The low murmur of the shop soothed her buzzing thoughts. Here, removed from the crush of the ceremony and the crowd's fervor, she could breathe. She could think. Though what to think about, she was not entirely sure. Margaret's face lingered in her mind, as did the desperate cries of the snatched-away mother. And beneath it all, the unsettling shimmer of the sunlight when the blood had touched the girl's skin.
Aileen returned with two small cups, one steaming. She placed the tea before Serena and kept the other cup for herself, though she did not drink from it.
"My thanks," Serena said.
The girl nodded quickly, then perched at the edge of the seat opposite Serena, back straight, eyes lowered, as though sitting with an ambassador was equivalent to kneeling before royalty.
"Aileen," Serena said after a moment, "you may breathe, you know."
Aileen blinked up at her. "I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"You are wound so tightly you may turn to stone. Ease yourself. We are only waiting."
