She looked ready to defy me. Ready to tryanything. But she hadn’t shifted. Tavish had invited her to try it upstairs, then teased her when she didn’t. And, still, she hadn’t attempted to take shadow form and flee.
Why?
Did she truly not want to?
Or was sheunableto?
“What you need,” I said carefully, “is a chronomancer.”
Her brow furrowed. “A what?”
“A witch who manipulates time. They’re rare enough to be unheard of, but I happen to know where to find one.”
Tavish’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Still, the look he shot in my direction let me know he was unhappy.
Portia searched my face, doubt huddling in her eyes. “You’ll take me to this chronomancer?”
“Aye, lass, you have my word.” I gestured to the window, where the afternoon sun already descended toward the horizon.“But it grows late, and you’ve had a trying day. We’ll make the journey at first light. I vow it.”
She studied me, clearly looking for the lie.
There wasn’t one. I’d take her to the chronomancer, and then we’d see what fate had in store for the three of us.
“You need a good night’s rest,” I continued. “In the guest chamber, where you’ll have your own bed.”
Silence filled the Hall. Tension held. At last, Portia lowered her knife.
“Okay.”
I stared, racking my brain for the word, but I couldn’t place it. I’d read every book I could get my hands on—and a few I’d risked my neck to own—but the strange word had never appeared in any text. A glance at Tavish revealed he was just as confused.
“O…K?” I repeated, testing it out.
She gave her head a little shake. “Um, I mean, fair. Deal?” She made an exasperated sound. “I agree.” She jerked the knife back up. “But I get the guest room. With my own bed.”
I nodded, pushing my spectacles higher on my nose. “Aye. Deal.”
After another moment, she lowered the knife.
“We’ve settled our first quarrel,” I said, relief pumping through me. I turned to Tavish. “I think this calls for dessert.”
Chapter
Seven
TAVISH
Ifollowed Albie into our bedchamber, barely giving him time to shut the door before I rounded on him.
“Have you lost your wits?” I demanded.
He blinked at me, all innocence behind those wire-rimmed spectacles. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I thrust a finger toward the door. “You left our woman completely unguarded. She could be fleeing us even as we speak.”
Albie stepped into me and patted my chest. “She’s not. She made a deal, remember? We celebrated over custard.”
“Aye, I remember,” I grumbled. “I made the custard.”
