“No,” Breanna said firmly, “I don’t think you do.” Since her hands were trembling again, she didn’t try to pick up her tea. “I live in the Old Place with my family. Liam and I only got to know each other a few weeks ago. His mother, Elinore, is kin to us, and his gift from the Mother comes down through her. He didn’t know it was in him until the need to save me from the nighthunters broke the barriers inside him. And now…” She trailed off, remembering the mortified expression on Liam’s face.

“It’s a natural function,” Selena said.

“So is farting, and he’d probably have preferred to embarrass himself that way in mixed company than setting a pile of arrows on fire,” Breanna replied tartly. She picked up her cup and saucer. Selena’s sudden, rich laughter surprised her enough to bobble the cup, slopping tea into the saucer.

“You’re younger than he is, aren’t you?” Selena’s gray-green eyes danced with humor.

“What makes you think that?” Breanna asked warily.

“Younger sisters have no mercy.”

Breanna tipped her head. “You have a younger sister?”

Selena walked over to the table, took her tea and a thin sandwich. “I do.”

“Would she like a dog?”

It was the caution in Selena’s expression, overlaid with humor, that confirmed for Breanna that, however powerful Selena might be, she was still one of the Mother’s Daughters at heart.

“I don’t think so,” Selena said just as Gwenn limped into the room.

“Is the tea still hot?” Gwenn asked, sounding grumpy.

“Hot enough,” Breanna replied, setting her own down to pour some for Gwenn. “What took you so long?”

“Donovan.” Gwenn flopped on the couch with no grace whatsoever. “First he tries to convince me to stay upstairs, in bed, to rest my ankle, which wouldn’t have gotten twisted in the first place if he hadn’t shoved me to the ground and thrown himself on top of me. Then, when I tell him I’m going to come down and have tea with the two of you, he wants me to have a bowl of chicken soup. I don’t want chicken soup. I don’t like chicken soup.”

Breanna glanced at Selena, relieved to see the same puzzled expression she was sure was on her own face. “Chicken soup for a twisted ankle?”

“I swear gentry fathers take their sons aside on the night before the wedding and tell them that chicken soup is the secret to a happy marriage, that it is the cure for anything that ails a wife,” Gwenn grumbled.

“I never would have guessed chicken soup as the subject to discuss on the night before a wedding,” Breanna said blandly.

Selena leaned forward, her expression innocent. “Do you eat a lot of chicken soup, Gwenn?”