Chapter 12 In which Marigold is a carrier pigeon #2
“Why?” Marigold sat down on the shingle, with a heavy feeling. “I suppose it must be some ploy to gain his sympathy.” She looked up. “Never mind that. What happened next?”
“Wooten was hiding under the table, clinging to the leg. When Drumpellier turned away to trim a candle wick, Wooten grabbed the chance. He flew out and tipped half the cup’s contents down his throat, almost knocking the glass over.
The duke grabbed it, Wooten hid, and when Drumpellier turned around, it looked like his grace had drunk of the potion. ”
“And then?”
“The duke drank the rest. To save his companion, I think, from drinking any more. Though Wooten rapidly became in no state to carry out any more heroic consumption. He collapsed into an unresponsive heap on the floor, and the duke hid him with his foot. Fortunately, Drumpellier left soon afterwards, after his grace finished the wine.”
“Steaming sunlight,” muttered Marigold, her heart wrenching for Wooten. “What a disaster. And the duke? Did he become stupid again?”
“Fear not, his grace thew up the wine straight away,” continued Yvette. “Under my instruction. He vomited into a pillowcase, and I took it away and dumped it behind the barracks.”
“That was good of you,” admitted Marigold, for it would have been an unpleasant task. “I have this for him.” She stuck her leg out, bending to untie the letter. “It is from Lady Avely, explaining things.”
Yvette watched with interest. “An interesting use of such a neatly turned ankle. I am not sure that I approve.”
Marigold hid her blush. “I don’t need your approval. And your ankle is going to have to bear the same burden.”
“Will you tie it on for me, please?” Yvette sat down beside Marigold, stretching out a long leg from under her cape. Her ankle, Marigold noted, was very elegant indeed. In fact, she didn’t know if she’d seen such a fascinating ankle in the whole of her existence.
“I shall not!”
Yvette fluttered her long lashes. “Miss Cultor, I wish to know that you trust me with this task. And that I trust you. Tie it on, please, as a demonstration of our alliance.”
Marigold gulped. Then she reasoned to herself that this way she could assure Judith that the precious letter had been tightly secured.
She bent and wound the string around Yvette’s ankle, her fingers brushing against skin.
Yvette was pale but warm, and Marigold felt her whole body flush with the intimacy of it.
“Still feeding on cows, are you?” she demanded, to hide her reaction.
Yvette suddenly looked away. “Ah, not exactly.”
“What do you mean?” Marigold tied a complicated knot to stay bound, but not too tight. She wouldn’t want Miss Frenchy to have her circulation restricted.
There was a pause. “I fed from the duke before I left.”
Marigold started back, glaring with accusation. “Are you trying to steal him from Wooten?”
There was a flash of hurt in Yvette’s eyes. “No. I was trying to help his grace. If the duke is to use his Gift again, he must guard against Bemusement.” She paused. “And I needed strength for the flight.”
Marigold folded her arms, wishing again that she had brought a cape. It was more difficult to deliver a scolding when one was stark naked. “The duke could continue to feed Wooten.”
“He has. But we cannot be sure that the bond will still provide its usual benefits, when Wooten’s mind is so addled. And the last thing his grace needs now is more addlement.”
Marigold paced along the shingle of the roof, away from the infuriating creature. “Has Wooten regained consciousness?”
“For a little while. He was like a child, completely confused.” Yvette shivered. “He was courageous to make such a sacrifice.”
Marigold shuddered also. It had been a brave act, certainly.
And foolish. She wondered if she could have done the same for Judith.
She thought not—but she had only been Judith’s companion for a short while, unlike Wooten, who had been with the duke for years.
The Musor bond seemed to have unfortunate side effects.
The longer it lasted, the more likely a vampiri would do idiotic things for their companion.
She eyed Yvette thoughtfully. Perhaps she also had been coerced into villainy.
“Was Wooten unfairly driven by his blood bond?” she asked abruptly. “Were you, with your companion?”
Yvette regarded her steadily. “I am afraid not, Miss Cultor. Both Wooten and I were acting of our own volition and in defence of someone we loved.” She paused.
“My companion rescued me after I left France, years ago. I was grateful. I was not seeing clearly, not because of the bond, but because I wished to keep my friend.”
Marigold found she had nothing to say to that, so she hunched her shoulder away. After a moment, she muttered, “Is there any other news that I must report to Judith?”
“Yes,” said Yvette. “I’m afraid that they have moved his grace to a different cell, looking onto a training courtyard. I can draw a map for you.”
“But why have they moved him?” Marigold suspected that Judith would not like this news.
“He is being tested now; his strength and fighting skill pitted against soldiers. They say it is to give him an outlet for his aggression, but to me it looks very much like they are training him.”
“Training him?” Marigold repeated. “For what?”
“I think they are planning to put him to use,” said Yvette coolly. “For what, I do not know. But it is for some sort of violence, that is clear.”