Lennox was still smiling, but it was stretched far too wide, and he reminded me of a puppet in a child’s nightmare. “We’ve come to see Hereswith. To go as far as we can before stepping into the mountain duchy.”

“The mountain duchy is no more,” Papa said. “And Hereswith would have been better prepared if we had known of your visit.”

“Yes, well, it was a sudden change in plans,” said Lennox, and he glanced at his brother. Phelan was silent, but his eyes were on me, dark and inscrutable. On the gleam of weapons I wore at my hips.

“Come, then,” my father said, indicating the table, where Imonie had just finished setting down dinner platters. “Eat with us tonight. Refresh yourselves. You must indeed be weary from a long journey.”

“And we thank you for your generous hospitality, Mr. Madigan,” Lennox said, and unbuckled his belt, leaving his rapier by the door.

Phelan followed suit, but I was not about to shed my weapons, even if it went against all manners to partake in a meal armed. The four of us arrived at the table, and an awkward moment passed. The guests were to take their seats first, to lower themselves in gratitude, but the magicians were not sitting.

No, Phelan was staring at the meal that was spread between us, and Lennox was staring at me.

“Forgive me for asking, Miss Clementine,” Lennox drawled. “But do you always take part in a meal with weapons on your belt?”

“It depends on the night,” I replied. “And the company.”

Lennox laughed, a garish sound that instantly set me on edge. Like Mazarine’s laughter had. I felt my hands gripping the back of my chair, my knuckles draining white, and I wished I had let them knock on her door.

Phelan finally broke the tension. He drew back his chair, sitting with an elegance that was reminiscent of a waltz. My father and I waited for his brother to also relent, and then we were gathered at the table, ready to eat.

My stomach was wound in a knot, but I put a proper amount of food on my plate. Venison with currant jelly, rosemary potatoes, glazed carrots and beets, boiled eggs, and a cold salad of fruit and toasted nuts.

Imonie was pouring ginger beer in our glasses when Lennox sniffed his napkin, studied the water stains on his fork, and then cleared his throat.

“Do you mind if I cast a cantrip, Mr. Madigan?”

My father sounded wary. “What sort of spell is necessary during dinner?”

“To see what ingredients are in the food. I have a delicate disposition.”

I snorted, only to draw everyone’s attention. I raised my glass to them and drank, to hide the curl of my lips.

“Just eat the food, Lee,” Phelan murmured with a twinge of mortification.