While Caina missed her long hair, she had to admit that her close-cropped stubble made it easier to don a headscarf. Istarish women never went in public with their hair uncovered, and there were entire volumes of epic poetry describing how a woman would at last let her hair down in front of her husband, their tone ranging from solemn to ribald. She rubbed off the makeup that gave the illusion of stubble and clipped a dagger to her belt. She chose sturdy sandals instead of boots, so she concealed throwing knives beneath the dress’s loose sleeves. Then a pair of copper earrings, and Caina turned in a circle before a mirror, examining herself. Gone was the Balarigar or the Istarish merchant or the caravan guard. Instead she saw only a young woman of Nighmarian or Szaldic birth on her way to the shops. The dress was a simple garment, and Caina had worn far richer gowns when masquerading as Sonya Tornesti. Yet it surprised her how much it pleased her to wear it, how much she enjoyed wearing proper women’s clothing once more.
