CHARLOTTE sat across from Angelia Ermine and watched the other woman attempt to ignore the burning itching under her lacy Sud-style tunic. They sat on a verandah of Lady Olivia’s city house, at a delicate table carved out of a solid piece of crystal. The table bore a dozen desserts and three different teas, which the six other women present at the gathering seemed to be enjoying. What Angelia would’ve enjoyed most of all would be a good scratch, possibly with some fine-grade sandpaper. Unfortunately for her, Her Grace was telling a charming story from her past, and the half dozen other attendees hung on her every word. Excusing herself wasn’t an option.
“And then I told him that if he was going to stoop to that level of rudeness, I would be forced to retaliate . . .” Her Grace appeared completely engrossed in her anecdote, except for the occasional brief glance in Charlotte’s direction.
The itching must’ve reached torturous levels, because Angelia gave up on maintaining an attentive facade and locked her teeth. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her disease had reached its peak, and Charlotte had been quietly spurring it on. Any other woman would’ve sent her apologies and stayed home, but Angelia was too much of a social climber. She was a minor blueblood, her bloodline undistinguished, her achievements mediocre, and a tea with the Duchess of the Southern Provinces was a lure she couldn’t ignore.
Charlotte sipped tea from her cup. The refined taste, tinted with a drop of lemon and a hint of mint, was uniquely refreshing. She’d have to beg Lady Olivia for the recipe.
“And then I slapped him,” Her Grace announced.
The women around the table gasped, some genuinely surprised, some, like Charlotte, out of a sense of duty.
“Excuse me,” Angelia squeezed out. She jumped to her feet and ran from the table.
A shocked silence claimed the gathering.
“Well,” Lady Olivia said.
“With your permission, Your Grace, I should check on her,” Charlotte folded her napkin.
“Yes, of course, my dear.”
Charlotte stood up and headed toward the washroom. Behind her, Lady Olivia inquired, “Where was I?”
“You slapped him,” Sophie helpfully suggested.
“Ah yes . . .”
Charlotte left the verandah, crossed the sunroom, and stopped by the washroom. Hysterical sobs echoed through the door. Perfect.
Charlotte slid a key from the inside of her sleeve, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Angelia froze. She stood before the mirror, her tunic thrown carelessly to the floor. Bright red blisters covered her body, some as big as a thumbnail, surrounded by smaller ulcers, like some sickening constellations. Some had broken open, weeping pus.
“Oh my goodness,” Charlotte murmured, and shut the door behind herself.
Emotions cascaded across Angelia’s face: shock, indignant outrage, fury, shame, contemplation . . . She hovered between them, trying to choose the right one, the one most to her advantage. It lasted only a few seconds, but Charlotte saw it clearly. Angelia Ermine’s sweet and often vacant face hid a strategist’s mind. Charlotte would have to be exceptionally careful.
Angelia clamped her hands to her face and cried. Appropriate emotion, sure to gain sympathy. Charlotte squeezed the key in her fist. Angelia had stripped motherhood from dozens of women. If only she could kill her. Oh, if only.
“Shhh, shhh.” Charlotte forced soothing calm into her voice. “It’s all right.”
Angelia bent over the sink, weeping like a hysterical dove. “Oh, Lady al-te Ran. Look at me.”
Very dramatic. “Do you know what illness this is?” Charlotte asked.
The woman sobbed. “Look, it’s on my neck now. Everyone will see.”
Nice misdirect, my dear. It won’t work. “You’re wearing lace with raw silk fibers. Raw silk tends to aggravate Dock Rot.”
Angelia choked on her tears.
That’s right, I know exactly why you’re bearing these sores. She was sleeping with Brennan, who was by all indications possessive. Likely he was her only current lover, but she wasn’t his only entertainment. Brennan had visited a professional and brought back this disease as a present for Angelia.
“It’s all right.” Charlotte feigned hesitation. “Look, this is your secret. I have my own secret, too. I will help you with yours if you promise to keep mine to yourself. Will you do that, Angelia?”
The woman nodded.
Charlotte reached over and touched her, fighting revulsion. Helping Angelia turned her stomach. Charlotte let her magic seep into the afflicted body. She found the disease and forced it into dormancy, spurning the skin cells into regeneration. The blisters burst, dried, and healed, turning into faint red stains.
“Oh my gods,” Angelia whispered, for a moment forgetting about putting on a show.
Charlotte looked at the two of them in mirror, standing close to each other. “Feel better?”
“You’re a healer!”
“And you can’t tell anyone, Angelia. No one. Healers are not safe outside of their colleges. We’re forbidden to do harm, and we’re easy targets. Do I have your promise?”
“Of course. Anything.”
Charlotte picked up Angelia’s tunic. “Here, put this on.”
The younger woman slipped into the tunic. Charlotte straightened her hair. “As beautiful as ever.”
Angelia sniffed. It was an adorable sniff. It would’ve worked even better if she weren’t a monster.
“After today, you must call on me. Healing you completely will take a much longer session, and we don’t have time. Chin up.”
“What will we tell them?”
“We’ll tell them you had an attack of food allergies. It will be fine. The duchess knows about me, and she trusts my judgment.” Charlotte opened the door and held it. “Do you know who’s responsible for exposing you to this atrocity?”
“Yes.” Angelia’s face turned grim.
“I don’t know who he is, and it isn’t my place to ask, but you should know that this disease is easily preventable. He didn’t use a sleeve, probably letting you shoulder the burden for preventing a pregnancy, but potions and pills do not prevent the spread of diseases.”
“It was very selfish of him,” Angelia said. If her voice had substance, it would’ve cut. “But then, that’s what men are—selfish pigs.”
“Well, I’m outraged on your behalf. Not only is he being unfaithful, but he is forcing you to suffer the consequences of his infidelity. I hope you let him have a taste of his own medicine.”