The Alchemist's Daughter

Prologue

The sound of the scissors gliding through her hair made Briar think of her mother. They were her mothers old sewing scissors, after all. It was one of her only memories of her, sitting in her lap as she cut fabric. That long smooth hiss of the scissors gliding through. If only cutting her hair went so smoothly.

The scissors had sat long untouched in her mother's room. It was another item to add to her list of transgressions that day. Cutting her hair, playing a fraud, disturbing the dead.

What would her mother have thought of this mad plan of her's?

Father always said she was a wild spirit. Maybe she'd have laughed. Maybe she'd have scolded me. Maybe she'd have helped me cut all this damn hair.

Briar huffed and slammed the scissors down on the bathroom counter as she leaned over the sink. Her hair had always seemed as fine and fragile as silk in her fingers, but cutting it all off in one go was like hacking through the briar patch she'd been named for. Her arms ached and her forehead was sprouting beads of sweat.

She took a moment to inspect her progress in the mirror. Half her raven black hair was shorn off, the other half awaiting its execution as it dangled down her back and tangled over her shoulder. She pursed her lips, covering that half of her face in the mirror to get a look at her disguise.

It was striking how different she looked in one of her father's old dress shirts with her hair cropped. She wrinkled her nose, squinted her eyes, furrowed her brow. If she passed this face on the street, would she know?

She frowned. Boys were always frowning. She lifted her chin in the way she'd seen young men greet each other and let out a practice grunt.

Would her eyelashes give her away? Her lips? She'd seen boys with lashes and full lips before, many times. Surely she would not stand out...

""Hey, mate," she tried, grimacing at the girlish sound. She cleared her throat a few times to rough it up.

"Hey, mate." It was passable, if she were barely out of primary school.

She sagged heavily over the sink. She'd just have to be quiet. There were quiet boys, weren't there?

She set her jaw and went back to hacking, leaving a carpet of inky black strands on every surface of the bathroom. Her father had always told her how much he loved her long hair. He will be so dismayed, if he returns.

When he returns, she forced herself to think again.

Father will come back from the war, and find me a proper alchemist. My hair is a small price to pay for that.