Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) by Steele Alexandra Page B

had
earned her reputation for heartlessness.
     “Who is she?” Spencer asked, gesturing to a
young woman who was walking with the Queen, linked arm in arm with her. He
hadn’t noticed her at first, he’d been so upset by the appearance of the Queen,
but now he was somewhat baffled by her. She looked rather calm for someone who
was walking arm in arm with the devil.
    “That’s Dimity,” Lorna told him. “She’s our
grandmother’s favorite.”
    “By favorite,” Daphne said, “she means that Dimity
is the only one of us that our grandmother doesn’t want to behead. Dimity does
everything for our grandmother. She helps her with everything… she knows all of
her secrets.” But somehow Spencer doubted that anyone knew all of the Queen’s
secrets.
    With an
expression of utmost disdain, Dimity watched the Fool cavorting about, the curl
of her lip echoing her grandmother’s scowl. Even if he hadn’t know she was the
favorite, Spencer would have guessed from the way Dimity seemed to mimic her
grandmother’s expressions, in that odd way that close family members sometimes
come to after a number of years. Several women stood attentively near the Queen,
and Daphne began to single them out one by one. “That’s Felunhala. She’s the
court witch. We’ll take you to visit Melisande tomorrow. She’s Felunhala’s
apprentice. She’s awfully interesting.” Spencer wasn’t sure when the princesses
had decided that he was their new pet, but he wasn’t particularly pleased with
his new role. Then again, a visit to the apartments of the court witch did
sound intriguing. He craned his neck to try to catch a better glimpse of the
woman, but her back was turned.
    Lorna
directed his attention the other way, to a short, richly robed young woman.
“That’s our sister Eudora. She’s a terrible gossip.” Indeed, Eudora seemed to
be deep in conversation with a few Ladies of the Court, and even as they
watched she leaned in close to whisper something into the ear of one of the
ladies.
    “There’s
the court prophet,” Daphne pointed out a tall man in an absurd hat. “Grandmamma
has relied on his prophecy since Cicely stopped talking.”
    Spencer
was unfamiliar with that particular chapter of royal history, so Lorna and
Daphne filled him in on the series of events that had led to Justine’s imprisonment,
as the spectacle spun on around them.
    ***
    When Melisande
first saw him she thought he was a ghost. She turned to reach for a book and he
was standing there, looming in the doorway, bone-white in the face with livid
shadows under his eyes. Then, while her gaze was still on his lips, searching
for some sign that he drew breath, and was not some specter visiting from
beyond the grave, he spoke.
    “I am
Doctor Archibald Rathbone of Arkestra. I am searching for the Castle Witch.”
    He was
human, then, alive though his appearance pointed to the contrary. He was from
her home province, too.
    “These
are her chambers.” Melisande’s voice was strangely raspy, and she realized that
she hadn’t spoken in hours as she ceaselessly toiled over the lake spell. It
was startling how hopeless she was when it came to water, given her talents
with flame. “Felunhala is at Court, attending the Queen. I am her apprentice.
How may I help you?”
    His
eyelids fluttered rapidly, as though the question had taken him by surprise.
“Well, you see,” he began, stepping into the rooms and closing the door behind
him. “It’s about the beast, you see. Well, it began with him. I’ve since come
to realize, that, well, the whole place is entirely overrun,” he gestured
expansively, though whether he referred to the castle or the country or the
continent Melisande couldn’t be sure. “But that’s beside the point. It’s about
the beast, you see.”
    It took
Melisande a moment to find her voice again in the face of his odd behavior.
“What kind of beast?” She asked finally.
    His eyes
flicked erratically to her face, and then back to