Long had meticulously mixed several powdered herbs together—the licorice, cinnamon, dahlia root—and he had poured it into a small green-painted tin lined with wax paper for Zan. He had reiterated again that she should take the concoction daily. But despite her firsthand experience of the herbal tea’s effects, she doubted she needed it so often. She strongly suspected that her coughing fits had been caused by an external agent.
By the time they had left the apothecary and Caradon took her back home, the rain had stopped and the roads and her coat were merely damp.
“Miss Hu, welcome back,” said Mrs. Philomon at the door. The housekeeper ushered Zan inside and glared at Caradon who stepped inside as well. “Oh my, you’re soaked.”
“Only my coat and hat,” she replied as she peeled off her outer clothing and dumped them into the housekeeper’s arms. Then she handed her the tin box. “Have Boreas put this with the teas.”
“What is it?”
“An herbal tea.”
“Very well, Miss Hu. Will Mr. Caradon be staying long?”
Zan slanted a look at her patron who busied himself with taking off his own coat and handing it to the housekeeper. She couldn’t very well force him back out into the damp city after he introduced her to Long and his remedies and in a roundabout way, treated her to lunch. Why, she thought half exasperated and half reluctantly amused, did he so effectively insinuate himself into her increasingly chaotic routine?
“I don’t know,” she said. “Mr. Caradon seems to be running on a schedule that I am unable to divine.”
“Humph!” declared the housekeeper. “I suppose I will have to inform Boreas to make more tea. Mr. Garrou and Mrs. Felis-Ackert have already arrived and I have put them in the sitting room, as usual. Have you forgotten to tell the staff about a party that you are holding?”
“Of course not, Mrs. Philomon. I would not presume so on my staff. My friends must be here for another reason. Thank you for informing me.”
“You have friends?” Caradon said with a raised eyebrow when Mrs. Philomon headed toward the kitchen.
“What’s so unusual about that? Don’t you have friends?”
“My acquaintances usually don’t visit me unexpectedly.”
Once they reached the sitting room, Zan saw Del and Sabina already standing, wearing their evening finery. They were both wearing coats and hats; Del in a smart black suit and a cane topped with a clear crystal and Sabina in a lavender satin gown decorated with shiny ribbons about the bodice and a glittering diamond necklace around her neck.
“Dear Zan, I thought we told you to wear something more cheerful!” exclaimed Del as he suddenly took her hands in his own gloved ones.
Zan felt the skin on her neck prickle as she saw Caradon seemingly examine Del in a passive manner. The only things revealing his thoughts were the gleam in his eye and a slight tick in his jaw.
“Have you forgotten?” said Sabina. “There’s a play tonight and we were coming to pick you up for dinner before the entertainment. The play really is to be a good one.”
“Miss Hu won’t be going out anywhere tonight,” said Caradon. “She has had an exhausting day today and requires rest.”
“Really, Mr. Caradon,” she said pulling her hands out of Del’s grasp and glaring at her patron. “I’m quite fine. You aren’t my doctor. It will only be a moment for me to prepare….”
Caradon’s mouth twisted. “Do I have to remind you, Miss Hu, about the incident earlier today in Old Amanthus?”
Zan found herself gaping at his audacity in ordering her around. He smiled with bared teeth, taking her speechlessness as acquiescence.
“Mr. Caradon, is it?” said Del, finally sizing up the other man. “I am not sure how you know our friend, but I don’t think you have any right to dictate how she spends her time.”
“When it comes to spending time attending entertainments and protecting one’s health, which one would you sacrifice?” Caradon demanded.
Sabina glanced at Zan’s patron warily and then put her hand on Del’s arm when he looked as if he were to vociferously object. “Del, Mr. Caradon has a point. If Zan needs rest, then she should rest. She’s been through a lot of strain lately.” Then she touched Zan’s hand and her mouth thinned. “I told you to be careful.”
“I’m trying, but sometimes when you want to find answers, you have to take some risk,” Zan replied.
“Some risk isn’t worth it,” muttered Del.
