So much had happened to her. Some human display of emotion would be reassuring.
All in all Sophie was glad to escape from the palace and take a carriage to her parents’ house. She had assumed that Eloisa would insist on a Red Guard accompanying her again and had told her mother to ensure that Madame de Montesse was safely inside well before Sophie was due to arrive. The Red Guard—a Lieutenant Wilson, whom she had met several times before but had never spoken more than a few words to—would remain outside the house. After all, he was there to stop anyone snatching her or whatever it was that Eloisa feared might happen. To do that, he needed to stop the potential assailant from entering the house in the first place.
To her relief, Lieutenant Wilson did indeed insist on remaining in the front yard by the gate. Which meant that Sophie was able to sneak Madame de Montesse out from the tiny parlor where her mother was making stiff small talk and into the small walled garden at the rear of the house. It was a pretty place. Neat beds of late-summer flowers lined either side of a lawn bisected by a stone path. An elaborately carved house shrine sat against the far wall. Sophie didn’t think the lieutenant was likely to come out to the garden if he thought she was safely inside.
Chloe de Montesse seemed to bear this in good spirits, not asking any questions until they were both settled on the small stone bench in front of the shrine.
“I believe,” she said then, in her accented Anglion, “that the invitation was for tea, not intrigue.”
“Hardly intrigue,” Sophie protested.
“Hardly tea, either. You pulled me away from your mother’s excellent hospitality. I was enjoying that tea.”
“It comes from an estate near ours,” Sophie said, not above bribery if it would improve Madame’s mood. “I’m sure my mother would be happy to give you some.”
“That would be most kind,” Chloe said. She flashed a tight smile, sitting a little taller on the bench. “So are you going to tell me why you wanted me to come here? I’m fairly certain your mother could have lived without bindweed and nettle root for another day or two.”
“I wanted to thank you,” Sophie said. “We were interrupted the other day. But you were kind to Lieutenant Mackenzie and me.”
Chloe flipped a hand. “No more than anyone would have been.”
“Not true. You’re a refugee. You have a reason to want to keep your head down.”
That earned her a very aristocratic-sounding snort of disdain. “That sounds boring. I was never one for boredom.”
“Still, it was kind. And I thank you.”
“You are welcome. You and your lieutenant of the broad shoulders and very blue eyes. A fine one, that man, do you not think?”
Sophie couldn’t stop the blush that rose over her face. “He is very nice.”
“Nice? Are you Anglion girls blind? In Illvya, someone would have snatched him up and into her bed well before now.” Chloe stopped, her expression turning sympathetic. “Ah, but perhaps you are not allowing yourself to appreciate him. A royal witch does not choose in such matters.”
“No,” Sophie said, hoping this explanation would throw Chloe off this particular topic of conversation.
“So frustrating for you.” A slim hand reached out and patted Sophie’s arm sympathetically. “Once you are married and have had a son or two, I’m sure your lord will not object to the odd dalliance. Perhaps he will still be available. You are young. You will have babies quickly.”
“Goddess,” Sophie choked.
Chloe laughed. “Truly Anglion, though. All so proper all the time.”
Not all the time. But that was hardly a subject to discuss with Madame de Montesse.
“And are you enjoying being a royal witch?” Chloe asked, expression growing more serious. She regarded Sophie for a moment, and something that wasn’t too far away from doubt crossed her face.
“Everything has been so disrupted since my birthday,” Sophie said. “I’ve hardly had time to think about it.”
“But now things will return to how they were, no? With the queen-to-be recovered and the coronation so soon, surely she will turn her attention to your marriage. That’s what happens to royal witches, is it not?” Chloe was studying her again.
“What is it?” Sophie asked. “Do I have a smudge on my cheek or something?
“No. No smudge.”
“Then what?”
“It’s just . . .” Madame de Montesse hesitated. “Forgive me if this is the wrong thing to say, but you do not look the same as the other royal witches to me. Your power is very . . . bright.”
“Bright?”
“Strong? I’m not sure what the correct word might be. But royal witches always appear more tame to me.”
“Maybe that’s just because you’re Illvyan.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you are different.” She tilted her head. “What exactly was it that you wished to say to me again?”
Sophie took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell Madame de Montesse the truth. Not all of it. She wasn’t sure how far she could trust her. So best to ease into the subject. “It’s just, well, with everything that’s happened, I feel like it would be easier if I knew more. And no one has time to teach me anything.”
“You want lessons? From me? I think not. That would definitely not be a good idea. Not unless you want both of us to be thrown into the ocean with many heavy rocks tied to our necks.”
“You teach some things. I’ve heard women talk about it.”
“Small things. Herbs and such. To women with small power. Seed witches at best. Not royal witches. I’m not permitted such things. It’s part of the oath I swore when I was allowed to stay here.”
“Is it just an oath?” Sophie asked curiously. “Or something more?”