The Iron Wyrm Affair

a Prime was finished as well.

Still, it did not mean she could neglect her duty.

Queen and Country, how boring. Wouldn’t you like some real power? And Llewellyn’s parting words – Emma did, indeed, have her hands on a mentath.

No doubt Mr Clare would have some ideas. She had a few of her own, including where to start the next day’s unravelling of this tangled web. But for the moment, she shrugged into her robe and settled at the small table, and Severine clucked over her while she had her morning chocolat. In short order she was finished, the day’s gown was chosen, and the luxury of hot water was not nearly savoured enough before she was in her dressing room, being loosely corseted and encased in a high-collared almost drab brown velvet, her hair chafed dry and lovingly pinned up by Isobel’s quick fingers, a little parfum dabbed behind her ears and her jewel cases opened, plundered, and put away. Catherine retreated to the bath room and Isobel to the bedroom, to set both to rights before the chambermaids came along to clean.

Thus fortified, and her thoughts somewhat rearranged, she checked herself in the large mirror over her white-painted vanity and frowned slightly. Slightly dowdy, yes. But at least if this dress were ruined, she would not feel so bad. “Severine. Do have Catherine report to Mr Finch on the frocks I’ve had damaged in the past week, and ask Finch to prepare a bill, itemized, for each. And for the ones I will no doubt ruin in the near future.”

“Oui, madame.” Severine clasped her plump hands, standing near the door. “Cook will want to know the menu—”

“I’ll be leaving the menu in your and Cook’s hands for the upcoming week. Mr Finch should know I am not receiving for the time being, as well.”

“Oui, madame.” Severine’s cheeks had turned pale. When the menu was left to her and Cook it was always acceptable – but still, the housekeeper was terrified of a misstep, as well as breathless with fear for her mistress.

Severine’s last indenture had not been pleasant. Emma had learned it was best not to reassure her overmuch; such coddling only made her more nervous. Like mastering a high-strung unAltered horse, it was best to be firm and brisk, but gentle.

“And please do have Finch secure more linens for our guest, and find him a suitable valet among the footmen. I rather think Mr Clare may be stopping with us for a while.”

The salle was long and drenched with sunlight as well as the directionless glow of witchballs caged in filigreed aluminium, the floor mellow wood occasionally covered with rough mats supposed to make a fall during Mikal’s daily practice less dangerous. Of course, the idea of Mikal falling was preposterous. Rather, the mats were a gesture.

Or they were for the infrequent times when she had company capable of sparring with a Shield. Like today.

Well, perhaps capable was too generous a term. For Mikal moved almost gently, deflecting the mentath’s flurry of blows. Clare was not untrained, but to an eye used to the Collegia’s classes of practising Shield candidates he appeared slow and graceless. Still, he was sweating, stripped to the waist, and surprisingly muscular. Emma folded her arms, watching Mikal as he gave ground, pivoting neatly and pulling the mentath off balance. A single strike, and Clare doubled up, losing most of his air. Mikal wore an odd little smile, one that meant he was enjoying himself.

Emma took notice of her unladylike posture, and clasped her gloved hands before her. The sardonyx ring prickled, and she had kept the amber prie-dieu, freshly glowing with a charge of sorcerous power from Tideturn. Today, though, the earrings were long jet daggers, and the cameo at her throat could hold a great deal of charge. Two more rings – one ruby, another a thick dull golden band – completed today’s set. She was as prepared as it was possible to be.

He will not like this. She waited patiently, watching Mikal’s smile deepen a trifle as Clare levered himself up from the mats.

“You do not have to look so bloody entertained, sir,” Clare panted.

“My apologies.” Mikal’s grin widened. “Another round? You are quite agile, mentath.”

Clare waved the compliment away. “No, no. I fear I am done. And Miss Bannon has made her appearance.”

Oh, so you remarked my absence, did you? “Gentlemen.” She accepted Mikal’s traditional bow and Clare’s slightly less formal movement with a nod. “Did you sleep well, Mr Clare?”

He flushed, all the way up to the roots of his sandy hair. “Quite well, thank you. And you, Miss Bannon?”

“I am well enough, thank you. I shall be gone for the day, hunting some rather interesting loose ends of this conspiracy. Here is the safest place for you, Mr Clare, and with Mikal to watch over you—”

“Prima.” Just the one word, but Mikal’s face was a thundercloud.

“Do not interrupt, Shield.” She let the sentence carry its own warning. “Your charge is to protect the mentath. It appears mentaths are central to this series of events; therefore, he shall be as safe as I may make him while I hunt in other quarters. I shall hopefully return in time for dinner – Mr Clare, we dine a trifle early, I do hope that won’t inconvenience you?”

“My digestion agrees with the notion.” But his long, sweat-greased face had returned to mournfulness, and he shrugged into a threadbare shirt, folding down the turnover collar precisely. “However, Miss Bannon, I am not at all certain that I am the only target of the attacks we have endured so far. Last night—”

There are other reasons for me keeping you mewed here, thank you. “These foxes now know I am at their heels. My barouche is making deceptive rounds today, and I shall slip about largely unseen.” She loosed her fingers with an effort, ignoring Mikal’s tension, a powder-bloom of deep bruiselike colour visible to Sight. “I assure you, Mr Clare, I am quite capable of performing the duty Her Majesty has assigned me – namely, protecting a mentath, and ferreting out the source of this unpleasantness.” Her shoulders ached; she relaxed them with an effort. “My staff has been set to procuring you fresh linens – yours have arrived from the Chancellor’s care, and been laundered – and providing you with a valet, since you may be my guest for some small length of time. Would you be so kind as to accept Mr Finch’s questions on those matters, once you have refreshed yourself?”

“Delighted to.” The look on his face shouted that he would be anything but. Still, he did not waste time. He simply shook hands with Mikal and left the salle. Of course, he would think her terribly unfeminine.

Let him. His opinion matters little; his continued existence is what I am to protect. She held Mikal’s gaze as the salle door closed with a decisive snick, and the Shield’s cheekbones were flushed with ugly colour under their copper.

Fighting did not make him blush so.

“You will guard the mentath.” Even, level, her tone nevertheless paled the sunlight coming through the long upper windows. The witchballs shuddered, one of them spitting a few blue sparks.

“My Prima.” His jaw set. A fine thin tremor ran through him as her will hardened, the link between them painfully taut.

My Prima. As in, it is my duty to guard you. “He is in more danger than I am. And I have my reasons, Mikal.”

A small, restless movement. If he dared, she almost thought he would argue with her.

And that could not be allowed.

“Good.” She touched her skirts, her reticule brushing against velvet. The bonnet she’d chosen was far worse than dowdy, but at least she would feel no sting if it was lost or damaged, and it did not interfere with her peripheral vision. “Until dinner, then.”

And there she would have left it, but for his stubbornness.

“Emma.” Tight-clipped, her name, forced from his throat. “Please.”

Sorcerous force flared through her. He fought it, but she was Prime, and her will forced his knees to bend. When he was in a Shield’s abeyance, kneeling with his hands resting loose against his thighs, head bowed and almost every muscle locked, she let out a soft sound between her teeth.

“I am Prime.” The words turned to gall, scorching her throat. “I am not some hedge-charmer to be ordered about. I allow you a great deal, Mikal, but I will not abide