He picked me up and stood me upright on my feet. I punched him in the neck. Not very hard and not very fast. I missed.
“The medmage is here.”
“I don’t need a medmage.” I yawned.
He picked me up, carried me into the bathroom, and set me in front of the mirror. I had acquired a lovely reddish-purple color. Both of my shoulders had turned raspberry red. The edges of my wounds were puffy. Irene must’ve had something nasty on her blades, or maybe Mishmar wasn’t the most sterile environment to get cut in. My left hip, my knees—and probably my back, judging by the lake of pain that pulled in my trapezius muscles—were a deep blue, too.
“My impersonation of a peacock is proceeding as planned.”
“Not funny.” Curran’s expression could’ve stopped a raging bear in his tracks.
I had tried to seduce him after the shower but he wasn’t having any of it. He packed me into the bed, and I was making some sort of smartass quip about his new powers post-saber-tooth-devouring, and then there was nothing. Here’s hoping I didn’t fall asleep in mid-sentence.
Yep, I probably did.
In fact, I could totally sleep more. I could lie down on this nice cold floor and nap. I yawned again.
“Curran, where are you going?”
“To make breakfast.”
Sleep evaporated. My eyes snapped open. If I didn’t get downstairs in the next ten minutes, he’d smoke out the kitchen again with bacon.
I made it down in time to save the bacon from a terrible fate. Curran had brought in Nellie Kerning, one of the medmages the Guild frequently hired. She had set up camp at our dining room table. She was short, plump, and in her early fifties. She also took no prisoners, which was why Curran must’ve called her in the first place.
“Strip.”
I pulled off most of my clothes, leaving on my sports bra and underwear. A woman had to have limits. Nellie examined me.
I caught Curran giving me an interested look. Was he actually . . . Yep, he was checking me out. Yeah, where were you last night, buddy? I would’ve stayed awake . . . Well, no. Probably not.
“Did you play tag with a rock troll?” Nellie asked.
“No.” My aunt played tennis with me against the walls. But explaining that would cramp my style.
Where was my aunt?
Nellie sighed. “Why does everyone have to be a hard case? Is it in your job description?”
“Yes. Also I know a were–honey badger you would really like.”
“Mm-hm. Let’s see if we can salvage this mess.”
She was fifteen minutes into the chant when Andrea and Raphael walked through the door, followed by Robert.
“Would it kill you to knock?” I asked.
“Would it kill you to lock your door?” Andrea marched over to me and handed Baby B over. “Here, hold my kid.”
Oh boy. I took Baby B. She looked at me and yawned.
Raphael very carefully avoided looking at undressed me and went into the kitchen.
“First, Dali survived, so you can stop freaking out,” Andrea said. “And don’t get any ideas about things being awkward between us because of what happened. Things are not awkward.”
“Things are awkward,” Robert said. “Your father ordered a hit on the heir of Clan Bouda, and his assassin injured the Consort.”
“Done,” Nellie said. “I’ll bill you.”
I waited until she left, gave the baby back to Andrea, and pulled on my T-shirt and my shorts.
“Is she recovering okay?” I asked.
“I’m forbidden to answer any questions,” Robert said.
“What do you mean, forbidden?” Curran asked. The tone of his voice wasn’t friendly.
Robert stood a little straighter.
“He means Jim flipped the fuck out.” Raphael stole a piece of bacon off the plate. “You and everyone who separated with you are on the Do Not Talk To list. He can’t forbid you to visit the Keep because it’s against the law, but your access will be severely restricted. And he gagged anyone employed in an official capacity, like Robert here. But unlike Robert, I don’t hold an administrative position outside my clan, so I don’t care what the fuck he thinks.”
Andrea grinned at him. Somebody had earned a whole bunch of awesome husband points.
“He’s thinking with his gut instead of his brain,” Raphael said. “Nobody realized Jezebel was a double agent, so in his mind, if she was one, anybody could be one. His gut reaction is to shut down the flow of information, fortify, and . . .”
“Retaliate,” Curran said, his face grim.
“He can’t retaliate,” I said.
“I can’t answer questions,” Robert said. “But I can listen to advice. He didn’t forbid me to listen.”
“Is there proof that Jezebel acted on Roland’s orders?” Curran asked.
Robert didn’t answer.
“Probably not,” Andrea said. “If there is, that information hasn’t been shared with us.”
“In the absence of proof,” Curran said, “to outsiders this looks like one member of the Pack attacked another. It’s a Pack matter.”
“If Jim retaliated in force against my father, it would mean a declaration of war,” I said. “He and the Pack are within the land I protect. Roland wants war, but he doesn’t want to break the treaty. He will seize any opportunity. Jim’s actions will be viewed as an unprovoked attack.”