Claire was dipping a cloth into the water when Bayard asked his questions. The latter question made her gut clench briefly in guilt. She wrung out the cloth and faced him. As always, seeing him lounging so casually in her home warmed her insides, despite the circumstances. “I’ve been well. Preparing for winter, as you can see.” She gestured to the apples on the table. “And, aye, the herbs were to my liking. But that’s not surprising, as you’re the one that sent them.”
She smiled at him and returned to Leo, laying the cloth on his forehead. It occurred to her that she could easily poison the boy and say that he had not been able to survive the fever. It had come on far too soon, after all. Bayard would accept whatever she said and probably would be so relieved in his heart that he wouldn’t question it too closely. Already, she could see the dark threads of warlock magic snaking through the boy’s pristine aura and her magic recoiled in horror at the sight of the ancient enemy of witches.
♘—He grinned back at her comment and popped another grape into his mouth, then shortly afterward found a small jar of jam that had already been preserved for the winter. One look back at her and he popped it open, dipping a grape inside. “Mmm…did you make this one?"
True, he was distracting himself with the food. He was no healer and knew nothing of the art. The only thing he knew was that the little boy who had brought light into his life no matter how much he drove him up the walls was now lying ashen-faced with an irreversible poison coursing through his veins. He was helpless, and felt as he always did when his men were at the mercy of a Witch Healer. Prayers to the Guardians and magical expertise. He trusted in her abilities and would trust no other as much as he did Claire’s.
