Page 78 of Spark of the Everflame

When I burst in, still gasping for breath, a wave of confused blue-eyed stares turned my direction.

“I’m looking for the master of the house,” I blurted out. “Could one of you help me?”

An older woman covered in flour wiped her hands on her apron, then walked over and leaned in close. “And who are you?”

“A healer. I came to treat the little girl. I need to, um, get my payment. That’s all.”

She gave me a disdainful glare. “You can’t be in here. No outsiders allowed near the family’s food. Now we’re going to have to throw all this out and cook it again.”

My eyes rolled entirely of their own free will. “Oh for the love of the Flames, is that really necessar—”

“TheFlames?”

My mouth clicked shut.

The woman snatched me by the arm and roughly dragged me down the hall. Lorris and a much older man appeared at the opposite end, fixing me with a pair of matching scowls.

Oh, those two weredefinitelyrelated.

I flashed them a sheepish smile. “Made a wrong turn and got a bit lost in the kitchens, but this nice lady kindly offered to help me find my way.”

The woman threw me a scowl of her own that left me wondering ifshewas related, too.

“I just need to get my payment, if you don’t mind,” I hurried out. “Three gold marks.”

I honestly wanted no part of their money, particularly if the cause of the girl’s illness was what I feared. But to forego payment would raise even more suspicion, and at the moment, my survival instincts outstripped my guilt.

The father looked supremely irritated as he dug around in a pouch on his waistbelt, then held the heavy coins out toward me.

My hand wobbled as I plucked them from his palm and dropped them into my satchel. “I left some medicine in your daughter’s room. Don’t hesitate to send for us again if she doesn’t improve.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then arched an eyebrow. “Is there more, or are you done wasting my time?”

In my head, I rattled off some exquisitely colorful commentary on his parenting style, but I knew too well that with men like this, it would be the more vulnerable members of his family who paid the price if my temper wounded his ego.

So I held my tongue, smiled sweetly, then power-walked toward the door at a blistering pace one could only describe asget-me-the-hell-out-of-here.

ChapterEighteen

“Henri Albanon, I’m going tomurderyou.”

Henri lounged against a stone pillar outside the family’s home, half-hidden by a tree laden with blooming ivory camellias. I stomped past him, refusing to pause on my warpath for the street.

He jogged behind me. “What happened? Did you get anything useful?”

I didn’t answer at first, too focused on soothing the adrenaline scalding my veins.

“Diem, wait.” He tugged on my arm, but I jerked it out of his grip. “Are you alright?”

I spun to face him. “No, I’m not alright. I almost got killed in there. And I have some serious questions about what happened to that little girl. Did you—”

“Killed?” His focus skipped across my face, then down my body. “Are you injured?” He fell deadly still, eyes narrowing. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, but he came a foot away from catching me hiding under his desk, and if he’d found me there—”

“Under his desk?You got into his office?”

“Yes.”

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