"You and my brother, then."
Lysandra leaned back against the pillows, one knee drawn up beneath her nightgown, and regarded Mirabelle with a grin that was far too pleased with itself.
"How did that happen?"
Mirabelle picked up a slice of pale orange fruit from the platter between them.
"Yes," she said dryly. "How could that possibly have happened?"
The fire crackled in the hearth across the room, throwing warm light over the white walls and the thick curtains surrounding Lysandra's bed. Somewhere beyond the windows, the enormous trees of Rotwald shifted softly in the night wind.
Mirabelle bit into the fruit. Then stopped chewing. Her eyes narrowed.
"Oh."
Lysandra's grin faltered.
Mirabelle slowly put the rest of the fruit down.
"I just remembered something."
Lysandra immediately looked suspicious.
"What?"
"I still have a bone to pick with you."
"What did I —"
Mirabelle lunged. Lysandra shrieked.
"MIRABELLE!"
