Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. But it was of no avail. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Sheppard. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. He did not particularly care. Above her head was an aura of white fire. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him.
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