Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

“It’s more like a house managing service.” Taking her hand, he brushed his thumb over her wedding band. “You may want to take over the arrangements, seeing that you’re the lady of the house now.”

The words jostled her. She remembered what Erwan had said about a woman healing a man like a doctor couldn’t, but Joss hadn’t brought her here for his healing. He also hadn’t brought her here to play house.

“You look like it would be a punishment,” he said, gripping her chin.

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t lie to me witch,” he said in a low voice. “That frown on your face isn’t about contemplating the hardships of interior decorating.”

She pulled away. “I have a lot on my mind.”

He considered her for a moment, and then thankfully let it go. “Would you like to see the rest of the castle before dinner?” Without waiting for her answer, he took her hand. “It has an interesting history.”

She allowed him to take her through the stronghold, explaining the history and the architecture, as well as the periodic destructions and renovations. The top floor contained attic rooms that had been occupied by servants in the past. The third floor had several bedrooms with en-suite sitting and reading rooms. Two big halls dominated the first floor, one of which they occupied. Several smaller rooms served as offices and game rooms. The ground floor had a big reception room and dining room that opened onto the terrace overlooking the lake.

The kitchen, scullery, and storerooms were located in the left wing while the right held a large library. The library was the only room in the castle without raw stone walls. What wasn’t covered with bookshelves, was covered with wooden panels. The shelves were empty. Joss explained the private collection of priceless books was stored in a dust-free and temperature-controlled vault in Vannes. They concluded their visit with the stables that stood separately at the back of the courtyard, after which Joss led her back to the dining room.

Like most of the rooms, the dining hall was empty except for a table that had been pushed against the window. It was beautifully set with a white tablecloth and silver and crystal ware.

After Joss had seated her, a mature woman with short hair streaked with gray entered. Clelia glanced at Joss. She didn’t know they weren’t alone in the castle.

“This is Izabell, my house manager,” Joss said to Clelia. “Izabell, meet my wife.”

“At last,” Izabell said with a broad smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, Madame de Arradon.”

“Please, call me Clelia. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“I’m happy if you are.” She beamed at Joss. “It’s been a while since I’ve had such a challenging project.”

Joss took a seat opposite Clelia while Izabell lit the candle on the table.

“Having the electricity reconnected isn’t as straightforward as connecting the water, I’m afraid,” Joss said. “It will take several months to redo the wiring.”

“It’s not an easy job cooking on a fire.” Izabell went around the room, lighting the candles in the holders on the walls. “I could’ve brought a paraffin stove, but I hate cooking on those. It’s not the kind of catering I like to serve to my best client.”

Joss grimaced. “I apologize for the fire too.”

“My extortionate fee makes up for that.” Izabell winked and dusted her hands. “Shall I serve your starters?”

Joss looked at Clelia and waited.

“Oh,” she said. “Um, yes.”

Izabell gave a nod. “I thought you may be hungry. I’ll be right back.”

When Izabell was gone, he said, “I gave Izabell carte blanche on the dinner menu. From now on, you can take over.”

Taking over sounded too much like playing wife. “Why? It’s not like we’re staying.”

The set of his shoulders tensed. “I’m trying to be agreeable, Cle. Of course, if it’s a chore, you can leave it up to Izabell.”

Before she could think of a response, Izabell returned with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne. “Shall I open it?”

“I’ve got it,” Joss said, reaching for the bottle. He waited until Izabell was out of earshot. “Have you ever started a voluntary fire?”

The pop of the cork sounded loud in the large, mostly empty hall.

She tensed. “Why are you asking?”

“Trying to help.”

“How?”

“We need to figure out if your art is maturing.”

“Then what?”

“Then you let me handle it.” He poured champagne into the flutes and handed her one. “Have you started a voluntary fire or not?”

Pursing her lips, she shook her head.

“After the fires had started in Larmor, did you feel different?” he asked.

She reflected for a while. “I had the dream, and I started sleepwalking. I felt different when you took me to the yacht.”

“Different how?”

“Stronger, and surer of what was going to happen.”

Taking her hand, he rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “Is it getting stronger still?”