“He’s right, you know,” said Sabina. “I’d hate to see you completely disregard common sense. Well, we must be going. Promise us you will be available to come with us tomorrow morning.”
“For what?”
“For some shopping,” she said.
Zan made a face. Shopping with Del and Sabina usually meant going through dressmakers, shoe makers, glove makers and who knows where else for the latest fashion. “Must I?”
“Since you’re weaseling out of our appointment tonight, yes. And we must chat sometime.”
“All right. I will.”
When her friends left, she slumped down into the nearest chair. Caradon took the seat to her left on the couch. He leaned toward her, elbows on knees, dark gray eyes searching. Zan turned her gaze elsewhere in the cluttered sitting room, studiously ignoring him by examining a vase.
“Oh, where’s Mr. Garrou and Mrs. Felis-Ackert?” said Mrs. Philomon as she arrived in the sitting room with the tea tray.
“They had to leave early,” said Caradon when Zan made no indication of answering.
“Well!” the housekeeper huffed before she left the room.
Zan sighed. “You ran my friends off.”
“I don’t think that going out tonight would be a good idea. You’ve already had so much excitement….”
“Do you think I’m such a fragile doll?” she suddenly burst out. “Do you think I’d break at any sign of excessive activity? I’d like to think I’m stronger than that!”
A smirk tinged his mouth. “Oh? I’d like to see that.”
She punched him.
He fell back into the couch, breath temporarily knocked out of him. He lifted a hand to gingerly feel his jaw. Slowly, he sat back up. She simply looked at him, cheeks tinged pink, but showing no remorse. Her fist slowly opened and closed, her nails taking on an odd sheen. A brief tug of energy swirled around her feet.
“You are very lucky that I don’t make it a habit to hit women,” he said softly.
“Am I?”
He grabbed her wrist and abruptly tugged, sending her kneeling to the floor, in front of him, between his knees. She looked up at him and her breath caught at the harsh, terrifying gaze. His fingers were firm and warm against her wrist. His nails dug into her skin. She watched his mouth, almost mesmerized, as he said, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t like to take other forms of retribution.”
“What do you want from me?”
His other hand came up to her neck and slowly closed over her throat. She gave a small intake of breath and licked her dry lips as the palm of his had came in contact with her skin and his fingers rubbed along her pulse. “I don’t think you’re willing to give what I want, are you?” He squeezed gently; it was almost a caress. “Not yet at any rate.”
She trembled as he leaned over so closely that all she saw were his eyes—flecks of silver in a sea of gray and black pupils stretching longer and longer. And the reflection showed her own eyes, changing. She tried ducking, but his hand at her throat held her fast and she couldn’t look away. His breath flickered over her skin.
“My staff…”
“Isn’t coming,” he replied. He tilted his head and his breathing grazed her cheek, her ear.
She flexed her free hand and found her fingers caught on strange, smooth fabric encasing something warm, unyielding. She glanced down and saw her hand on his thigh.
“This isn’t…”
“Appropriate?” The tip of his nose touched the back of her ear. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
He let go of her wrist and raised his head. The hand at her throat trailed down her shoulder and arm to rest on top of her hand on his thigh. “I am no paragon of virtue. But I suppose I shall forgive you for your lapse in temper. I think it may be more of an asset than a hindrance.”
“Forgive me?” She tried to retrieve her hand from his, but he refused to let her up. “I am no penitent. And you are no priest.”
“No. But I am your patron. And I do have your welfare in mind. So I ask that you not go haring off tonight in search of entertainment or information or whatever it is swirling around in that head of yours. Tell me what is on your mind and don’t go risking your neck like you did this morning.”
“I’m not promising anything.”
He squeezed her hand in warning and then stood up. “Is that all I’m getting today? I suppose I will have to be patient as well.”
She turned her head to look up at him as he moved toward the door. “I don’t want you following me around as if you were my shadow.”
“And as you said, ‘I’m not promising anything.’” He inclined his head and then he was gone.
Zan sat kneeling in front of the couch for a moment longer, breathing in the fading scent of musky forest in the air. Then she put her hand on the couch cushion, still warm from him, and lightly raked the fabric with claws.
