Lion in a Tiny Package
He frightened her when he leapt out if his chair, making her drop her embroidery. Prissy gave a tiny squeak, staring at her husband.
"Dion, whatever is the matter?!" she cried. They had moved into the main house to make it easier to care for all the children and had made the servants move the Beignet's own furniture in the most used rooms for the hobbit's comfort.
But the small footprint of their furniture before the great roaring fire and dancing gaslights made the room seem overly large and swathed in menacing shadows ...not comforting at all. And her husband leaping up determinedly only made that feeling more oppressively true. She cast her eyes carefully about, her nose and brow wrinkling. Prissy was not one for hysterics; she waited to see what had agitated her husband before making her decision of what to do.
Dionysus had not put down his paper, but his fists were clenched, his jaw setting in that determined way Prissy knew so well. Since there seemed no imminent danger, she retrieved her embroidery and waited for him to speak as his jaw moved and his moustache twitched.
"I must go!" he announced firmly after a moment. "I cannot leave Katherine and M Ezekiel to the hands of Fate!"
Prissy nodded. "But chère? Have you not sent the Ashmores? And isn't her father's best men in search of them?"
"Oui. Yet I know her. I can find her better than anyone." His Belgian accent deepened when he was distressed and she smiled gently as the next words came out in soft French. "Katherine was my first child."
"Yes my brave lion. But how would she feel if she knew you left her children as well as as your own? There is no one who she trusted more. Her note said as much."
Dionysus sniffed, but his hands relaxed a little. Prissy smiled gently. "You are the lion in his den, the dragon guarding his treasure. No one will protect us as fiercely and competently as you can Dion. I know how many late nights you spend checking the wards, how many meals you miss in worry. You are dangerously close to trim, ma coeur In your weakened physical state, traveling would be out if the question."
"I am fit enough to save my friends," he countered determinedly, yet his hand strayed to his belly.
His wife fixed him with her best nanny frown. "Out of the question. Your duty is here."
"The Colonel can send a powerful mage to stay with you. I go." He gave her a worried look. "Things are strange, Prissy, my dove. To me, the air is wrong. Strange. Peculiar." He had not yet told her of the death of the respected thaumaturge. It didn't seem prudent to stir her more.
Prissy lay her sewing down. "You will not shirk your duty to those children, Dion. Mine or hers," she stated firmly. "Especially with such things afoot as wrong air." She rose to her feet, her eyes calm and commanding.
Her husband nodded slowly and settled back into his chair. Prissy went to him, massaging his shoulders gently.
"I would go."
She kissed his head, relieved. "I know."
"I am doing the right thing?"
"What Lady Katherine wants, nay requires of you. You raised her well. She and Lord Ezekiel were born for such adventures."
"So was I. I am quite deadly."
"I know. And irresistible." She kissed the top of his head again with an inaudible sigh of relief. "Now read your paper and I will have cook make us a sandwich. You are too thin by far."
Disaster averted, Prissy Beignet settled back into her chair and rang the bell for the maid. The girl came quickly and soon returned with the food. Yet though he ate, Prissy couldn't help but notice her husband stare into the fire ever so often and mutter a curse under his breath. Her brown eyes watched the dancing flames for a moment, thoughtful and worried. After a moment, she shivered and drew her shawl around her. The shadows seemed to be darker than before.
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