“Yes, yes,” she says, absently. “Was it the sound of the bell that did it, I wonder? Something to do with aural stimulation…” She trails off. Mother huffs a loud sigh. I stare at the floor, the lovely wooden floorboards, the way the sun spills across them.
I hear footsteps on the stairs. So it is onlookers, then. Mother won’t be happy about that.
“Can we join?” Sasha says, cautiously. I tear my gaze away from the floor. She and Amaritha are standing in the doorway, holding hands and looking uncertain. I smile wanly at them.
“This is a private affair,” Mother says.
“They’re my friends,” I say, and wave them in. If they’re here when the curse is broken and I’m swept away, I won’t have to search them out before I leave town. I have no idea where they live.
The sorcerer carries on circling me and talking to herself for the better part of half an hour. I watch the sun crawl across the floor and try not to make eye contact with anyone. I feel utterly miserable. Mother huffs several dramatic sighs. Father seats himself on a pile of pillows and picks up a book about poultry.
“Honestly, Honeyrose,” Mother finally says. “This is taking forever.”
“Time, madam, time,” the sorcerer murmurs. “Marking the hours gives only the illusion of control.”
“We’ll miss lunch at this rate, and we need to be on the road before sundown. I’d rather not spend a second night at that little hotelier, surrounded by all those…young people.”
Ah, she means the Inn of the Seven Princes, the princes and their entourages. Honestly, I’m surprised the inn has the facilities to put them all up.
“At least the Astebani ensured that the inn is clean,” she adds. She glances around the room. “Andthis bookstore, Tanadelle.” Idecide not to mention that it was quite cleanbeforethe Astebani made me clean it again.
“Deep magic is complex,” the sorcerer says, sounding a little annoyed. She’s just stuck her tongue out to taste the air near my shoulder. “Complex magic takes time to sort out. And this is very deep magic indeed.”
“By the great green dragon, Tanadelle,” Mother groans. “Deep magic. I would have thought better of you.”
“It was an accident!” I can’t help the petulant tone that sneaks into my voice. “I was just trying to help an old lady.”
“What is it Honey always says, darling—you’re too nice,” Mother says, looking piqued.
“There was an object, was there not?” the sorcerer says, ignoring our family dynamic. “I must evaluate it.”
She must mean the key, the one I pressed into Bash’s hand an hour ago. “It might be downstairs,” I say.
“I have it,” Bash says quietly, and hands the sorcerer the key before retreating.
“Ah, keys—excellent conductors,” the sorcerer says. “You really ought to be careful about handling them.” She touches the tip of her tongue to the shank and I glance away, willing myself not to be annoyed. I’m on edge; the room is too warm, there are too many people, and I can smell the faint scent of the sea, which makes me wish that Bash and I were still in bed and it was still early morning. I haven’t even had a chance to think through everything that happened last night and this morning, and I worry I never will. The sorcerer circles me again, holding the key aloft for no discernible reason.
The bell jingles again. Princes, onlookers, customers: It doesn’t matter. They can all traipse up the stairs and wait to see what happens—which I suspect won’t be especially spectacular—or take books or rummage around in my things; they’re not going to be my things much longer anyway. Bash never agreed to take the bookshop, after all, and he’s just handed the key over.
I feel the peculiar heaviness that wells up inside when one is near tears, and swallow it back down.
“Honestly, Roth,” mother says quietly to my father. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Why, Mother?” I say, unable to stop myself. “What do we have to do today?”
“We need to get you a proper bath, for one thing,” Mother says. “Imagine, not having a bathtub formonths.”
“I don’t need a bathtub,” I say, and cast the little spell that cleans hair on my father, who gasps.
“Oh no, don’t do that,” the sorcerer says. “That’s terribly disruptive.”
“I taught myself little magic, you see,” I say. “I’ve just washed father’s hair.” My father looks delighted, and then schools his expression.
“I can light a fire, boil water, cook a turnip,” I say.
“Yes, but now you won’t have to,” Mother says, smiling indulgently. “Imagine: scented baths, towels the size of bedsheets, the softest fabrics to slip into.”
My dress is soft, I think, but keep that one to myself.
