Page 34 of The Baker and the Wolf

Gisella rolls her eyes. “Where is your brain today, child? Your new beau, Jean-Paul Carteret!”

When understanding hits, I manage to contain my disgust and merely shake my head. “Do you mean that middle-aged man you entertained at dinner last night? He’s not my beau. Why, he must be nearly your age, Gisella.”

Her eyes go cold, and she grips my forearm tightly. “Where. Were. You.”

“As I said, I was with my grandmére. I have so many questions to ask her, so much to learn about my father and his family! We had a lovely tea—” I continue to gush even as my mother’s blue magic floods my emotions with suspicion and criticism of Rina and her motives. I furtively categorize those emotions by their origin and set them aside, then deliberately falter in my narrative and assume a puzzled frown. “I do wonder why she never made an effort to meet us before,” I muse aloud.

Gisella’s expression smooths into sympathy. “Darling, I’m sure she’s had her reasons, and I’m delighted you’re getting to know each other. You really should invite your sisters along so Severina can meet their children.” She pauses, sighs, and I feel another bombardment of fae magic. “You know, I’ve been remiss as a daughter-in-law. You told me yesterday that you met her in a little place outside of town. Can you tell me where?”

I keep my expression open and submissive. “I’m honestly not sure. She always sends a guide to lead me there and uses some magic too, I think. It was early in the morning today—still dark—and I didn’t pay attention on the way back, so I couldn’t begin to tell you how to get there.”

“Do you think you’ll be visiting again soon?”

Bells and whistles go off in my head, but I do a good job of hiding them. I don’t dare try to use my magic—she would know. “I expect she might send for me again tomorrow, but I really shouldn’t neglect the bakery again.”

A dainty shrug. “Never mind that, darling. You’ve obviously been working too hard.” She lifts the cloth in my basket and inspects the leftover pastries, tilting her head. “Tell you what. I’ll go down to the cellar and select a bottle of wine, some cheeses, a few apples, and a pretty basket.” She taps my serviceable basket. “Something much prettier than this old thing. I’ll add some of these pastries if you like, but they’re looking rather sad.”

“Are we having a picnic?” I ask, genuinely puzzled.

She gifts me with a patient smile. “No, dear. I want you to deliver it all with my good wishes to Severina, along with an invitation to dine at the manor this coming Sunday.”

I can’t help myself. “You want her to dine with us? Here?” The words sort of burst from my mouth before I can stop them.

Gisella scrunches her face, stares at the floor, and shakes her head sadly. “I know. It is time—long past time—for me to form a civil acquaintance with my former mother-in-law, my daughters’ only living grandmére. I believe . . .” She pauses, heaves a deep breath, and tries again, pushing another blue wave of emotion at me. “I believe your father would wish it. He would want good relationships among his womenfolk. So many long years have passed, but now that she’s come to our city at last, I must set aside all slights and offenses and do my best to forgive and befriend my beloved Gerard’s mother.”

I stare blankly at her, thinking fast amid her emotional bombardment. If I give in too easily, she’ll suspect. “Mama, you’ve always called her an evil enchantress.”

“Did I call her that when you told me you’d met her?”

“No,” I admitted.

“See? I’ve grown out of resenting her so much.” She takes the cashbox from me. “You go dress for dinner. It’s a small party tonight, so nothing too fancy.”

“All right.” My voice sounds wary, but that’s probably good.

My sisters make that dinner party enjoyable. Charlotte’s mother-in-law kindly agreed to babysit Suzette’s son as well as her own grandchild, offering both couples an evening to relax together. Watching the two happy pairs during our meal, I wonder what they would think of Benoît Ayad—I still think of him as Barbaro, but I’m practicing with his real name.

Sometime during his captivity, the wild boy he was must have been trained in the social graces, since his manners are impeccable. His clothing is rough, yet he wears it like a noble lord—at least, the way I imagine a noble lord must look. His speech and bearing remind me of Papa. Maybe my grandparents took the time to educate their prisoner?

Gisella’s baker sits beside me tonight. I treat him as one of my stepfather’s friends, although really, Papa Louis-Baptiste is so absent-minded that I often wonder how he manages to keep friends, let alone act as the mayor of Chartreuse. His first wife supposedly died of natural causes. Dare I hope Gisella wasn’t involved? Studying him now, I detect a faint, blue-tinged aura about him. The poor man!

Who knows? The baker might also be under her control, but I suspect he’s a natural toady. I fob off his remarks with polite inanities while interacting mostly with my sisters.

I missed them terribly these past few years, yet I was so lost in Gisella’s cloud of spells that I didn’t recognize my loneliness. If only I could introduce them to Barbaro! Suzette’s boisterous humor would amuse him, and Charlotte is kind and clever and fabulously creative even aside from her magical gift. I hardly know their husbands, but my sisters seem happy and content, which is telling.

All evening, I sense Gisella’s surveillance. She doesn’t attempt to magically control or influence me amid so many guests, but she sneaks glances my way, asks me leading questions, and laughs too much.

After saying polite farewells to Gisella’s guests and hugging my sisters, I head upstairs and change out of my one good dress. Mama insisted on putting up my hair tonight, and it’s such a relief to let it down. When Édith brings up my cup of hot milk, she chatters at me in her childish way until I almost physically escort her into the hall. “But your milk is getting cold, and I need to take the cup back down,” she protests at the door.

“I promise to take it to the kitchen in the morning. Go on now. I was up extra early this morning and really need my sleep.” I open the door and hold her gaze, waiting. I hate to imagine that the maids are involved in Gisella’s machinations, but in all likelihood she does control them to some extent. Although I feel for the poor girl, there’s no way in the world I will drink that milk tonight.

As soon as her footsteps on the stairs fade out of hearing, I open my window. Miette sits outside, looking at me. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you in earlier,” I whisper. Why do I feel the need to explain my actions to a cat? “Please come in, girl. I really need the support tonight.”

She bobs her head with a little trill and almost leaps into my room. While I quietly close the window and brush my hair, she patrols, her pink nose sniffing, her wide eyes scanning every nook. With one mighty bound into a ceiling corner, she rips down what looks like a cobweb, and shreds it with her claws. I feel a puff of magic—my magic mixed with the blue magic—and the web vanishes.

I stare from the empty place between Miette’s paws to the ceiling corner, then straight into her wide eyes. “What was it?” I whisper.

Her tail twitches as if to mock my useless question. A spying device, no doubt. She trots over to rub around my ankles, gives me another affectionate trill, then hops into my bed. Purring and kneading my blankets, she settles down to sleep. I can only smile.

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