Steel's Edge

Charlotte stood up and headed toward the washroom. Behind her, Lady Olivia inquired, “Where was I?”

“You slapped him,” Sophie helpfully suggested.

“Ah yes . . .”

Charlotte left the verandah, crossed the sunroom, and stopped by the washroom. Hysterical sobs echoed through the door. Perfect.

Charlotte slid a key from the inside of her sleeve, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Angelia froze. She stood before the mirror, her tunic thrown carelessly to the floor. Bright red blisters covered her body, some as big as a thumbnail, surrounded by smaller ulcers, like some sickening constellations. Some had broken open, weeping pus.

“Oh my goodness,” Charlotte murmured, and shut the door behind herself.

Emotions cascaded across Angelia’s face: shock, indignant outrage, fury, shame, contemplation . . . She hovered between them, trying to choose the right one, the one most to her advantage. It lasted only a few seconds, but Charlotte saw it clearly. Angelia Ermine’s sweet and often vacant face hid a strategist’s mind. Charlotte would have to be exceptionally careful.

Angelia clamped her hands to her face and cried. Appropriate emotion, sure to gain sympathy. Charlotte squeezed the key in her fist. Angelia had stripped motherhood from dozens of women. If only she could kill her. Oh, if only.

“Shhh, shhh.” Charlotte forced soothing calm into her voice. “It’s all right.”

Angelia bent over the sink, weeping like a hysterical dove. “Oh, Lady al-te Ran. Look at me.”

Very dramatic. “Do you know what illness this is?” Charlotte asked.

The woman sobbed. “Look, it’s on my neck now. Everyone will see.”

Nice misdirect, my dear. It won’t work. “You’re wearing lace with raw silk fibers. Raw silk tends to aggravate Dock Rot.”

Angelia choked on her tears.

That’s right, I know exactly why you’re bearing these sores. She was sleeping with Brennan, who was by all indications possessive. Likely he was her only current lover, but she wasn’t his only entertainment. Brennan had visited a professional and brought back this disease as a present for Angelia.

“It’s all right.” Charlotte feigned hesitation. “Look, this is your secret. I have my own secret, too. I will help you with yours if you promise to keep mine to yourself. Will you do that, Angelia?”

The woman nodded.

Charlotte reached over and touched her, fighting revulsion. Helping Angelia turned her stomach. Charlotte let her magic seep into the afflicted body. She found the disease and forced it into dormancy, spurning the skin cells into regeneration. The blisters burst, dried, and healed, turning into faint red stains.

“Oh my gods,” Angelia whispered, for a moment forgetting about putting on a show.

Charlotte looked at the two of them in mirror, standing close to each other. “Feel better?”

“You’re a healer!”

“And you can’t tell anyone, Angelia. No one. Healers are not safe outside of their colleges. We’re forbidden to do harm, and we’re easy targets. Do I have your promise?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Charlotte picked up Angelia’s tunic. “Here, put this on.”

The younger woman slipped into the tunic. Charlotte straightened her hair. “As beautiful as ever.”

Angelia sniffed. It was an adorable sniff. It would’ve worked even better if she weren’t a monster.

“After today, you must call on me. Healing you completely will take a much longer session, and we don’t have time. Chin up.”

“What will we tell them?”

“We’ll tell them you had an attack of food allergies. It will be fine. The duchess knows about me, and she trusts my judgment.” Charlotte opened the door and held it. “Do you know who’s responsible for exposing you to this atrocity?”

“Yes.” Angelia’s face turned grim.

“I don’t know who he is, and it isn’t my place to ask, but you should know that this disease is easily preventable. He didn’t use a sleeve, probably letting you shoulder the burden for preventing a pregnancy, but potions and pills do not prevent the spread of diseases.”

“It was very selfish of him,” Angelia said. If her voice had substance, it would’ve cut. “But then, that’s what men are—selfish pigs.”

“Well, I’m outraged on your behalf. Not only is he being unfaithful, but he is forcing you to suffer the consequences of his infidelity. I hope you let him have a taste of his own medicine.”

The younger woman turned to her, her face puzzled. “What exactly do you propose?”

Charlotte shrugged, scorn dripping from her. “He is cheating on you. Perhaps you should show some interest in a mutual acquaintance he considers beneath him. Someone masculine.”

“Someone who may threaten his ego,” the other woman said.

“Indeed.”

“I know just the man.” Angelia smiled.

“What a beautiful smile.”

“You know, Charlotte, I believe we will get on quite well.”

“I surely hope so. Come now, before we are missed.”

* * *

CHARLOTTE stood on the balcony of her house. The sun had set, but the sky was still lit with the wake of its passing. The house faced a park, and the evening wind rustled in the branches. Tiny insects, luminescent with green and orange, chased each other through the leaves.

Two days had passed since she healed Angelia in the bathroom, followed by another three-hour session at her house. The poisoned tree should’ve borne fruit by now, and it was time for an update.

Somewhere out there, Richard waited, just as she did. Charlotte hugged herself.

She missed him. She missed the easy intimacy and the feeling of being held, not just physically, but emotionally. When they were together, she didn’t have to face things alone. She hadn’t realized until now how much she needed that closeness. In the worst time of her life, she had leaned on him, sometimes without realizing and sometimes consciously, and now he was gone. It felt like something had been ripped out of her.

Is that what love felt like? She had barely met him, but she felt like she knew him, intimately knew him better than she had known anyone in a long, long time.

She wondered if he missed her.

A bluebird landed on the rail of the balcony and held unnaturally still.

“Hello, George.”

“Good evening.” George’s voice emanated from a point somewhat higher than the bird’s head.

“I still don’t understand how you do this.”

“It’s a technique I learned in the Mire. One of Richard’s relatives is an accomplished necromancer, and Richard took me to see him.”

“Is he ready?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m in contact with Richard as well.” George paused. “He says hello.”

She wished they could meet, but meetings could be observed, and communication via magic devices could be intercepted. This was the only safe way.

“I attended Lord Caraway’s lunch,” George reported. “Lady A spent the entire time hanging on M’s arm and his every word.”

“Good.” Angelia was paying attention to Maedoc. Brennan would notice it, especially now that Richard had put the idea of Maedoc’s betrayal into his mind. With luck, he might view Angelia’s sudden interest in the retired general as a sign of her switching loyalty.

“Richard says that you are brilliant.”

“Please tell him thank you for me. How did the attack go?”

“Richard says that the attack went as planned, but B didn’t take the bait.”

Damn it. “He didn’t buy M’s betrayal?”

George paused. “No. Richard says that he underestimated B. B judged the attack as too obvious. He’s likely