This was how Arriane and Tess spent their rare afternoons together: One girl braided, the other spun stories. Then they switched roles.
“Once there was an extraordinary angel,” Arriane began, turning her head to the side so Tess could sweep the hair up from her neck.
Tess was better at braiding than Arriane. She would sit beside Arriane with a basket of forest wildflowers in her lap. She’d lean over Arriane’s narrow back and weave tight plaits into the angel’s thick hair. She’d pin the braids so they zigzagged across Arriane’s scalp, until she looked like Medusa, which was Arriane’s favorite style.
Arriane, on the other hand, was lucky to get Tess’s wild red mop into a single crooked braid. She’d pull and tug and wrestle the comb through Tess’s locks until Tess yelped in pain. But Arriane was better at storytelling. And what would braiding be without a good story?
No fun at all.
Arriane closed her eyes and moaned as Tess’s fingernails swiveled up her scalp. Nothing felt so good as a lover’s touch.
“Arriane?”
“Yes.” Her eyes opened, her gaze drifting over the pasture where dairy cows loafed on the farm’s two hundred acres. These were her favorite moments: quiet and uncomplicated, just the two of them. It was late in the afternoon; most of the milkmaids who worked on the farm where Arriane had taken her employment were already back at their cottages.
She’d chosen this job because it wasn’t far from Lucinda, who, in this lifetime, had grown up in an English fiefdom a few minutes’ fly north. Generally, Daniel felt stifled by the presence of Arriane and the other angels tasked with watching over him. But from the dairy, Arriane could give him space and still fly to him and Lucinda quickly if needed. Besides, Arriane enjoyed dipping into a mortal lifestyle every once in a while. It felt good to be given work on the dairy, to satisfy a boss. Tess never understood that urge, but then, Tess’s master was a little more demanding than the Throne.
It was rare to have a stolen moment with Tess. Her visits to the dairy—to this part of the world, in general—never came quickly or lasted long enough. Arriane didn’t like to imagine the darkness that awaited Tess as soon as they said goodbye, or the master who hated to see Tess straying from his realm.
Don’t think about him, Arriane chided herself. Not when Tess is by your side and there is no need to question your love!
Yes. Tess was by her side. And the grass beneath was so soft, the air of the farm so perfumed with wildflowers, that Arriane could have wafted into the nurturing bosom of a reassuring dream.
But the story. Tess loved her stories. “Where was I?” Arriane asked.
“Oh—I don’t remember.” Tess sounded distracted. Her fingernail scraped Arriane’s neck as she scooped up a section of hair.
“Ouch.” Arriane rubbed her neck. Tess didn’t remember? But Arriane was the one who got lost in her thoughts, not Tess. “Is something wrong, love?”
“No,” Tess said quickly. “You were starting some story.… An extraordinary … um—”
“Yes!” Arriane said happily. “An extraordinary angel. Her name was … Arriane.”
Tess tugged her hair. “Another one about you?” She was laughing, but her laughter sounded distant, as if she had already flown far away.
“You’re in it, too! Just wait.” Arriane rolled onto her side to face Tess. The arm Tess had been braiding with slid down across Arriane’s hip.
Tess wore a white cotton gown with a narrow bodice and short, ruffled white sleeves. She had bursts of freckles on her shoulders, which Arriane thought looked like galaxies of stars. Her eyes were barely darker than Arriane’s startling pale blue irises.
She was the most beautiful creature Arriane had ever met.
“And what was so extraordinary about this angel?” Tess asked after a moment, picking up her cue.
“Oh, where to begin? There were so many extraordinary things about her!” Arriane flicked her head, musing on an inspired direction in which to take her tale. She could feel the unbound braid scissoring loose on the side of her head.
“Oh, Arriane!” Tess said. “You’ve ruined it!”
“I can’t help it if my hair has other plans! And maybe yours does, too!” Arriane reached for the ribbon tied around Tess’s long red braid.
But the girl was too quick. She scrambled backward in the grass like a crab, laughing as Arriane rose to her feet and chased after her.
“This most extraordinary angel,” she called after Tess, who dashed through the high grass and the bracing February wind, “had the most disgusting nest of tangles in her hair. She was famous for it, far and wide. Tanglelocks, some called her.” Arriane high-stepped, her hands raised, her fingers wiggling to evoke her hair. “Cities vanished in her mighty mane. Whole armies were swept up in her snarls! Grown men wept and were lost in the black abyss of her serpentine tresses.”
Then Arriane tripped over the long hem of her shapeless milkmaid’s gown and went down hard onto the ground. On all fours, she looked up at Tess, who’d stopped between Arriane and the sun, a halo of light circling her red hair.
Tess leaned down to help Arriane up, her hands soft around Arriane’s wrists.
“Until one day”—Arriane went to rub her muddy palms on the front of her dress; Tess slapped them away and produced, from her stringed pocket, a cotton handkerchief. “One day, this angel met someone who changed her life.…”