eyed Louvaen as if she were an interesting, if not particularly bright child. Louvaen suddenly understood why Cinnia snarled at her sometimes for what seemed like no reason. “Ketach Tor, mistress, lies in the center of a pool of wild magic. Sometimes the magic is weak, other times powerful—in flux. We call the strong periods high tide. Most of us suffer no ill effects from the flux. The most I deal with are potions reacting badly or spells turned backwards. The master and his son, however, are sickened by it. Gavin is bedridden with fever. His father suffers the worst.”
“Is there nothing you can do to relieve his suffering?” Louvaen wasn’t one to cry over a crushed spider, but the idea of a man repeatedly broken on such a brutal wheel made her sick to her soul. Gods, how she hated magic.
Ambrose shook his head. “No. The dominus is strong and the flux temporary. He’ll get through it.”
“Are you sure? He sounds like he’s being hacked into several pieces right now.”
“I’m sure. This isn’t the first time he’s survived a flux. It won’t be his last.”
The lackadaisical attitude of de Sauveterre’s household toward their master’s distress flummoxed her. The noises he made almost had her running through this unknown place in an effort to search him out and do what she could to put him out of his misery.
Cinnia must have read her thoughts in her expression. “There’s nothing we can do, Lou, except wait and give him comfort when it’s over.”
Louvaen had stepped into some twisted fairytale, complete with magic born of the left hand path, a sorcerer who deemed her intelligent as a turnip and a lord tortured in his own home by an unseen tormentor without a drop of mercy. She leveled a long stare on her sister. “Are you sure you want to stay?”
“Yes.”
She was bone-tired and the only reason she conceded to that one request. “I’ll stay for one night and do as you ask—listen to what you have to say regarding saving Papa from Jimenin.” Cinnia clapped her hands. Louvaen raised a finger, and she paused. “I’m not agreeing to anything beyond that, including leaving you here. I’ll knock you unconscious and tie you to the saddle if I have to.”
Cinnia threw her arms around her. “Thank you, Lou.”
Louvaen hugged her back, guilt making her flinch. There was something infinitely wrong when such small a thing as her acquiescence made her sister so jubilant. She gazed at Ambrose over Cinnia’s shoulder. He watched her, dislike narrowing his eyes and tightening his mouth. The same curiosity glinting in Magda’s gaze earlier tempered his disapproving expression. No doubt her countenance mirrored his, except for the interest. She planned to stay out of his way while she was here.
“Magda will serve you supper and show you the room where you’ll sleep tonight.” Ambrose inclined his head and left them in the hall. Good as his words, Magda and two younger women entered the hall carry platters filled with bread, cheese and cold chicken and placed them on the long table set near the hearth. The housekeeper introduced her helpers as Clarimond and Joan. Both curtsied, their puzzled gazes going back and forth between Cinnia and Louvaen before they fled to the kitchen. Magda chuckled as she laid out the repast and gestured for the sisters to sit. “They’re looking for some resemblance.”
Louvaen smiled. “Everyone does when they first see us together.” They’d dealt with it all their lives. Cinnia, dainty and blonde, was the perfect counterpoint to the statuesque, dark-haired Louvaen.
“You have the same chin.” Magda tipped the pitcher she carried and refilled their mugs with the spiced ale.
“That’s our father’s contribution.” Cinnia picked at a chicken leg with her fingers. “Otherwise, we look most like our mothers. Papa says Lou’s mother Gull was even taller than
“Is there nothing you can do to relieve his suffering?” Louvaen wasn’t one to cry over a crushed spider, but the idea of a man repeatedly broken on such a brutal wheel made her sick to her soul. Gods, how she hated magic.
Ambrose shook his head. “No. The dominus is strong and the flux temporary. He’ll get through it.”
“Are you sure? He sounds like he’s being hacked into several pieces right now.”
“I’m sure. This isn’t the first time he’s survived a flux. It won’t be his last.”
The lackadaisical attitude of de Sauveterre’s household toward their master’s distress flummoxed her. The noises he made almost had her running through this unknown place in an effort to search him out and do what she could to put him out of his misery.
Cinnia must have read her thoughts in her expression. “There’s nothing we can do, Lou, except wait and give him comfort when it’s over.”
Louvaen had stepped into some twisted fairytale, complete with magic born of the left hand path, a sorcerer who deemed her intelligent as a turnip and a lord tortured in his own home by an unseen tormentor without a drop of mercy. She leveled a long stare on her sister. “Are you sure you want to stay?”
“Yes.”
She was bone-tired and the only reason she conceded to that one request. “I’ll stay for one night and do as you ask—listen to what you have to say regarding saving Papa from Jimenin.” Cinnia clapped her hands. Louvaen raised a finger, and she paused. “I’m not agreeing to anything beyond that, including leaving you here. I’ll knock you unconscious and tie you to the saddle if I have to.”
Cinnia threw her arms around her. “Thank you, Lou.”
Louvaen hugged her back, guilt making her flinch. There was something infinitely wrong when such small a thing as her acquiescence made her sister so jubilant. She gazed at Ambrose over Cinnia’s shoulder. He watched her, dislike narrowing his eyes and tightening his mouth. The same curiosity glinting in Magda’s gaze earlier tempered his disapproving expression. No doubt her countenance mirrored his, except for the interest. She planned to stay out of his way while she was here.
“Magda will serve you supper and show you the room where you’ll sleep tonight.” Ambrose inclined his head and left them in the hall. Good as his words, Magda and two younger women entered the hall carry platters filled with bread, cheese and cold chicken and placed them on the long table set near the hearth. The housekeeper introduced her helpers as Clarimond and Joan. Both curtsied, their puzzled gazes going back and forth between Cinnia and Louvaen before they fled to the kitchen. Magda chuckled as she laid out the repast and gestured for the sisters to sit. “They’re looking for some resemblance.”
Louvaen smiled. “Everyone does when they first see us together.” They’d dealt with it all their lives. Cinnia, dainty and blonde, was the perfect counterpoint to the statuesque, dark-haired Louvaen.
“You have the same chin.” Magda tipped the pitcher she carried and refilled their mugs with the spiced ale.
“That’s our father’s contribution.” Cinnia picked at a chicken leg with her fingers. “Otherwise, we look most like our mothers. Papa says Lou’s mother Gull was even taller than
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