Page 43

If ravens could have rolled their eyes, then Clarimonde was certain that this one would have done so. “You mortals are so easily duped,” it said. “This is why I normally do not find you interesting at all. At least the ravens I have met maintain a modicum of self-preservation.”

“I say!” Miss Molinari protested. “You are very pert for a bird, aren’t you?”

The raven offered up a deep croak of amusement. “You must not have met very many birds,” it said. “They are all very pert, Miss Molinari.”

“Most birds would be more sensible than to insult their host in her own realm.” Mr Brand’s voice trickled through the darkness, stiffening Clarimonde’s spine.

The Hound and his hound had taken up position near a bust of Tertia’s profile. Mr Brand’s dark eyes remained firmly fixed upon Miss Molinari as he leaned against the wall; there was a predatory air about him, like a wolf calmly waiting for an injured deer to fall behind its herd.

The raven cast a wary glance towards him. “I did not insult Lady Hollowvale, of course,” it corrected Mr Brand. “It is hardly an insult to observe that Lady Hollowvale is a successful hunter. If anything, I have insulted Miss Molinari—and mortals as a whole, I suppose.”

And now I have heard Foxglove’s true opinion of me, from his very own beak, Clarimonde thought. It was, perhaps, an uncharitable assumption. But now that she had left the Leanansidhe’s intoxicating presence, her anger had only redoubled. No one in this abbey, she thought, had any genuine affection for her. Even Foxglove had come here with the intention of using and discarding her. Of everyone present, only Mr Brand had been honest enough to attack her outright.

“Lord Foxglove,” Clarimonde interrupted sharply. “I require your service. Miss Molinari—might I see you in my room?”

The raven startled, fluffing its feathers. It turned… and tilted its head at her. Clarimonde had the distinct feeling, again, of being measured by some strange, incomprehensible metric.

“Of course,” the raven said. It bowed its head and spread its wings out deferentially. “I am at your command.”

You are, Clarimonde thought dryly. For exactly as long as it suits you.

Miss Molinari offered Mr Brand one last, slightly fearful glance before hurrying towards Clarimonde. As they started down the hallway, the sound of tiny wings began to flutter behind them; Foxglove had become a small white hummingbird, in order to hover next to Clarimonde’s ear.

“Has Lady Hollowvale said anything further to you about me?” Miss Molinari asked hopefully.

“She has asked that I see to your health as soon as possible,” Clarimonde replied. For once, the lie came easily to her; perhaps, she thought, the pain of speaking it felt less consequential next to the bruised emotions in her chest.

Mr Brand had followed rudely behind them, unconcerned with any sense of impropriety. Clarimonde offered him an acid look, as she pulled Miss Molinari with her into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Miss Molinari sank down into one of the golden chairs with obvious exhaustion. There was a grey tint to her skin. “I am feeling terribly unlike myself,” she admitted softly. “But I have written more in the last few days than I have ever done before. I am sure that I will rest when I have finished my current poem.”

“Oh, she will certainly rest,” the hummingbird buzzed near Clarimonde’s ear.

Clarimonde shook her head. “Ignore him,” she told Miss Molinari. “He is normally very sociable—but I suppose he has decided you are not useful enough to bother charming.”

The hummingbird alighted on Clarimonde’s shoulder. “You are very out of sorts,” it observed carefully. There was a gentler note now in its voice as it addressed her. “Has something happened to upset you?”

Clarimonde swatted him gently from her shoulder.

“You must have noticed that Mr Brand does not have your best interests at heart,” Clarimonde told Miss Molinari, as the hummingbird steadied itself in the air again. “He will follow you wherever you go, I fear, until he finds a way to undermine my task for Lady Hollowvale. By which I mean to say… he would prefer it if your health were to decline.”

Miss Molinari blanched further. “He is such an unnerving man,” she admitted. “And that hound. I keep losing sight of it for minutes at a time, when it is right in front of me.”

“It is a black dog,” said the hummingbird—now perched upon the dressing table. “It walks the mortal world as a ghost would do; it is not dead, but neither does it live. It would not be visible at all, except that we are partially in Faerie.”

Clarimonde grimaced at the description. “That is why Bellamira could hear it when it howled,” she said. “And why the sluagh’s hearse reacted to it.” She shook her head. “That does not matter now. What matters is that I must take you to Mother Barclay, Miss Molinari, and that creature must not follow us.”

Miss Molinari winced. “I do like Mother Barclay,” she said slowly, “but I know that she does not approve of my… situation here. She will try to convince me to leave the abbey.”

Clarimonde offered her a severe look. “Mother Barclay is hardly going to abduct you,” she observed. “I will pay for her advice, and for some herbs, and we will leave again. If there is a lecture involved then you may ignore it, of course.”

“And how precisely do we intend to slip the Hound’s attention?” asked the hummingbird.

Clarimonde turned to stare it down. “I did have a particular idea in mind,” she said.

CHAPTER 14

“A bit of kindness at the proper moment can sustain you against ugly things. There are people here who love you; I hope you will remember to enjoy that, when you need it.”