A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [216]
Matthew looked up, his eyes angry. “How was this done?”
“Satu hung me upside down. She wanted to see if I could fly.” I turned away uncertainly, unable to understand why so many people were furious with me over things that weren’t my fault.
Ysabeau gently took my foot. Matthew knelt beside the tub, his black hair slicked back from his forehead and his clothing ruined from water and blood. He turned my face toward him, looking at me with a mixture of fierce protectiveness and pride.
“You were born in August, yes? Under the sign of Leo?” He sounded entirely French, most of the Oxbridge accent gone.
I nodded.
“Then I will have to call you my lioness now, because only she could have fought as you did. But even la lionne needs her protectors.” His eyes flickered toward my right arm. My gripping the tub had made the bleeding resume. “Your ankle is sprained, but it’s not serious. I’ll bind it later. Now let’s see to your back and your arm.”
Matthew scooped me out of the tub and set me down, instructing me to keep the weight off my right foot. Marthe and Ysabeau steadied me while he cut off my leggings and underclothes. The three vampires’ premodern matter-of-factness about bodies left me strangely unconcerned at standing half naked in front of them. Matthew lifted the front hem of my soggy pullover, revealing a dark purple bruise that spread across my abdomen.
“Christ,” he said, his fingers pushing into the stained flesh above my pubic bone. “How the hell did she do that?”
“Satu lost her temper.” My teeth chattered at the memory of flying through the air and the sharp pain in my gut. Matthew tucked the towel around my waist.
“Let’s get the pullover off,” he said grimly. He went behind me, and there was a sting of cold metal against my back.
“What are you doing?” I twisted my head, desperate to see. Satu had kept me on my stomach for hours, and it was intolerable to have anyone—even Matthew—behind me. The trembling in my body intensified.
“Stop, Matthew,” Ysabeau said urgently. “She cannot bear it.”
A pair of scissors clattered to the floor.
“It’s all right.” Matthew nestled his body against mine like a protective shell. He crossed his arms over my chest, completely enfolding me. “I’ll do it from the front.”
Once the shaking subsided, he came around and resumed cutting the fabric away from my body. The cold air on my back told me that there wasn’t much of it left in any case. He sliced through my bra, then got the front panel of the pullover off.
Ysabeau gasped as the last shreds fell from my back.
“Maria, Deu maire.” Marthe sounded stunned.
“What is it? What did she do?” The room was swinging like a chandelier in an earthquake. Matthew whipped me around to face his mother. Grief and sympathy were etched on her face.
“La sorcière est morte,” Matthew said softly.
He was already planning on killing another witch. Ice filled my veins, and there was blackness at the edges of my vision.
Matthew’s hands held me upright. “Stay with me, Diana.”
“Did you have to kill Gillian?” I sobbed.
“Yes.” His voice was flat and dead.
“Why did you let me hear this from someone else? Satu told me you’d been in my rooms—that you were using your blood to drug me. Why, Matthew? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid of losing you. You know so little about me, Diana. Secrecy, the instinct to protect—to kill if I must. This is who I am.”
I turned to face him, wearing nothing but a towel around my waist. My arms were crossed over my bare chest, and my emotions careened from fear to anger to something darker. “So you’ll kill Satu also?”
“Yes.” He made no apologies and offered no further explanation, but his eyes