“Really,” she insisted. “The heart probably had some kind of automatic destruction mode and I triggered it.”
“Yes, of course,” Dee said.
Then he snatched a knife from the folds of his cloak and flung it at her.
Without thinking, Petra plucked it out of the air. She stared at the knife in her hand and dropped it to the floor. “You could have killed me!”
“But I didn’t. Come, don’t pout.”
“Pout? You threw a knife at my head!”
“I was reasonably certain you would dodge it. I am impressed that you managed to catch it without doing your fingers any harm. Your gift for metal is obvious. Why deny it? Because you can’t make that blade rise off the floor and dance a waltz like your father could? That is hardly surprising. As a chimera, you possess more than one magical talent. Consider them separately, and you might find that they each seem weaker than they should be. Combined, however, you will have something rare, and very powerful. Now, what might your second talent be, dream-thinker?”
Petra didn’t respond.
“I wonder,” Dee said. “Have you ever had a nightmare that came true?”
She remembered the red brocade flowers.
“Perhaps you heard something that no one else did?”
The scream of the Gray Men, throbbing in her bones.
“Or felt something that wasn’t there?” Dee suggested.
Neel’s ghost fingers, untying the purse tucked under her shirt.
“I believe that you are gifted with mind-magic, Petra Kronos.”
“No,” she said.
“Consider the evidence. For example, you and I enjoy a strong link between our minds.”
“Enjoy?” Petra choked.
“And I forged it easily, Petra, so easily that I confess I was astonished. When you called for help, it was loud, unmistakable, insistent: a clarion call. That takes talent, and usually training.”
“I told you before: I didn’t mean to do that. I wish you’d leave me alone. What am I to you? Just some Bohemian nobody you arm-twisted into doing your dirty work. You saved my life, but your weird and totally unwelcome responsibility to me is over. I have to get back to my country. I’ve got things to do, and a father to find.”
“I think not. You asked me for help, Petra. I interpret that to mean protecting your life and making certain you’re able to do the same. Let me train you for a year, and then I’ll return you to Bohemia.”
“A year? Never.”
“Or you can be locked in a room in my home indefinitely.”
“A month,” she bargained.
He just looked at her.
“I don’t even have a month!” said Petra. “The prince arrested my father!”
“Mikal Kronos is in no immediate danger of dying.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
There was nothing to make Petra believe Dee was telling the truth—nothing, except that she desperately wanted to believe him.
“Nine months,” Dee offered.
Petra hesitated. “Six.”
“Nine, and when you leave London I’ll give you all the information I have on your father.”
“Done,” she said.
They didn’t shake hands.
“THIS WILL NOT DO.” Astrophil wrung his legs. He and Petra had returned to her bedroom, and servants locked the door behind them. “I must learn English. You must get me books. I understood only a third of what you were saying.”
“Maybe I could steal something from Dee’s library,” Petra suggested.
“You will do no such thing! He might catch you, and he is far too clever not to wonder why you are interested in English grammar when you already know the language perfectly. There must be another way. Befriend his daughters.”
“The snipey Madinia and the cowardly Margaret? I don’t think so.”
Astrophil paced across the floor. “I need to be able to advise you. I cannot do that if I am unable to understand what people say. I will study the English language. You, Petra, must go along with Dee’s plan. For the moment, you have no other option. Be cooperative. Meanwhile, we will do everything possible to create a window for escape. We’ll gather all the information we can about this house, the people living in it, and the city. Now, I know you do not like the idea of mind-magic—”
“It’s creepy.”
“Study it anyway. If that is what allowed Dee to forge the link with your mind, and if that link is what makes him able to locate you, then you could—”
“Learn how to break it.” Petra took the hope she had felt a moment ago, and a new sense of determination. She wove them together in her heart. She was not so different from her father. Like him, Petra had always been able to take comfort in a good plan.
THE NEXT DAY, a servant whisked into Petra’s room. “These are for you, miss.” She held out a pair of clean trousers and a loose shirt. “My stars and pincushions, but Master Dee has strange ideas.”
“What do you mean?” asked Petra.
“Why, you need a proper dress! And the idea of putting you in a room alone with young Kit! And Mistress Dee says no to none of it. Of course, she’s not exactly in her right mind.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
The maid leaned forward. “Sits around like a wooden doll all day, doesn’t she? With that empty face. She’ll talk to me like she’s surprised I exist—and not in that typical ‘I’m a grand lady and you’re dirt’ kind of way. More like she doesn’t really know what’s going on, or doesn’t care. Hurry along, now. The master won’t like it if you’re late to meet Kit.”
“Who’s Kit?”
“Dress yourself, and then you’ll find out, won’t you?”
DEE WAS WAITING for Petra outside a door on the top floor of the manor. Astrophil, peeking from behind the curtain of Petra’s hair, had counted three floors. Petra had tried to look out the windows as she and the servant, Sarah, walked past them, but all she saw were more houses and narrow streets caked with snow.
Dee dismissed Sarah. “Good morning,” he said to Petra. “Today will be your first lesson. After some consideration, I decided that where fencing is concerned, you are not ready to receive lessons from me, so I have hired someone to train you. I will give you lessons where the . . . ah, more subtle aspects of your abilities are concerned, because I know of no better instructor. One word of advice before we enter the practice room. Don’t reveal anything of yourself to anyone in London, especially not to the young man you are about to meet. We will keep your identity secret. Your name is Pamela Dee—”