![]() “Not you, I don’t think.” Raine put out a hand. The rest of us mere mortals – plus Twil – hovered around the doorway as the mages conferred. ![]() Not exactly difficult.Įvelyn unlocked the door to the ex-drawing room and showed Christine Hopton – High Priestess of the Brinkwood Cult – what she’d been up to these past weeks. I was cast in the role of the bowing and scraping adviser, the voice of cool-headed diplomacy, the one to thank for this chance, and I played along as best I could, trying to look harried and put-upon and twitchy. Lots of “against my better judgement” and “do not mistake this for weakness”, ending on a warning not to even dream about stealing any books, an injunction which drew a snapped complaint from Twil, and earned Twil a sharp rebuke from her mother. ![]() Gone was her conspiratorial amusement from our private moment, replaced once more with a hunched, scowling, lash-tongued performance. Deception set my head spinning when Evelyn stomped back into the kitchen with me scurrying behind her, to be met by polite but confused looks from our guests, I couldn’t tell how much of her ire was real and how much was acting.
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