“I do. But Liam wanted to see me this morning and the barracks are chaos, so I thought I might try to catch a few hours’ sleep here. Might be quieter.”
Sophie had her doubts about that. The Inglewood apartments were stuffed nearly to the rafters with guests. “Is there any news?”
“News?” He took a seat opposite her, which was only proper when no one in the household staff knew that they were betrothed. But she wished he would sit next to her. Maybe he would ease her nerves.
“Of who was behind the attack?”
He shook his head. “No, but I believe they’ve cleared most of the rubble from the Salt Hall. Commander Peters has had most of the battle mages moving stones for days. Now the Illusioners can come in. See if they can find anything.”
“So the attack was magical?”
“Most likely. To do so much damage . . . Well, perhaps gunpowder and other things could achieve it, but you’d need an awful lot of it. Magic seems more likely.”
“Illvyan?”
He shrugged, reaching for a roll. “That remains to be seen.”
She bit into her roll, chewed, swallowed. Reached for more tea. “What do you think will happen if they find out?”
Cameron shook his head. “That is entirely up to the queen-to-be.”
When Sophie reached Eloisa’s chambers, she wasn’t greeted by the flock of ladies-in-waiting in the antechamber. Instead, the door to the bedroom stood open and the sound of excited voices turned the air into the familiar high-pitched chatter she was used to when the ladies were in full flight.
A glance through the doorway confirmed that the bedroom was full. Over the heads of the four ladies closest to the door, she thought she saw Eloisa’s bright red head leaning against the embroidered headboard. But that made no sense. Her head had still been bandaged last night. She pushed her way past the ladies without thinking.
“Milady, are you recovered?”
The chatter in the room died as all eyes focused on her. She ignored the sudden scrutiny, focusing instead on Eloisa, who was indeed free of bandages. On her face at least. Bruises still marked her skin—though more green-yellow than vivid purple now. Her hair was shorter than it had been, cut off to nearly shoulder length. To hide the damage from burns perhaps? But it was clean, and Lady Beata stood close to the bed with a hairbrush.
Eloisa looked at Sophie, and for a moment there was warmth in her green eyes. But then her expression turned shuttered and controlled. “A little,” she said.
“She is doing much better,” Lady Beata chirped, dark eyes also focused on Sophie.
Sophie wondered why everyone was staring at her, then realized that they were wondering if she had anything to do with the rapid improvement in Eloisa’s health. And therefore wondering exactly what powers she had manifested.
Most of the temple witches had healing skills to a degree, but usually the magic was used to increase the effectiveness of the herbs and other medicines they used. There were stories of the early days of Anglion. Of saints of the goddess who could heal just by touch, but those were legends. No one had shown such powers in centuries. Much like no royal witch had been able to call the weather.
“She is,” Domina Skey said, moving into view from behind another of the ladies. Sophie started. She hadn’t noticed the Domina. She controlled the movement with a force of will, ignoring the sudden urge to move farther away from the woman who rose in the wake of the initial surprise. The Domina was no one to be scared of. She was intimidating, yes, but she was a servant of the goddess. Dedicated to the good of Anglion and its people.
Still, the calculating look in the Domina’s brown eyes made her want to run away as she heard the words from last night again in her head. The casual dismissal. The lack of concern that whatever she had done had left Sophie unconscious on the floor.
“Ladies,” Domina Skey said with a wave of her hand. “The queen-to-be had matters to discuss with Lady Sophia. Leave us, please.”
Sophie was somewhat dismayed to see how readily they followed the Domina’s instructions, filing from the room without waiting for confirmation of the order from Eloisa. Eloisa, who was queen-to-be. Who was the one in charge.
The Domina’s influence had grown quickly in the days since the attack, it seemed. Or perhaps the ladies were just grateful to have someone take charge in uncertain times. But regardless of why, they shouldn’t just be blindly following the Domina’s orders. She had done that last night and ended up on the floor. She needed to be more cautious. The Domina was the servant of the goddess, yes, but they all needed to remember that she was merely human as well, subject to human desires, perhaps. Like ambition. Ambition to seize influence over a young, inexperienced, and injured queen? King Stefan had been respectful to the temple, and the Domina had been consulted where appropriate, but his closest councilors came from the men of the court. Erls and barrons. Nobles and warriors like himself. But Eloisa wasn’t a warrior. She was a royal witch. Dedicated to the country and the goddess. So the Domina bore watching. If Eloisa didn’t realize that now because of her injuries, well, then Sophie would have to watch for her. Wait for a chance to speak if she decided it was necessary.
She watched Beata, last to leave as usual, close the door, her expression wildly curious. Sophie didn’t think she would be able to escape being interrogated by the ladies-in-waiting much longer. But she would keep her mouth firmly closed until the queen-to-be gave her leave to discuss her betrothal.