“Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek.
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