“You’re not in the play,” Monica said gently, like she thought he was being sincere, still hovering in the doorway with her hands clasped beneath her chin. “Are you seeing straight, Mr. Townsend? Can you count the people in the room?”
“He’s fine,” Libba snapped, though the smashing rage of her heart said otherwise.
He wasnotfine. Neither of them were. Rhys looked like he’d been slapped by a very sharp branch several times and Jasper looked like he’d met half a dozen fists by swinging his face at them.
Goddammit.
She’d never had two productions ruined at once before.
“He’ll heal in time for curtains up,” Elias said carefully, pulling back his kerchief to squint at the cut. “I don’t think it needs stitching. Head wounds just bleed like that. Oh, some got on your scarf.”
“Oh, blast,” said Rhys, looking down at the sage-green scarf knotted around his throat. “Monica, will this come out?”
“Let me see,” she said, floating forward with her hand out. “Angora? Rhys, where did you get angora wool?”
“He stole it,” Libba said through her teeth, glaring directly at Jasper.
“How dare you?” Rhys muttered distractedly. “What’s angora, then?”
“From a rabbit,” said Monica, petting the damned scarf. “A very fluffy rabbit.”
“Oh, well, now youhaveto save it,” Rhys said, pouting. “Can you save it?”
“Of course I can,” Monica told him so gently that Libba was surprised she didn’t also nestle him into her bosom and pat his head for good measure. “I will.”
“It’smyscarf!” Libba barked, making everyone turn and stare at her.
“No, it isn’t,” said Rhys, grinning at her. “Not anymore.”
“Oh?” she said, her fingers curling into claws as she took a step toward him. “Come again?”
“Not in the costume,” Monica said mildly, already turning and floating from the room, scarf in hand.
“‘Costume’?” Jasper said, turning and opening his good eye to regard her. “Egads! My Princess Xandine.”
“What do you mean it’syourscarf?” Malcolm repeated, frowning. “Why’d you make Jasper retrieve it, then?”
“Here’s the salve!” Ruby sang, floating back into the room like an angel of providence with Errol at her back holding a bucket and several clean cloths.
Libba spared one last glance at Jasper, who was gazing at her with that one good eye, wide and bleary and glistening.
And she huffed, turning on her heel and leaving it all behind her.
*
She took hertime gathering her thoughts before descending back into the melee again.
Her costume came off slowly and with care, respecting all the effort that had gone into it, returned to its dress form with due reverence.
She took her time with her toilette and changed into a clean night rail and wrapped her hair in satin, protecting every perfect ringlet from the violence of her pillows and her restless habits of sleep.
She slid into her favorite dressing gown, which also happened to be pink. It had called to her after Monica’s comment about warriors and blood. It seemed appropriate tonight.
And she sat at her vanity table, drawing out the process of her serums and creams, because going back down there just now still awoke far too many impulses toward violence.
When she did emerge, she went first to Malcolm’s room, giving it a single rap with her knuckles and waiting with her arms crossed until he pulled the door open, his own pajamas an absurd, silk affair of dark blue and red stripes.
“You’ve tooth powder on your chin,” she lied, just to watch him fuss, pushing into the room past him as he made sounds of distress. “Do you want to tell me what happened tonight?”
