But their ruse seemed largely inconsequential, as they were in the midst of the fall harvest, and Armand was too busy meeting with farmhands, vintners, and merchants to pay much attention to their efforts. He was rarely around to listen to Mallory’s lies or witness her half-hearted attempts to eradicate the ghosts using scrying mirrors, tea leaves, and the bones of small rodents. Only Yvette watched her with focused contempt, which compelled Mallory to keep up her subterfuge, but it wasn’t much fun without Armand around to marvel at her antics.
Mallory was trudging through the house, sprinkling pure god-blessed water (that most certainly was not left over from her own washbasin that morning) in the doorways when she was stopped by Yvette, wearing her signature scowl and scanning Mallory’s dress, as if searching for stolen goods tucked into her pockets.
“Good afternoon,” Mallory said. “Did you want some purifying?” Without waiting for an answer, she dipped her fingers into the jar and flicked the water onto Yvette’s apron. “That’s Solvilde’s best, right there.”
Yvette screwed up her face, evidently not sure if she should be offended. “Have you seen Julie while you’ve been sneaking about? She was supposed to help me with the rugs.”
Refusing to acknowledge thesneaking aboutcomment, Mallory confessed, “I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”
Yvette sighed. “That girl is more easily distracted than a butterfly.” She pushed past Mallory. “By the way, Lord Armand was asking for you.”
With this statement, she let the door swing shut, dividing them.
Mallory’s pulse jumped. She’d thought Armand was away in the vineyards. What could he want? Had something raised his suspicions? Had he uncovered evidence that she was not the witch she claimed to be?
She forced herself to take a calming breath as she made her way through the house. Armand had said nothing to indicate he doubted her abilities. He likely just wanted an update on her progress. And if he did start to grow suspicious, she would simply claim that her magical attempts to banish the spirits hadexhausted her, and retire to her bedroom for the rest of the day. She’d learned a thing or two from Triphine over the years and was very good at faking a splitting headache when necessary.
“Mallory, there you are.”
Mallory froze halfway up the main staircase.
Plastering on a smile, she faced Armand. He stood in the vestibule, a large square basket hanging from one arm. He was slightly out of breath, like he’d been in a hurry.
“Were you looking for me? I had no idea.”
“Yes. I…” He cleared his throat. “It’s been a few days since we spoke. I was curious to know about your progress?”
Her shoulders relaxed. Nothing to worry about at all.
“Everything is going according to plan.” Already her mind was racing with the list of all the little charms and imitations of spells she and Anaïs had conducted these past days.
But Armand didn’t ask for more details. Instead, as he switched the basket to his other arm, he said, “I’m glad to hear it. Are you busy?”
Mallory stared at him. Was she busy? If she said no, would he think she wasn’t trying hard enough to complete the task?
If she said yes, would he think she was hiding something?
Opting to play it safe, she said merely, “Am I busy? Now?”
“Yes. I don’t mean to disturb you if you’re… working.” He peered at the jar of water in her hand.
She looked down. She’d forgotten about the water.
“Yes! Yes, in fact, I am quite busy. With… this priceless… holy water.” She gave the jar a shake, and pointedly ignored the water that sloshed over the sides.
“Oh.” Armand sounded disappointed. “I thought perhaps you’d be hungry, and was wondering if… That is, I thought we could discuss your progress over… a… picnic.” His enthusiasm faded the further into the statement he got.
“A picnic,” Mallory repeated. Her first thought was of her grumbling stomach and the potential for a fresh-baked baguette and soft, creamy cheese. Her second thought was of ants and sunburned skin. “You mean… to… eat food? Outside? On purpose?”
After a long silence, he set the basket down and kicked it off to the side. “You’re right. Overrated.” He hesitated, scratching his ear. “We also have boats.”
“Boats?”
“Rowboats. On the lake.” He frowned. “You do know what a boat is?”
“Yes, of course. Those little vessels that require manual labor so one can float out into the middle of nowhere, far away from safe, dry land. I don’t see the appeal.”
He pressed his lips tight together, straining against a laugh. “Sometimes people also like to catch fish.”
