Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) by Christopher Nuttall Page A

ward clearly had a sharp tongue and a desire for independence that matched Gwen’s.
    They could have married her off by now , she thought. As their ward, Raechel Slater-Standish could have been pushed into marrying anyone willing to take her. But if some of the rumours about her conduct were actually true, she would find it hard to marry anyone unless her uncle issued a fairly considerable bribe. And instead they’re taking her to Russia?
    “You can lay this fire,” Irene said. “And then light it properly.”
    Gwen nodded and set to work. Laying a fire, at least, was something she could do. Some of the servants had refused to enter her room when she was a child, even though she’d promised not to try to hurt them. The young Gwen had had no choice but to learn to set up her own fires, just to keep her room warm. And when her mother had refused to allow her to keep any firelighters in her room, she’d learned how to use magic to start the fire. In hindsight, that might not have been the smartest thing to do. It would have been distressingly easy to accidentally set the entire house on fire.
    “Excellent,” Irene said. “And you know how to make tea and coffee?”
    “Yes, My Lady,” Gwen said.
    “Let us see,” Irene said. She nodded towards a table, where a tray of cups, a jug of milk and a kettle were waiting for them. “Heat up the water, then make us some tea.”
    Gwen concentrated, using magic to heat the water. Moments later, Irene slapped her bottom hard enough to sting. “Magic,” she snapped, as Gwen glared at her. “You can’t use magic!”
    “I’m sorry,” Gwen muttered. She rubbed her behind, then picked up the kettle, placed it over the fire and waited for it to heat up. Using magic to heat water had been one of the earliest tricks Master Thomas had taught her, using the prospect of accidentally scalding herself as a teaching tool. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
    Irene leaned forward. “If you want to call it off, say so now,” she said. “Lord Mycroft will not object to sending someone else.”
    Gwen winced. Part of her wanted to give up now, particularly when she still made stupid mistakes that could betray her identity. And she knew the odds against finding Olivia were terrifyingly high. But she couldn’t simply abandon her daughter, no matter the odds. Olivia was her child, in everything but blood. What sort of mother would she be if she just left Olivia to her fate?
    “I’ll go,” she said, as the kettle started to boil. She took it off the fire and poured hot water into the teapot, then stirred it carefully. Her father liked his tea strong, if she recalled correctly, while her mother preferred a weaker brew. The maids had always had to time their work carefully, just to avoid upsetting one or the other of their employers. “I’m damned if I will leave her there all alone.”
    She poured milk into the cups, then added the tea. Irene took one of the cups, sniffed suspiciously, then nodded and started to sip it. Gwen took her cup, then hesitated, unsure if she should sit down or remain standing. It was vanishingly rare for the servants to drink with their masters. But Irene had said they would both drink ...
    “Sit down,” Irene said, quietly. Gwen realised her shields had started to slip and flushed again. “You’re not doing too badly, but there are other things you need to know.”
    She picked up a sheet of paper and made a show of reading it. “Your file states that you spent two years working for Lord Carmichael prior to his departure for the colonies,” she continued. “You won’t be branded as completely inexperienced, but Lord Carmichael was somewhat eccentric and no one will expect perfection. More to the point, you were also responsible for taking care of his daughter, Heather Carmichael.”
    “Yes, My Lady,” Gwen said, remembering the file. Lord Carmichael was not only eccentric, he was one of Lord Mycroft’s personal friends. If Lady Standish contacted