Mad, Bad & Dangerous

“That’s what I just did.” Kett made another few stitches without looking.

“But-” Dierdra stared at Kett’s ancient leathers, her nearly transparent shirt, the scar on her face, her heavy boots.

“Where did you learn to do that?” asked one of the other girls, awe in her voice.

“Prison,” Kett said, and thrust the wool back at Dierdra. She strode from the room, hearing as she did Beyla informing her friends with a touch of pride that Kett had beaten up the man who cheated on her. “I think it should be a mandatory punishment, actually,” she said, as Kett shut the door.

She found herself smiling.

The next room she tried in search of solitude contained Nuala and many bolts of fabric in almost identical shades of mauve. “Kett! Come and help me choose new curtains,” she cried, but Kett had already escaped before the words died out.

She found Chance and Dark canoodling on a sofa. In the next room, someone was murdering a sonata on the pianoforte while a male voice murmured encouragement. She shuddered. Giselle, no doubt. Thank the gods she was pretty.

Moving on, she spied Eithne and Verrick snogging in what she had to dub the Cream with Hints of Dark Gold Drawing Room, and was hurrying to leave when her sister leapt up, crying her name.

Kett sighed. “What?”

Eithne came rushing over, her eyes gleaming. “I don’t know what you said to Papa, but I absolutely love you for it!”

She threw her arms around Kett, who attempted to extract herself with little success.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The wedding!”

“What wedding? Your wedding?” Hadn’t Tyrnan forbidden Eithne to marry her garda?

“Yes! Earlier, Giselle was playing a piece on the pianoforte-she’s absolutely terrible at it, by the way, but Tane still thinks she’s an angel, must be love-and I was trying to be polite, and said what a pretty piece and that my friend Aliana had it played at her wedding. And Papa said, ‘Just so long as you don’t play it at yours’.”

Her eyes were bright as she stared eagerly at Kett, waiting for her to make the connection.

“Uh,” Kett said.

“Well, then I said I thought the Queen’s Wedding March was a much nicer piece to walk down the aisle to, and he said that was much more appropriate for a princess.”

She was beaming now, her whole face alight. Kett waited.

“Don’t you see? That’s the first time I’ve brought up a wedding and he hasn’t gone off into a tirade about how I’m not getting married to any garda and I’m far too young and all the rest of it. He actually seemed interested in my actual wedding!”

“Um,” said Kett, who hadn’t read the same thing into it. “Did he?”

“Yes! And it’s all thanks to you!”

“But-what do you mean, me?” Kett asked, trying to work out exactly what Eithne’s thought processes might have been.

“You’re the only one whose opinion he ever listens to.”

Kett stared at her. She started to laugh. “Okay, is this some sort of outrageous flattery designed to lead in to you asking me to wear pink as a bridesmaid?”

“No, don’t be silly.”

Kett relaxed.

“I’d put you in silver, like that dress you had for the ball. Beyla would wear pink.”

Kett began to back away.

“Kett, you have to be my bridesmaid, you’re my sister!”

“Half-sister,” Kett reminded her, “and most definitely not a maid.”

This only sent Eithne into peals of laughter. Kett backed toward the door and made a run for it.

Her whole family was mad. Completely insane. What the hell was Bael thinking, getting involved with her after he’d met them all? It ought to send any sane man running.

Of course, Bael wasn’t sane. That was probably the answer. He probably thought her family was normal.

She ended up in the summerhouse, which in the middle of winter was freezing cold and smelled of dampness. But it was silent, and the view across the rainy gardens was incredibly peaceful. She found a blanket, packed in a chest with dried oranges keeping it sweet-scented, and wrapped herself up on one of the sofas.

She made lists first, then got out her scryer and started calling. First up was Striker, who answered looking sleepy, smug and shirtless. Kett suspected he was probably naked, but for once in her life the prospect didn’t excite her even a tiny bit.

“Pet,” he said, his intonation somehow implying that it was less of an endearment and more of a description.

“Striker. I need a favor.”

He shrugged. “Nah. Don’t fancy it.”

“You haven’t heard what it is yet. It comes with an aftermath of death and destruction.”

He smiled. “I’m listening.”

After Striker, she called Tyra, the librarian of the Order. “I’ve got a handle on the Federacion. A ringleader, although I suspect he’s just one of many.”

“Perhaps we can torture him for information,” Tyra said, as if she was just suggesting a polite conversation.

“Yeah. Well, Striker’s on board, so that’s a strong possibility,” Kett said. “But this Albhar’s got a lot of followers. We’re going to need some muscle.”

“Leave it to me,” Tyra said.

She was hesitating over the third call when a shadow outside the summerhouse caught her attention. The sky had turned dark, and the single lamp Kett had brought with her didn’t illuminate anything beyond the summerhouse walls.

But she didn’t need to see to know who it was. “Bael?”

The door opened and he stood there, hands in pockets, shivering slightly.

“Close the bloody door, fathead.” Kett drew the blanket closer around herself. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, clicking the door closed behind him. “Looking for you. Well, actually, looking for somewhere I wasn’t going to get pulled into discussions about curtains or weddings or terrible, terrible pianoforte-playing skills.”

Kett grimaced. “Giselle?”

“How can someone so graceful play so badly?” She smiled and Bael came closer. “You look frozen.”

“Yeah.” Kett glanced at the small fireplace, which was cold and empty. The summerhouse was set up like a little rustic cottage-or at least, Nuala’s idea of what a rustic cottage should look like. It at least came equipped with a stone fireplace and thick, woven blankets for chillier days. But the fireplace had been swept clean and not re- laid.

“I could warm you up.” His eyes were hot.

“Nice of you to offer, but I’m kinda busy.”

Bael raised one eyebrow and glanced at the fireplace.

A ball of flame whooshed into life, hovering above the empty grate. Kett stared at it, feeling the heat starting to seep toward her.

“How-how did-? What the fuck, Bael?”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me.”

“You just created a ball of flame.”

“Yeah. Looks like I did.”

“But-you said you had no training or power or-”

“Evidently you’re good for me.” He held out a hand. “Come here, I want to check something.”

Kett stood up warily and Bael took the blanket from her shoulders. He turned her around and lifted her shirt, staring at her back for several long seconds.