“Hardly. He didn’t realize I’d been sent to kill him, but I’d have been tempted to off him anyway after that; he thought he was offering to do me a favor. But the odd thing is that Guelf and Mary Liu blamed me anyway, even though they think the Dúnedain did it . . . which they were intended to do, of course. Idiots. They screwed the entire timing of the Protector’s War with their little scheme for vengeance and then their not-even-idiotic brother got caught. I increased the average intelligence of the human race by getting him before he could successfully breed. Still, it’s a pity about the girl.”

She sighed and took a deep breath. Before she could speak, Delia murmured: “You know, darling, that’s a familiar look. It sort of reminds me of the time we were at Forest Grove and Diomede and Lioncel walked in on us and their eyes bugged out and you had to tell them about the birds and the bees . . . and the birds and the birds and the bees and the bees, and then Rigobert came in looking for them and he heard and he started laughing and I thought you were going to strangle him, standing there in your bathrobe. Or the time Lioncel was all indignant about the song accusing me of being a witch and we had to tell him I am a witch and explain about real witches.”

“Speaking of which, witch . . . it’s time for a talk about religion.”

“And you’d rather pull your toenails out with your teeth,” Delia observed, and then gurgled laughter at her start. “I’d be a very unobservant witch if I didn’t know you well after fifteen years, love. You don’t just let sleeping dogs lie, you prefer to bury them and plant a tree on the grave. For someone so brave you can be so chicken sometimes.”

Tiphaine knelt on the rug and extended her right hand, twitching back the fall of the houppelande. The overlong cuff on her shirt slid up, exposing the seamed pucker of white on the back of her right hand. Delia’s face went pale, throwing the spray of freckles across her cheeks into high relief. She gasped as she pulled it across her lap for a better look.

“Why haven’t you shown it to me?” demanded Delia, bending the hand and carefully tracing the length of the scar. “What happened! You were talking about idiots and then keeping this secret?”

“I was afraid it was a danger to you . . . and Heuradys,” Tiphaine said, which halted Delia’s tirade in midword. “And it was. Dangerous to you and her; which means I was entirely justified; plus reasons of state. Mary Liu did this.”

“What? In person?”

“With her embroidery needle.”