His eyes flickered, more rapidly than I had yet seen them move. He mumbled something indistinct and grabbed at the cup with hands as dexterous as if he were wearing oven gloves, almost dropping it.
Before I could say anything else, he turned and fled back to the throne room. I hastened after him, determined to getsomethingout of him, but stopped short when the sorceress emerged.
She clicked her fingers at her servant, and he hurried to her, almost tripping over his own feet. Then she looked past him, to me.
The shock of her green gaze was like a splash of cold water to the face, and I stood numb as she strode to me and lifted my chin with her hand.
I felt a surge of adoration and awe, despite myself, gazing at her, and shame, too—because her relentless, gorgeous eyes magnified every inch of me and shone it back so that I was more aware of myself than ever before, even more so than when Aron had drawn me as a toad on his wine bottles.
“Be careful, girl,” she warned.
She dropped her hand suddenly, leaving me gaping, and turned to leave in a swirl of silks. The manservant followed her out, his eyes fixed on her, still carrying the teacup.
He didn’t even flicker his glance in my direction. He was clearly infatuated with her in the same way I was with the sorcerer—desperately, helplessly. I hoped I didn’t look as much of a fool as he did, though, as he stumbled in her wake like a baby lamb staggering after its mother.
I hid in the kitchen until dinner, chopping vegetables and slicing the gristle off meat as if it were any ordinary day. When I had prepared the meal, I put a plate of meat and gravy down on the floor for Cornelius and took the silver tray through to the throne room, with some trepidation.
If the sorcerer had taken his sister’s words to heart, it might very well be my last march through the dark corridors.
Pushing open the door to the throne room, I could see at once that something was different. For one, the sorcerer was not lounging in his chair, but standing. I was surprised all over again by how tall he was.
The more striking difference, however, was that he was surrounded by a hundred tiny bonfires that lit the room as bright as day and brought sweat pearling on my forehead. He stopped when he saw me, looking like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, and I almost laughed, I swear it.
“Half the place is on fire,” I pointed out.
“I was bored.”
“I’m not cleaning this up.”
He clicked his fingers, and the fires went out, and the throne room returned to its usual dim self. I plonked the tray down and turned to leave.
“Wait!” he said.
I stopped and turned back.
“Just, wait a minute,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I waited for a minute.
“Can I go?” I said at last.
“Why did you come here?” he asked.
“To bring you your dinner.”
“No,here. To the House.”
“To be your housekeeper.”
“No. Why did you come?”
I found myself strangely shy. “You came to my village,” I admitted.
He started to massage his temples. “I remember going to a village. I do not remember you.”
