Ariel got them a room for the night; it was twice the size of the room in the boardinghouse and at least three times the price. Above the bed hung a relief carving of a crocodile, a date etched beneath its curved, spiny tail. Eti recognized it as the day of her mother’s coronation. She allowed herself a relaxed sigh. If such an artwork hung in every room, it meant the innkeeper revered the Gatdulas the same he would any deity. They’d be safe there for the time being. It wasn’t home, but the sheets were clean, and the pillows were almost as soft as the ones that lined Eti’s bed at the palace. If she stretched out across the mattress, she might sleep for a week. But she knew better than to get comfortable.

“We can’t go on like this much longer,” Ariel said as he sat down at the foot of his bed, sighing.

Eti nodded. He was right. Soon, they’d run out of places to hide. She thought about what the boardinghouse keeper told them. Her eyes fell on the sack of gold and precioso lying at Ariel’s right. “Do you have a knife in there? Or anything sharp?” she asked.

Ariel gave her a quizzical look. “No. Why?”

She chewed her lip as silly tears sprung to the corners of her eyes. She knew it was frivolous and vain, and that the price she was about to pay counted little in terms of personal sacrifice. “For my hair,” she croaked out and met Ariel’s gaze. “The Kulaws won’t find us. Not as long as they’re looking for a little girl.”

Recognition dawned on Ariel’s face. He stood and rummaged about the room for something to cut with. Chopping off her hair wouldn’t conceal Eti’s identity forever, but it would buy them some time. The Kulaws were still looking for the youngest Gatdula princess⁠—a guileless, airheaded girl, unaccustomed to life without luxury. If she disguised herself as a boy, she could heed the boardinghouse keeper’s advice and hide in plain sight.

A small writing desk stood in the corner by the window. In the drawer, they found a letter opener with a slender white-shell handle. The blade was small, but it looked like it had been sharpened recently. It wouldn’t stab through an enemy warrior’s flesh, but it was sharp enough to slice through Eti’s long, dark strands.

Swallowing hard, Eti took a seat at the writing desk. She didn’t look at Ariel as she thrust the letter opener into his hands. For a mournful second, she ran her fingers through her hair. It would grow back, she reminded herself. Hair meant nothing to her⁠—not if Eti evaded the Kulaws long enough to rescue her family.

Roughly, she brushed her hair over her shoulders so it hung straight down her back where she couldn’t see it.