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“What is it?” she asked me now, probably because I was tearing up like an idiot.
“Thank you,” I told her, which made her look confused, because all she was doing at the moment was holding a pillowcase.
“You’re welcome?” She peered inside. “I think they’re dry,” she said, as the newly fluffed cards babbled away happily.
“Finally!” I started fishing them out and shoving them back into their case, before they could talk my ear off.
“Lady . . . I was wondering . . .”
“It’s Cassie,” I said absently, for the eight hundredth time.
Rhea was a big one for protecting the dignity of the court, and had been appalled at the thought of calling me by my first name in public. She didn’t even do it much when we were alone, as we basically were now, since the only others in sight were out on the terrace. I guess she was afraid it might cause her to slip up later.
“Cassie,” she said, lowering her voice. “I thought perhaps—”
“Strength!” the first little card interrupted smartly, as I picked it up from the pile.
It was sadly rumpled and slightly fuzzy, and looked like it needed a good ironing. But the picture on the front was clear enough, showing a large, muscular lion being hugged gently by a woman with golden hair that almost matched his fur. She showed no sign of fear; in fact, she seemed almost peaceful.
Which was a weird way to look when you’re hugging a lion.
“The lion on our card symbolizes raw passions and desires,” the card informed me. “Which can be expressed positively or negatively. But for the former to manifest, the lion needs a trainer. The woman on our card has begun to tame this wild beast, not through painful coercion but through kindness and love. If she can complete the training, she will have the beast’s strength to use on her behalf. If not . . .”
“If not?” I prompted.
“Well, at least the lion will have a tasty snack.”
I frowned, and shoved the cheeky little thing back into the pack.
“Lady? I mean Cassie?”
I looked up.
“I’m sorry,” I told Rhea. “I’m spacing out today. What did you want?”
“Permission to go with Saffy tomorrow night. There’s to be a meeting of the covens—we had a call a little while ago. I’m not specifically invited—”
“And neither am I,” I guessed, because I was pretty sure what the meeting was about.
“Er, no,” she agreed. “But I could go and tell you what was said. It’s to be in the same market where you went shopping today. They have a meeting hall there, so it’s not far. I could—”
“Do what?” I asked curiously. “Saffy can tell me what they say.”
“Yes, but . . .” Rhea bit her lip, but probably not for the same reason I would have. I tended to be overly blunt, and have to remind myself that a Pythia was supposed to be a diplomat. Rhea, on the other hand, hated saying anything that might be construed as criticism of another person.
“But?” I asked.
“Saffy can be . . . passionate . . . about her beliefs,” she said carefully. “That is admirable, but since she works here now, whatever she says might be misconstrued as, well—”
“As coming from me?”
She nodded. “I can’t vote, as I’m not an active member of my old coven. But I have speaking rights, and can make clear what is and is not our position. If you would like?”
I thought about it. Knowing Saffy—and the covens’ preferred debating method—a cool head might not be a bad idea. And neither would something else.
“Give me a minute,” I told her, and ran back into the dressing room. “Augustine!” I whispered.
There was no answer.
