A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [159]
“Soak,” she commanded.
Marthe bustled between the bathroom and the bedroom, carrying clothes and towels. She tutted over my lack of pajamas and the old yoga clothes I’d brought to sleep in. None of them met her requirements for warmth.
Ysabeau felt my cheeks and the top of my head with the back of her hand. She nodded.
They let me get myself out of the tub. The water falling off my body reminded me of the watchtower roof, and I dug my toes into the floor to resist the element’s insidious pull.
Marthe and Ysabeau bundled me into towels fresh from the fireside that smelled faintly of wood smoke. In the bedroom they somehow managed to dry me without ever exposing an inch of my flesh to the air, rolling me this way and that inside the towels until I could feel heat radiating from my body. Rough strokes of another towel scratched against my hair before Marthe’s fingers raked through the strands and twisted them into a tight braid against my scalp. Ysabeau tossed the damp towels onto a chair near the fire as I shed them to dress, seemingly unconcerned by their contact with antique wood and fine upholstery.
Now fully clothed, I sat down and stared mindlessly at the fire. Marthe disappeared without a word into the lower regions of the château and returned with a tray of tiny sandwiches and a steaming pot of her herbal tea.
“You will eat. Now.” It was not a request but a command.
I brought one of the sandwiches to my mouth and nibbled around the edges.
Marthe’s eyes narrowed at this sudden change in my eating habits. “Eat.”
The food tasted like sawdust, but my stomach rumbled nonetheless. After I’d swallowed two of the tiny sandwiches, Marthe thrust a mug into my hands. She didn’t need to tell me to drink. The hot liquid slid down my throat, carrying away the water’s salty vestiges.
“Was that witchwater?” I shivered at the memory of all that water coming out of me.
Ysabeau, who had been standing by the window looking out into the darkness, walked toward the opposite sofa. “Yes,” she said. “It has been a long time, though, since we have seen it come forth like that.”
“Thank God that wasn’t the usual way,” I said faintly, swallowing another sip of tea.
“Most witches today are not powerful enough to draw on the witchwater as you did. They can make waves on ponds and cause rain when there are clouds. They do not become the water.” Ysabeau sat across from me, studying me with evident curiosity.
I had become the water. Knowing that this was no longer common made me feel vulnerable—and even more alone.
A phone rang.
Ysabeau reached into her pocket and pulled out a small red phone that seemed uncharacteristically bright and high-tech against her pale skin and classic, buff-colored clothes.
“Oui? Ah, good. I am glad that you are there and safe.” She spoke English out of courtesy to me and nodded in my direction. “Yes, she is fine. She is eating.” She stood and handed me the phone. “Matthew would like to speak with you.”
“Diana?” Matthew was barely audible.
“Yes?” I didn’t trust myself to say much for fear that more than words would tumble out.
He made a soft sound of relief. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Your mother and Marthe are taking good care of me.” And I didn’t flood the castle, I thought.
“You’re tired.” The distance between us was making him anxious, and he was tuned into every nuance of our exchange.
“I am. It’s been a long day.”
“Sleep, then,” he said, his tone unexpectedly gentle. My eyes closed against the sudden sting of tears. There would be little sleep for me tonight. I was too worried about what he might do in some half-baked, heroic attempt to protect me.
“Have you been to the lab?”
“I’m headed there now. Marcus wants me to go over everything carefully and make sure we’ve taken all the necessary precautions. Miriam’s checked the security at the house as well.” He told the half-truth with smooth conviction, but I knew it for what it was. The silence stretched out