The Domina practically dragged Sophie back through the palace to Eloisa’s apartments. Sophie had the distinct impression that she would have liked to literally drag her. But either she had a little too much decorum for that, or she had no desire for Sophie’s failing to become public knowledge, so she merely marched through the halls after ordering Sophie to follow her in a voice that brooked no argument.
Sophie did so, having little desire for getting any deeper into trouble. And, fortunately, it seemed the disarray at the palace in the wake of the attack was enough to limit the time that anybody they passed had to be curious about the Domina’s rapid pace. At one of the many corridor junctions, she caught a glimpse of a broad back and a dark head in a brilliant red coat. Cameron. Or so she thought. But there was no time to be sure before the Domina moved on, and there was nothing he could do to help her. Indeed, involving him at this point was the one thing she could think of that was near certain to make the situation worse.
“Leave us,” the Domina snapped as they walked into the queen-to-be’s bedchamber. “All of you,” she added as startled glances from both the devouts and the ladies-in-waiting questioned who she was talking to.
Black-and brown-clad women scurried from the room obediently. No one, it seemed, was willing to take on the Domina to demand to be left with Eloisa. Further proof that the Domina was holding the power currently. Which was a state of affairs that Sophie would have worried about if the sense of dread about what exactly was going to happen to her hadn’t been too strong to let worries about anything else in.
Eloisa, whose swollen face had also registered surprise at their abrupt return, tried to sit up straighter against the pile of pillows at her back, her movements tentative. Sophie wasn’t sure if her expression was a wince or a frown. She wanted to help Eloisa but didn’t want to risk the Domina’s wrath.
“What happened?” Eloisa said. “Did something disrupt the ritual?”
The Domina shook her head. “No. No disruption.” She beckoned at Sophie. “Come here, girl.”
Her heart pounded so hard she thought her bones must be vibrating, but she obeyed and joined the Domina bedside.
“Show her,” the Domina said, voice like a whip crack. “Show your hands.”
Sophie fought the urge to wipe her palms, suddenly damp, down her skirts. It wasn’t likely to remove the offending marks.
She was a royal witch—probably. She would damn well act like one.
She offered her hands to Eloisa, palms up.
Eloisa’s one visible brow lifted, the movement followed by what was definitely a wince. Her green eye focused on Sophie and then on the Domina. “Are you telling me that she didn’t manifest?”
“No.” The Domina shook her head. “No. She has power aplenty. Cracked the earth-light into pieces. No. She has magic. But the binding didn’t work.”
“Binding?” Sophie blurted. She dropped her hands to her sides, curling her hands shut to hide the offending sigils.
“Quiet,” the Domina snapped. “I am speaking with the queen-to-be.”
“About me,” Sophie said, suddenly furious. If she was going to be in trouble—and it was clear that she was—she might as well have all the facts. “What binding? What are you talking about? What was the ritual meant to do?”
“Dedicate you to the goddess,” the Domina said.
“You said ‘bind,’ not ‘dedicate,’” Sophie objected.
“You are in no position to question me,” the Domina said, “and as the goddess rejected you, in no position to be trusted with temple secrets.”
Eloisa looked as though the conversation was giving her a headache. Or a worse one. Whatever injuries were hidden beneath the bandages had to hurt like the very depths of hell. “If she has power, then the binding should have worked, shouldn’t it? She was taught by the same tutors and in the same way as we all were.”
The Domina scowled. “Given where she’s been for the last few days, I think that’s a question best asked of the Mackenzie lad.”
“You think—” Eloisa’s gaze narrowed, her eye suddenly focused precisely on Sophie. She reached out and rang the bell on the carved table beside her bed.
Lady Beata came through the door with a speed that suggested she had been hovering not far outside. “Your Highness?” she said. Her eyes swept over Sophie, clearly dying to know what was happening. Sophie pretended not to notice. She kept her gaze on Eloisa.
“Have one of the guards fetch Lieutenant Mackenzie. Immediately.”
“I think he went to the barracks,” Lady Beata said in a nervous voice.
“I don’t care,” Eloisa said flatly. “Tell the guard. He is to come to me immediately, no matter what other duty he has been assigned.”
Lady Beata cast a sidelong glance at Sophie but didn’t offer any further comment. She simply bobbed a curtsy and retreated from the room.
The silence deepened. Sophie suddenly wished desperately that she did know something about the Arts of Air. Then perhaps she could throw a cloak of illusion over herself and make a getaway. But concealment wasn’t a talent that came with earth magic.
So all she could do was stand and await her fate.
Apparently, the Domina and the queen-to-be had come to some mutual unspoken agreement that there would be no further discussion of the situation until Cameron appeared.
Instead, the Domina busied herself with mixing something from the array of herbs and powders lined up in bottles and jars on the long table arrayed on the far wall and then brewing a tea, which she coaxed Eloisa to drink.