothed out the three wavy chunks of hair. She was slow and pulled so little that Chaza hardly felt the brush go through her hair, even though it had its fair share of tangles. After a few minutes, she finally asked, “Why are you brushing my hair?”

“Because it should look decent today—not that it doesn’t look decent normally, but this is a special occasion of sorts. We’re going out into the city, you and me and Takan. My husband doesn’t want to come—he leaves for a hunting expedition in Kanizrie in two days and he needs to begin packing, so it will be just us three.”

“Why are you doing this, though? Why not one of the servants?”

“Because I like brushing long hair,” said the queen. “I hardly brush my own anymore, since it’s usually up and I can’t do that myself, and I terribly miss having daughters. It seems shallow, really,” she added airily, “that I miss my daughters because I can no longer brush their hair.”

Chaza smiled. “Where do you plan on taking us?”

“Shopping. The dresses you’ve been wearing are Rulamie’s old ones. I fancy that Netera’s are more your style—you seem to be a no-frills sort of person—but she was much taller than you.”

“And thinner, as well,” Chaza added. She’d seen some of Netera’s old dresses—she loved how they looked on a mannequin, but apparently the princess was built like a stick, and Chaza was so paranoid about ripping the still-fine material that she’d shied away from touching any more of the older princess’s things.

The queen nodded. “And we’re lucky we had so many spare angel-shirts. We were optimistic, I think—but it paid off, so it’s worth it now. I don’t think he likes them much though. They’re very out-of-style. Nice choice of dress,” the queen added, nodding approvingly. “Yellow looks nice on you. I’m sorry it’s a bit threadbare now—Rulamie was never gentle with her things.”

“It’s fine, but are you sure it’s nice enough to wear with the queen? I mean, shouldn’t I dress up if I’m going to be seen with you?”

The queen’s tone took on a slightly colder edge, and Chaza watched her curiously as she spoke. “I should think it’s nice enough,” she said. “You will wear it today. Any objections?”

“No.” Chaza shivered, but she hoped the queen had not noticed.

“Good.” The woman smiled tersely. “Well, I should be doing your hair, but I have to get myself ready. I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with brushing it, at least for the moment, and I’ll send one of the servants to put it up for you. She’ll be here in a little while.”

“Just out of curiosity, what is that?” questioned Chaza, pointing to the thin metal object the queen had in her hand.

“It’s a clip, for your hair… I was going to put it in myself, but, as I said, no time.”

The queen stood and began to leave. When she was at the doorway, Chaza said, “I don’t think I want that anywhere near my head—if that’s fine with you?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The queen grinned, looking a bit sheepish. “I wouldn’t trust any of the servants with a sharp object anyway. I’ll see you in half an hour, then.”

After a woman had come Chaza’s room and molested her hair for what seemed like years (but in reality was forty or so minutes), she made her way to their meeting place, where Takan was already waiting. The queen had not yet arrived, and Chaza and Takan chatted idly while waiting. “Your hair is different,” he pointed out airily.

Chaza thought he was being carefully neutral, and said so. “One of the servants did it, and I don’t like it either, so it’s no big deal. Apparently, it’s very big here in Kahpem-La, but I don’t know if the woman did it right because she swore so much—I think it was a valiant attempt but it’s quite pathetic too, because isn’t this sort of thing what she’s paid for, and what good is she if she fails? Basically all she did was tie up my hair and wrap it around itself a few times. That’s not easy to mess up.”

“I don’t think it looks that bad, just—” He stopped talking and sighed. “Well, you’re right, I don’t like it, but who am I to talk? I can’t even have a hairstyle, since my hair’s hardly long enough. Even female angels don’t do anything fancy with their hair, though. It messes up when they fly. We’re a practical bunch, us angels.” He smiled like it was an inside joke.

“Oh.”

There was an awkward silence and Chaza took a moment to survey Takan from the side. His nose was straight—it didn’t even have a little bump on the end, like Chaza’s. He seemed to notice her gaze and met her eyes; she stared at her hands, determined to bore holes in them. No more staring at Takan, she admonished herself, even if he is pretty!

Finally the queen joined them—her hair was done the same way as Chaza’s, except much less lumpy and messy—and, along with three servants (one male and two female) that the queen said were to carry the purchases, they set out.

The shops they visited all seemed the same to Chaza—clothing stores filled with beautiful bright-colored dresses or long men’s robes in light-colored hues. According to the queen, orange was in style, and they bought three dresses in different tints and shades of it for Chaza. Clothing fitted for angels was terribly scarce, the queen noticed. “At this rate we’ll have to buy normal robes and cut the wing-holes out ourselves,” she said. Takan, however, did not seem to mind the idea, for reasons Chaza didn’t even begin to fathom.

It was sweltering and too dusty, and Chaza sneezed often. Her throat was dry and scratchy. She wanted to complain to someone, but not the queen, since the queen seemed utterly fascinated by the things they were buying and most likely wouldn’t give Chaza a listen, and not the servants, since didn’t pay any attention to her at all. She chose to vent to Takan.

After he’d heard her out, he looked a bit concerned. “Maybe you’re getting sick again,” he said. “And that wouldn’t be good. I feel like the first time was my fault.”

“No, I’m sure it’s just the dust,” she said. “Also, I’m not sure I’m quite used to the heat here yet. Maybe I should rest somewhere. We should break away from the group and find somewhere shady we can sit down.”

Takan agreed this was a good idea and they asked the queen’s permission; it was quickly given, and they went down a little side-street, looking for chairs or a tree. The closest they found was an old, half-crumbled stone bench, but it was in the direct sunlight and warm to the touch. Wearily Chaza sat down anyways. “I don’t think I can stand the sun,” she said breathlessly, “but I don’t think I can stand standing, either, so I’ll take the lesser of the two evils.” Stand standing? She giggled at her stupid faux-wordplay.

Takan sat gingerly next to her, and Chaza couldn’t blame him for his unease: The bench looked like it could break off into dust at the slightest pressure. However, it held their weight, and Takan unfolded his wings, casting Chaza into shade.

“Thank you,” she said, “so much.”

Takan grinned widely, then quickly frowned to himself, staring down at the resilient tufts of grass that grew between the stones of the sidewalk. “I’m confused,” he said sullenly.

“About what?”

He said nothing, just looked her in the eyes, his face a perfect vision of seriousness. Slowly he twisted where he sat so his upper body faced her. Then, to Chaza’s surprise, he took her hand from her lap and held it gently.

There was a moment where Chaza’s heart swung and her pulse beat a tattoo against her skin, where she seemed to teeter on the line between laughing out loud and shouting with joy—in her indecision, she was quiet, looking almost as serious as Takan did, though her heart was singing.

She honestly hadn’t expected Takan to speak, and when he did his words were not at all romantic. “I’ll see you in hell, then,” he said, more to himself than to Chaza.

Surprised, she opened her mouth, and was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, when he kissed her.

She shut her eyes—her heart was numb; it had, she assumed, fainted from glee. At last, at long last, she broke away first and smiled, and, tentatively, Takan smiled too. “What is it?”

Chaza said nothing. There was simply nothing she could think of to say, so she just grinned—she wanted this never to end, the cool grey shade from Takan’s wings, the soft skin of his hands against hers, the look in his eyes, the eyes she was now not afraid to meet. They glowed with some emotion she couldn’t name, but felt reflected in herself.

His wing moved and she was thrown halfway into the sunshine. Paralyzed, she couldn’t stop staring at Takan; in the vivid yellow-white brightness, his face was dazzling, eaten up almost completely by the light pouring from the sky.