Page 39

Suddenly, the icy temperature lightened. The frost vanished, bit by bit, until the nave was bearable again. Some hint of that displeasure lingered on, however, biting at the edge of the air like a leftover warning.

“You must follow her?” Tertia repeated softly. “But you will find no joy in your pursuit here, Mr Brand. Miss Betony has promised me three impossible tasks—and I will have them from her. If she succeeds, then she will be forever beyond your grasp.”

Mr Brand pondered this new information heavily as he bowed before the Leanansidhe. His shadow shivered and twisted about him with silent thought. Eventually, however, he spoke again. “And if she fails those tasks?” he asked.

Tertia laughed. The sound should have been wicked—but it was achingly beautiful instead. “If she fails me,” Tertia said, “then you will have nothing but bones to drag back to your master.”

A shiver raced down Clarimonde’s spine. The statement was so simple and so easily given that she knew it to be true. For all that she had been aware of her danger here, the stark declaration that she too might be utterly drained and discarded cut through her confounding fury.

“I will stay then, by your leave,” Mr Brand told Tertia gravely. “If the magician should flee from you before fulfilling her tasks, then I will see that she does not escape your judgment.”

“F-fiddlesticks.” Lord Foxglove mumbled the word beneath his breath, just loud enough for Clarimonde to hear him.

The ongoing deference seemed to have temporarily defused Tertia’s ire. Finally, the last touch of winter dispersed. She waved a careless hand at Mr Brand, indicating that he should rise. He soon unfolded again to his full height, as the great black dog crouched in his shadow. “You may stay here for that purpose, Mr Brand,” Tertia told him. “With the warm assurance of my hospitality.”

For the first time, a thin smile appeared on Mr Brand’s lips—which had, Clarimonde noted, gone blue at the very edges after all. “That is very gracious of you, Lady Hollowvale,” he said. “In which case… might I know which task it is that Miss Betony must currently perform on your behalf?”

“Double fiddlesticks,” Foxglove cursed softly.

Clarimonde did not require the faerie’s assistance this time in order to decode Mr Brand’s intentions. It was very clear to her that he hoped to discover the particulars of her current task in order to ensure that she failed to accomplish it.

Tertia… hesitated. Worry pricked at her lovely features, threading a line into her brow.

“Make up a task,” Lord Foxglove said suddenly. His voice was low and urgent, just behind Clarimonde. “Make it something you could easily accomplish. Make it something you would like to do.”

Clarimonde stiffened at the suggestion. “That seems like a poor idea,” she hissed back at him. “I believe that Lady Hollowvale just threatened to murder me if I upset her.”

Foxglove’s fingers tightened painfully on her arm again. “You must!” he told her. “I cannot do it for you. Of the two of us, only you can lie!” His voice took on a soft, plaintive tone. “Have I not steered you well so far, Miss Betony?”

Clarimonde glanced sideways at the faerie. His expression was open, and entirely earnest.

She did not understand Lord Foxglove’s angle—but he had proven so far that he knew the business of dishonesty far better than she did. It would be foolish, after all, to discount his observations now.

Her eyes fell naturally to Miss Molinari, who still shivered and cowered at the banquet table. The poet’s complexion was pale; already, her lips seemed waxy and bloodless. If Clarimonde had dared to use her datura, she knew that she would have seen the horrible death that grew upon her person.

“Lady Hollowvale is very concerned for her artists,” Clarimonde said suddenly. She pitched her voice towards Mr Brand with as much confidence as she could muster. “A sickness has been taking them. As a generous benefactor and a loving Christian, Her Ladyship has asked me to see to Miss Alexandra Molinari’s recovery.”

Miss Molinari looked up from where she had been trembling in her chair, obviously startled by the sound of her name. “Oh my,” she said. “Well, that is… s-so very touching.” She turned a sickly expression of devotion upon Tertia, and Clarimonde knew that the poet had fallen just a little bit more in love with her would-be killer. “I did not realise that you were so worried on my account.”

Mr Brand, meanwhile, had turned his black gaze upon Clarimonde. She was not at all surprised to see great scepticism there. The hound within his shadow made a strange, high noise that almost sounded like a scoff.

“But of course!” Lady Hollowvale said suddenly. Somehow, there was an awful, aching concern in her voice. Her fist pressed gently to her breast, as though she were in pain. “It is true that my artists are in terrible peril. Why, only just last night, I lost…” Tertia’s brow knitted with consternation, as she struggled to recall the artist’s name. “Well. What a poor, afflicted man he was!”

“Mr Bligh,” Clarimonde interjected helpfully. “He perished just last evening, yes. Lady Hollowvale is utterly bereft. She grieves his absence more than anyone else here, I would expect.”

Tertia forced a small, sad smile at Miss Molinari, who melted dutifully beneath her apparent grief. “This morning’s breakfast will be in his honour,” Tertia said. “But… at the very least, Miss Betony will ensure that Miss Molinari does not fall to the same malady.”

Clarimonde raised her eyebrows at the Leanansidhe. “Because that is one of the tasks that you have set for me,” she clarified.

Tertia’s lips curled briefly with displeasure… and for a moment, Clarimonde thought that she might have pushed her host too far, as the temperature dropped minutely.

Ultimately, however, the Leanansidhe bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“Yes,” Tertia agreed reluctantly. “That is one of the tasks that I have set for you, Miss Clarimonde Betony.”

Clarimonde saw then what it was that Foxglove had understood within moments.

Tertia is not searching for a mortal to play this harp at all, she thought. She wants to make it sing herself. That is why she wants me to inspire her.