Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) by Steele Alexandra Page A

looked from one princess to the
other, dropped to an easy and elegant curtsy, and then opened the door wide to
let them in. Her curious gaze fell on Spencer for just a minute before she
turned, took a few quick steps, and called out, rather sharply, “Melisande!
Melisande you have guests!”
    She must be Felunhala, then, Spencer thought,
staring up at her, searching for any sign that she could speak to black cats or
spent her evenings peering into crystal balls, divining secrets that no
ordinary person could even dream of. Her face and body were quite ordinary. He
saw no warts, no hunchback, and while her nails were rather long, they did not
resemble claws. Her outfit looked the part though. She wore long robes of red
velvet and there were many pendants around her neck and many bracelets on each
wrist. She wore only one ring, though, a gold one with a big jade stone, and it
was the most opulent piece of jewelry he’d ever seen.
    “Melisande!” Felunhala sounded like she was
running out of patience. She tucked some of her very long brown hair behind her
ear and sounded remarkably like Spencer’s mother as she scolded her tardy apprentice.
“Don’t keep your guests waiting. Forgive me, your highnesses. Melisande can be
so slow sometimes. May I offer you anything at all?” She asked,
curtsying to the princesses once more.
    She did not acknowledge Spencer, which was
fine by him, because it freed him to stare around at her apartments. They were
standing in a large antechamber which was quite richly furnished but sadly
lacking in witchy décor, save for a long cabinet against one wall. A small bowl
of incense smoked away on the top of the cabinet, surrounded by a ring of six
white candles. The cabinet doors were glass, and Spencer craned his neck to
catch a glimpse of whatever was stored inside, but the windows were outfitted
with heavy black curtains which hid everything from view, save for a knobby
white branch which poked out from the side of the curtain and looked
thrillingly like a wand.
    There was a strange fluttering noise from
over Spencer’s head and then a dull creak. He started and when he glanced up
anxiously he saw that a large bird had come to perch on the enormous iron
lantern that hung from the ceiling. Spencer squinted to make out the species,
expecting it to be a raven or some other black bird. Instead, it was a small,
sharp-beaked falcon, a compact but powerful bird with lovely, dusky red
markings. It gave a low whistle and launched itself from the lantern to
Felunhala’s shoulder, where it perched only a moment before it dove silently
for the ground, legs and talons extended, reaching for something that huddled
behind a curtain. The bird hovered there for a moment, wings flapping violently
as it plucked at the foot of the curtain, and then wheeled away with something
dark clutched in its talons. The falcon dove through an open door and vanished
into some other room. Lorna gasped and Spencer flinched. Daphne leaned forward
curiously. “What was that?”
    “A rat, highness,” Felunhala answered with a
curtsy. “We breed them ourselves for use in spells, and when we have extras we
release them for the bird. He likes to hunt like a wild animal.”
    “I see,” Daphne answered. Spencer couldn’t
tell from her expression whether she was horrified, fascinated, or utterly
unfazed.
    “Last year we were feeding him chicks, but
Melisande would cry something awful whenever he caught one. She’s too squeamish,
that girl.” Felunhala said, as though she expected most people to be perfectly
comfortable with feeding tiny chicks to ravenous birds.
    Daphne didn’t seem to know how to respond as
something stirred in a dark doorway across the room. A young woman emerged from
the shadows; or perhaps she was a girl. It was difficult to say. She was in
that strange in-between age that melded childhood and adulthood so seamlessly.
For all Spencer knew, she could have been fourteen or eighteen. She was
slender, like