Miss Bannon’s upper lip curled slightly. “Britannia rejoices,” she commented, quite properly. But there was an edge to the words.
He fought back the urge to raise an eyebrow. “Indeed. The method of cure is spreading with as much speed as possible. Tarshingale is quite the man of the hour. Publicly, of course, it is his triumph. I am content for it to remain so.” He lifted the package from his lap. “And this… Her Majesty sent it for you, expressly. She was quite concerned for you.”
For a long moment Miss Bannon examined the linen-wrapped item. It was heavy, and no doubt a costly gift of thanks from royalty. He would have expected the sorceress to be pleased. Instead, she studied it as if it were some manner of poisonous creature, one she rather feared was about to strike.
Finally, her fine little hands moved, and she took it from him… and set it, unopened, on her nightstand. “Thank you, Mr Clare. I shall no doubt pen a note of immense gratitude to Her Majesty.”
“Well, that’s that, then.” But he made no move to depart her bedroom. He found himself wondering what had transpired between Queen and servant while he lay unconscious. It must have been an event of surpassing magnitude… but he had a different question that required answering. “Miss Bannon.”
She settled a little more comfortably, and her gaze met his. The quality of directness she possessed was even more marked now, and her earrings – dangles of amethyst in silver filigree, matching the small simple necklace that nonetheless glowed with charter symbols – swung slightly as she did so, then nestled lovingly against her curls.
It was very good to see her so accoutred again. And none of her household had taken ill.
There would never be a better time to ask.
He cleared his throat. “You performed some feat upon me while I was fevered, Emma. Do not bother to deny it.”
She did not, merely regarded him levelly. Finally, a hint of a smile crept onto her childlike features, but still she did not speak.
So he was forced to. “I have been most exercised upon the problem, and cannot find a solution.”
Her dark eyed positively danced. Did she look… why, yes.
The sorceress looked relieved, and she finally spoke.
“I shall tell you in twenty years’ time, sir.”
Dash it all. “I am not a young man, Emma. I may not be in a position to hear such news at that time.”
Her smile broadened. “Oh, I think you will be. What can I tell you of illogical sorcery? For all you know, I had the method of the cure from dear departed Dr Vance, and introduced it under your skin in some fashion.” Was she… yes. Her dark eyes danced, and the merriment lurking in her expression was quite out of character. “I would be quite vexed to lose you, Mr Clare.”
The heat in his cheeks was like the plague-fever, and he stood in a hurry, clearing his throat. “Likewise, Miss Bannon. I shall be along now, I have a workroom to tidy, and some fascinating avenues of enquiry to apply myself to.” For example, the Alderase reactions. Very intriguing.
“Very well. I believe I shall see you at dinner, sir. In very short order, I shall be quite well.” Damn the woman. She was laughing, now. It did her a world of good, thin and pale as she was. Still, she looked… yes, younger. Though how he could draw such a conclusion Clare was not certain, for she had always seemed childlike, to him.
Then again, Clare himself felt younger and lighter, as if the plague had burned away age and infirmity. No doubt the feeling would fade. His hair seemed to have gained new strength as well, or perhaps the looking-glasses in Miss Bannon’s house were ensorcelled. “Delighted. Very well, then.” He shook his head, treading by Mikal’s shadowed form with a light step. He passed through the dressing room, Madame Noyon bustling in the opposite direction with a covered tray, and halfway down the stairs, he began to whistle.
Acknowledgements
As always, I am grateful to Devi Pillai, who did not throttle me during revisions, and Miriam Kriss, who told me I could indeed do this. I am indebted to Mel Sterling and Christa Hickey for putting up with me, and to my children for cheerfully going along with my research experiments. Special gratitude must also go to the ever-patient Susan Barnes and the incredibly tolerant Joanna Kramer, who both deserve some sort of medal. (And booze.) Last, as always, dear Reader, thank you. Come into another one of my little worlds, and let me tell you what happened next.
meet the author
Daron Gildow, 2010
LILITH SAINTCROW was born in New Mexico, bounced around the world as an Air Force brat, and fell in love with writing when she was ten years old. She currently lives in Vancouver, WA. Find her on the web at: www.lilithsaintcrow.com.
BOOKS BY LILITH SAINTCROW
Bannon and Clare
The Iron Wyrm Affair
The Red Plague Affar
The Damnation Affair
Dante Valentine Novels
Working for the Devil
Dead Man Rising Devil’s Right Hand
Saint City Sinners
To Hell and Back
Dante Valentine (omnibus)
Jill Kismet Novels
Night Shift
Hunter’s Prayer
Redemption Alley
Flesh Circus
Heaven’s Spite
Angel Town
A Romance of Arquitaine Novels
The Hedgewitch Queen
The Bandit King
As Lili St. Crow
The Strange Angels series
Strange Angels
Betrayals
Jealousy
Defiance
Reckoning
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