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“What was that about a spell on my dress?”
“You spelled it so it couldn’t be removed. Several people tried. Even Lord Rogue couldn’t do it.”
What,Roguetried? Asshole.
Healer’s eyes flew open in shock. I smiled weakly, imagining the image she’d received from my too-loud thought.
“It would behoove you to learn to think like a lady.”
I squashed my response to that one.
“Think back,” Healer prompted me. “At some point you wanted to make sure you kept the dress and somehow didn’t trust yourself to make certain that would happen…” She was thinking of a silly girl in a torrid embrace being slipped out of her clothes.
As if that kind of thing had ever happened to me, even when Iwasa silly girl.
When could I have done that? Oh yes. The Dog. How could I have forgotten? He’d loomed huge and black on the riverbank and I’d felt a thread of panic. My nightmare in brutal flesh.
“Donotthink of him here,” Healer hissed. The serene lady vanished, Dr. Jekyll abruptly replaced with Ms. Hyde.
“Why not?” I snapped back. “I thought my new jewelry kept me from manifesting my thoughts. Isn’t that the whole point of having me shackled like a prisoner?”
Healer’s face flushed, pretty lips snarling unpleasantly. “You’re an undisciplined peasant wretch! A whore of a magical dilettante. You have no idea what you’re dabbling in. And don’t think I don’t know the filthy source of your power. No decent castle will have you.” Her mouth turned down in a final sneer as her eyes swept from my bare feet to my bosom.
The door opened and the plump brunette from the healing session walked in, leading a parade of young girls with buckets. Healer’s face fell back into calm serenity as if I’d never seen the woman behind the mask. Just like Nasty Tinker Bell’s reboot.
“We’ll have your bath ready in a jiffy, Lady Gwynn,” the brunette called out, curtseying in my direction.
The activity provided a welcome distraction from my discussion with the Healing Bitch. The girls scurried about, filling the tub, stripping the covers off the bed, which they scooted back against the wall, setting out bottles and towels, building a fire in the stone fireplace at the end of the room. All the while the brunette stood in the middle, reminding me of Mickey Mouse directing his legion of mops.
Darling slipped around the door, which had been left ajar with all the comings and goings. With a pleasant chirrup, he padded up to me and stroked up against my bare legs.
“Hi, Darling.” I crouched down to stroke his arched back. It felt blessedly normal to simply pet him, feel his cat vitality. He sniffed at my face. A pink raspy tongue licked my cheek. If I didn’t look around, I could be at home.
“Darling, come here to me,” Healer said in a tight voice.
As cats will, he simply blinked at her in disinterest, then butted his head against my hand. I obligingly rubbed his ears.
“Youdounderstand, don’t you,” Healer said in her serene voice, but the Nasty Tinker Bell tone threaded underneath, “that he’s a Familiar, not a pet? I thought you knew this, since I saw your own Familiar in your head. But it seems I’ve given you far too much credit.” She glanced to see if anyone was listening to us, but the Brunette General was busily herding maids.
I wanted to say, “Well then, youdounderstand that Isabel is just a plain old cat, don’t you?” But I kept it very whispery in my head.
Darling purred and rubbed against me again, arching his back in a way that meant he wanted to be held. I gathered my arms around him and stood.
“He doesn’t like…!” Healer started and trailed off as Darling’s purr filled the room. He rubbed his whiskers on my chin, then tilted his head at Healer, a coy look in his eyes. She stared back, her displeasure obvious under the thin veneer of calm.
Anyone who spent any time with cats should know they love best to be contrary. I had no idea what made a cat a Familiar and not a pet—except Familiars maybe possessed more intelligence, could communicate in some ways. Isabel was certainly a pet.
But then, apparently, so was I.
Darling delicately sniffed the underside of my chin, his cold nose tickling me, then, with a renewed purr, dug his head into my collarbone.
“Lady Gwynn.” The brunette appeared at my elbow, long delicate fingers clasped in front of her generous bosom. “Your bath is ready.”
“I shall leave you.” Healer tried her serene smile, but it looked gritted out. “See that you eat—I replenished your fluids, but your body needs sustenance after the healing coma.”
Healer walked to the door, waited expectantly. I set Darling down on the floor and felt a bit bereft.
“Come along, Darling.”
