“There is such a thing as evil in this world,” Elias told her quietly. “It does not help to look away from it. It does not even help, necessarily, to look at it.” His fingers brushed through her hair, and she shivered. “But sometimes, when you cannot force the world to come to its senses, you must settle only for wiping away some of the small evils in front of you.”
Those few, inadequate tears soaked into his waistcoat. Dora nodded dully—but much as she wanted to pull away and let Elias do his work, she found she couldn’t bring herself to move. There was a unique comfort in leaning against him like this, and she knew that she would probably never have that comfort again, once she stopped.
They lingered like that for a few minutes. And maybe Dora was imagining it, but she thought that perhaps Elias was thinking something similar—that he gained some small comfort from holding onto her, and that it would be difficult for him to set that comfort aside.
There was another knock at the door, however, and this made Elias tense and press Dora away from him. His now-ungloved hand brushed hers, which made Dora’s heart turn queerly in her chest—but he then let out a surprised hiss of pain, and she saw that he had touched the scissors by mistake. Dora blinked and set aside the scissors, reaching down to take his hand in hers. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I forgot that I had these out. Please say that I haven’t cut you?”
Mrs Dun came inside, and Dora became dimly aware of the impropriety of the situation. Not only had they been in the room alone together, but Dora had ruined Elias’ attempt to salvage her dignity by taking up his hand and touching him. But surely, she thought, a practical woman like Mrs Dun must have some understanding if Elias were injured.
Elias tugged his hand back stiffly. But Dora saw before he did that there was no blood of which to speak—only a small, angry red burn in the shape of the edge of her scissors.
“I’m fine,” Elias said stiltedly, covering his hand. “Only surprised.”
Mrs Dun looked between the two of them. For a moment, Dora worried that the woman might say something about their closeness—but she smiled pleasantly instead and smoothed the matter over as though nothing obviously untoward were going on. “Miss Jennings mentioned that neither she nor Miss Ettings have had aught to eat for a while now,” the woman said. “I have some light pickings if you would like to fix that, Miss Ettings.”
Dora nodded. “I am nearly done with Jane’s hair,” she said. “I will come down afterwards.”
“Jane?” Elias asked. “Is that her name?”
Dora avoided his eyes. “It is what I have called her for now,” she said. “Since we cannot know her real name until she wakes up.”
Elias winced at that for some reason. But whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say it out loud. Dora turned her attention back to Jane’s hair, making somewhat quicker work of it than she had first intended. As Mrs Dun waited politely, hovering just outside the doorway, Dora murmured to Elias: “Are faeries and magicians both afraid of scissors, then?”
Elias watched the wall with a stoic sort of expression, rather than look at her as she spoke. “Iron,” he corrected her quietly. “It is bane to faeries, and anathema to all magic. I would appreciate it if you did not speak of it again, Miss Ettings.”
Dora narrowed her eyes. She dropped her tone even further with her next sentence. “And that is why your magic failed upon the battlefield, isn’t it?” she asked. “You were pierced with iron. You could not use it again until Mr Lowe pulled the shards from your body.”
“It is not common knowledge,” Elias said in a low voice. “Please do not spread it about, Dora.”
Dora nodded seriously. “I cannot think why I should do so,” she told him. “You are keeping my secrets. I shall keep yours as well.” As the last of Jane’s matted hair fell away beneath her scissors, she turned to face him directly. “But are magicians burned by iron, Elias?”
His golden eyes shuttered at that, and Dora was certain that a brand-new wariness had blossomed in his manner.
“I will not press the matter,” she said. “I know that you have work to do.”
Elias nodded shortly, and she rose back to her feet, walking past him for the hallway.
Mrs Dun, Dora discovered, had found far more than just light pickings. She had put herself to the trouble of making them a proper lunch—and as Dora ate, she found that she was actually quite hungry. Afterwards, Dora dared to go back upstairs to check on the Lord Sorcier’s progress; but since the door was closed, she found herself too worried to knock and possibly disturb him, so she came downstairs again and visited with Mrs Dun and some of the other children.
There were eighteen of the children in the house, she came to learn, excluding Jane—all of them had been taken from the workhouses and relocated, and many were patients which Albert had treated at one time. Mrs Dun, whom Dora learned to be a widow, had the running of the house, and the sheer extent of her duties sounded exhausting. For much of the time, she was responsible for cooking, cleaning, and educating all eighteen children, though some of the older ones had learned to help her. The children clearly adored her, however, and Dora could not help but favourably compare Mrs Dun’s stern but loving manner to the awful hardness that she had seen in George Ricks.
Miss Jennings, though weary, was instantly at ease with the children in a way that Dora was not. The ex-governess smiled at them and humoured their stories, occasionally reaching out to absently fix a shirt collar or
