I sniffed myself. I did not want to face Gertie like this. That trip today hadn’t been my idea, but freaked out people tended not to remember things like that. And if I was going to get a dressing down, I’d like to do it dressed up for once, or “properly attired,” as Agnes had put it.

I needed the Edwardian version of a power suit, only I didn’t have one.

Luckily, I knew someone who did.

I headed for Rhea’s room down the hall.

She somehow kept her wardrobe spotless, despite wrestling around on the floor with Agnes half the time. I suspected magic, not that any amount of it would save what I’d been wearing today. But we were close enough in size that maybe I could borrow—

Or not, I thought, glancing in her partly open door.

Rhea wasn’t alone, which on its own was not surprising. Unlike me, she was popular among the acolytes, who were pleased to have someone else to take the position of Agnes’ chew toy. Whenever we visited, two or three of them could usually be found in Rhea’s room, sipping tea, playing whist, or gossiping about court affairs. Sometimes, I also suspected them of giving her pointers, because seeing Agnes dumped on her ass was some of the girls’ fondest dream.

So, it was a little odd that, tonight, the girl sitting on the bed behind Rhea and combing out my acolyte’s long, dark hair was… Agnes herself.

Okay.

Hadn’t seen that one coming.

They looked like another painting, maybe “Sweet Sisterhood” this time, although they were mother and daughter. But they were also more or less the same age at the moment, and the resemblance was striking when you saw them together. Especially when they weren’t yelling at each other for once.

Instead, Rhea had her eyes closed, with the lamplight gilding her pale skin. Her hair was gilded, too, only it was too dark to reflect much light, just rippling down her back like a brown river. But it was the expression on her face that stopped me, halting my hand on the way to the door and making me pause in the hallway like some voyeur.

Yet the only thing happening inside the room was what looked like an Edwardian slumber party. Both girls were in robes, with high necked, frilly nightgowns peeking out of the top. Your neck just never got a break in this era, did it?

But I didn’t laugh at my own joke, because there was nothing funny about the look on Rhea’s face. It was heartbreaking, although I couldn’t have said why. But there was something so incredibly vulnerable about it, so raw, so expressive even with her eyes closed, that it made me gasp in sympathy.

Which is why they saw me before I could beat a retreat.