Her worn boots clicked too loudly on the marble floors as she followed the butler to Lord Wilkin’s receiving parlor, Betje close beside her.
“Ladies, please.” Lord Wilkin rose from his chair and made a gracious gesture that encouraged them to take the seat across from him. A flicker if disapproval crossed the butler’s face before he buried his objection to his employer’s nicety. Clearly, they were no ladies in his eyes. “How good of you to come.”
As if she’d had an option.Idabel swallowed and took a seat on the brocade settee, her heart pounding. Lying was not a chore she relished. She’d rather scrub a hundred garderobes, but here she was, doing what she must.
In a spill of afternoon light from the window, Hannalinde looked up from her embroidery frame, face breaking into a smile. Her deft fingers stilled on the silk threads in shades of gold and green. “How nice to see you both. Would you care for tea?”
“We wouldn’t turn it down,” Betje answered for them both when Idabel remained silent, too caught up in crafting her story to reply. She reached out to Brandt for courage, but the mate bond held a strange silence during the daylight hours. When Brandt entered daysleep, their connection hadn’t severed, but it had quieted, like a held breath.
“May I present Doctor Aelbert,” Lord Wilkin said smoothly while his daughter tended to the tea. “His Majesty’s personal physician.” It was only then that Idabel noticed the stranger by the marble mantel to her left. Reed-thin and dressed all in black, he’d resembled a fireplace poker more than a person.
The doctor’s eyes darted between her and Lord Wilkin with barely concealed excitement. His coat bore the king’s insignia, a silver tower surrounded by stars, but it hung loosely on his narrow shoulders, like he’d somehow shrunk inside it. He gave a low, oddly formal bow. “I’m here to document your...situation.”
“My situation.” Idabel’s hand drifted to her shoulder. The brush of her fingers made the spot pulse slightly.
“Yes, yes. For my report.” Ignoring the saucer and cop that Hannalinde proffered toward him, Doctor Aelbert approached Idabel with quick, bird-like movements, tilting his head to one side and then the other as he took her in. “I must record the location, the skin damage, the physiological changes. It’s fascinating, absolutely fascinating.”
Lord Wilkin’s smile tightened. “The doctor means to verify your assault, of course.”
She wanted to protest that it wasn’t assault. That she’d wanted Brandt’s bite. Had encouraged it. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them instead. The lump in her throat grew. It felt so wrong to lie aboutthis, something so precious to her.
Aelbert blinked rapidly. “Oh. Yes. The terrible assault. Though the experience itself is quite inter—”
“Traumatic,” Lord Wilkin interrupted. “As I’m sure the girl would agree.”
Idabel could only nod mutely. Hannalinde made a soft, sympathetic noise and held out a teacup, the delicate china rattling softly. Idabel took it, glad to have a focus other than the intent gaze of the doctor. It felt like he might bore right through her.
She sipped the hot, floral liquid and was surprised to recognize a few notes in it. Lavender, chamomile, and was that… “Passionflower?”
Hannalinde brightened. “My own blend. A thought it might aid in the morning’s pursuit.”
“A calming tea.” Betje took an appreciatively noisy sip. “Lovely. You know, you could add a bit of valerian root for even more effectiveness. Or perhaps lemon verbena leaves.”
Hannalinde beamed at the apothecary’s praise. “I’d thought to make a purely floral blend,” she explained shyly.
“Ah! In that case, I got a fresh batch of jasmine blossoms in recently that would be a perfect addition, then. I can send you over a sample of that and a variety of roses to try.”
“You’re too kind!”
The two of them fell into an excited chat about flower teas, leaving Idabel to the scrutiny of the two men. Doctor Aelbert’sfingers twitched toward his satchel repeatedly, like he could barely contain his eagerness.
“Now then,” he burst out. “If you would lower your chemise? I must see it for myself.”
Heat crept up Idabel’s neck. “Is a physical examination necessary? I thought I could offer a statement.”
“Essential,” Aelbert declared. “The bite creates specific scarring patterns unique to each gargoyle. The depth, the spacing, even the angle of entry can tell us about the individual. We must have the measurements for posterity. This is a unique event.”
Lord Wilkin coughed. “What the good doctor means is we need proof of the gargoyle’s crime for the report.”
“Crime. Yes.” Aelbert seemed to remember himself. “The terrible crime.”
Reluctantly, Idabel pulled her chemise and the shoulder of her bodice aside. She could just see the edge of it out of the corner of her eye. Brandt’s bite mark had darkened overnight, the perimeter of the wound beginning to silver while a bruise bloomed beyond. Doctor Aelbert leaned so close she could smell his breath: pickled fish and strong coffee.
“Extraordinary.” His fingers hovered, twitching, over the marks. “The metallic scarring indicates healing has already begun. Tell me, do you feel anything unusual in your body? A pulling sensation, perhaps, like an iron chain?”
“Doctor,” Lord Wilkin warned.
“The side effects will be significant,” Aelbert barreled on. “Do you feel at ease? Have you noticed any changes in your mood or thoughts?”
