He tried to hide it, but she heard the wary hope in his question. She kissed the lock of hair. “Many next times. Besides, I’m not in the habit of doing things I might later regret.”
Ballard’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll remember that the next time you shoot at my castle, break my nose and threaten to kill my son.” He winked.
She sniffed and tugged hard enough on the wrapped lock of hair to make him wince. “You forgot eviscerating your magician.” She paused. “Then again I’m not sure I’d regret that.”
As if her words summoned him, Ambrose’s voice sounded beyond her door. “Mistress Duenda, it’s Ambrose. Open the door.” A series of hard raps against the wood emphasized his demand.
Louvaen’s eyes widened. What did the magician want with her, and now of all times?
Ballard’s expression reflected the same surprise before it darkened into a thunderous scowl. “I’m going to kill him.” He slipped out of her, kissing her in apology when she squeaked a protest. He rolled out of bed in one smooth motion and padded toward to the door.
Louvaen scrambled after him, pausing to yank one of the blankets off the bed and wrap it around herself. “Wait. Wait! I want to see this.”
She made it to his side just as he yanked the door open. Ambrose stood before them, dressed in one of his many robes with its embroidered symbols and potions stains. He held a goblet in one hand and eyed the pair of them as if he’d stumbled upon some newly discovered and possibly dangerous animal. One eyebrow arched at Ballard’s nudity before his gaze paused on Louvaen, touching on her hair, her makeshift blanket robe and her bare feet. She resisted the urge to pat her hair. “I’ve seen haints livelier looking than you,” he said. He barely dodged the punch she threw at him.
Ballard grabbed her by the waist to hold her back. “Your timing could get you murdered, Ambrose. State your business and make it quick.”
Despite almost having his eye blackened, Ambrose smiled and offered Louvaen the goblet he held. “An ice water bath isn’t always invigorating, nor is a tupping. This is a restorative to chase away the fatigue. You look like you need it.”
Startled by the unexpected kindness, even if it was offered on the back of an insult, Louvaen took the goblet. “Thank you.” She peered at the ruby tinted liquid in the cup and sniffed. Her head snapped back at the fumes, and her eyes teared. She thrust the goblet at Ambrose. “No thank you. I think I prefer drowning over poisoning.”
He pushed it back to her. “My poisons are sweet.”
Ballard plucked the goblet out of her hand and sniffed the contents. Like Louvaen, he reared back and turned his head to cough. “What kind of piss is this?” he said when he caught a breath.
Louvaen frowned. “Probably something he made with the venom and scales of the world’s most evil viper.”
“Oh, you have a twin?” This time Ambrose took a long step out of striking range.
Ballard uttered a strangled sound, quickly masked by a fake cough. Louvaen smacked him on the arm. Her appreciation of Ambrose’s sharp quip, along with the lingering gratitude that he’d taken the time to brew something to help her feel better, softened her annoyance. Ballard’s lovemaking had left her sated, content and so tired she was sure she’d sleep for months. She could use a restorative even if it did reek like the dead. She took the goblet from Ballard. “Does it taste as bad it smells?” she asked.
Ambrose’s eyes glittered ten shades of malice. “Worse.”
“Of course it does. How soon until I drop dead once I drink it?” She ignored Ballard’s sudden frown and kept her gaze on the sorcerer.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll witness that pleasurable event before thedominussends me on my way.”
“I should have done so the moment I opened the door,” Ballard muttered.
Louvaen pinched her nostrils shut and brought the cup to her lips. Her throat muscles flexed, and her stomach flipped in warning. She glowered at Ambrose over the goblet’s rim.
Ballard stroked her arm. “You don’t have to drink it, my beauty.”
Ambrose’s amused gaze sobered and sharpened for a moment before he shrugged. “It’s entirely up to you, mistress. If it encourages you, your sister is beside herself wondering how you are. You’d do well to put in an appearance downstairs very soon.”
She downed the restorative in one gulp. “Gods’ knickers,” she wheezed out and immediately clamped her lips shut as her stomach roiled, and her mouth flooded with saliva.
Ballard caught the cup as it fell from her nerveless fingers. “Louvaen?”
She didn’t dare open her mouth to answer him. If she did, the swill in her belly would come right back up. Ambrose looked positively gleeful at her distress. If her mind didn’t reel at the idea his vile brew would be worse coming up than it was going down, she’d vomit on his shoes.
The nausea faded, leaving her with a growing sense of vigor and lightness. The drowsiness threatening to nail her eyelids shut disappeared, along with the lethargy weighting her muscles. She eyed Ambrose with renewed admiration. “It’s working.”
He snorted, affronted by her surprise. “Of course it’s working. ‘Tis a simple decoction. Any hedgewitch with a toe on the left hand path knows how to brew it. Your mother likely made it when she first embarked on her studies. The difficulty isn’t in the making, but in keeping it in your belly.”
“Thank you—I think.” Anxious to scrub the foul flavor out of her mouth, she left both men in the corridor. The small cupboard near her hearth held personal items—a brush and comb, a hand mirror and hair ribbons she’d brought on her second trip to Ketach Tor, as well as a small box containing coarse salt and crushed rosemary.
Ballard returned to find her vigorously scrubbing her teeth with the last two. He waited until she spat the last remnants of rinse water into the fire before speaking. “Ambrose warned me if I kissed you I’d be sorry.”
