No one could’ve mistaken the lingering scent of sex in the room and certainly not on the sheets. But would she tell the others that Magda had been with someone? And what if she’d seen Endreas? Would she have known who he was?
Magda’s stomach churned wondering and worrying, but she ate everything Meer had left—because she knew the brownie would give her hell if she didn’t. She washed it all down with many good strong cups of spiced tea and cream.
Palms sweating and heart hammering, she dressed. The new clothes fit even better than the ones Kirk had brought her. The trousers were gold-hued, the knee-high boots fine Pixie-cloth, a proper brassiere, a soft cream-colored tunic, and a dark brown jerkin with delicate bronze buckles up the left side. A satchel was provided, in which she stowed the Enneahedron.
She hovered by the door for countless minutes, chewing her lip.
I don’t love Endreas.
No one has to know.
She pulled open the door and headed downstairs.
The house had been transformed. Surely, more than a couple of nights had passed. The woodwork gleamed, not a spider or a dust mote in sight.
Unsettled by the quiet, she donned her daggers again. With their weight reassuring her, she moved through the downstairs hall into the gallery.
The dining table had been relieved of its shroud and buffed to a shine. The moth-eaten curtains had been replaced. The windows sparkled, offering a grand view of the terrace and the gardens beyond. Sparing Cae’s portrait a guilt-ridden glance, she passed through the kitchen, where pots boiled and steamed on the ceramic stove and the buttery aroma of bread baking told her it was, indeed, morning. Every tiled surface shone. The copper pots gleamed in the low light.
Out through the kitchen door, she rounded the barrier of a now tidy hedgerow and found the stone table on the terrace prepared with a cornucopia, the pond cleared of scum and excess vegetation, and the stone-lined garden beds mostly bare for all the weeds that had been uprooted.
“Good to see you are finally awake,” Meer said, popping up on one of the wooden terrace chairs. “You must be starved.”
She tensed. “Why must I be?”
The brownie lofted an eyebrow. “You’ve been locked in your room for six days.”
“Six days?” She touched her head. Had she been with Endreas the whole time? “Listen, Meer. You mustn’t... whatever you may know about what happened in my room, you can’t tell anyone.”
Meer’s nose turned up. “I would never speak to anyone about anything that occurred within my household.”
“Not even to the other brownies?”
Meer thrust her fists downwards. “Absolutely not! What do you take me for, a gossipy little sprite?”
She let out a relieved breath. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s only... anything that transpired in my room must never be spoken of.”
Meer straightened a fork. “Of course not. Though a week of much needed sleep hardly seems worth all this fuss. But as you wish, Mistress.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your discretion.”
“Is there anything else you require?” Meer asked.
“No, thank you.”
“The others are at the sparring grounds,” Meer said, gesturing towards the path leading to the training shed. “They have all been quite anxious for you to wake. Of course, I did not allow them to disturb you. In addition to the barriers on the entrances and exits, I also created a muffling spell around the room. No sound could pass inside... or out.”
The strangling tightness in her chest returned—Meerdidknow.
She took another deep breath to still the panicked tempest brewing within her.
Brownies were unfailingly loyal to their masters, but Meer wasn’t bound to Magda. Rather she’d been lent to them by Flor’s brother. She just had to hope Meer would be true to her word. Or she could kill the brownie. But saving herself a fight with Kaelan was hardly worth taking someone’s life... she guessed.
“Thank you again.”
The brownie bowed and then vanished.
Recomposing herself, Magda strode out to the sparring grounds.
