The Conquering Dark: Crown by Clay Griffith, Susan Griffith Clay Griffith

“I understand your opinion, Malcolm. But I must do what I must.”
    The Scotsman tightened his lips and held up his hands to show he was indeed finished. Then he glanced curiously at Kate. “Not hungry?”
    Simon took his pipe from the counter and loaded it with tobacco. He rubbed his thumb over the rune incised on the bowl of the pipe. Out of habit, he waited for it to flare into life. He stared into the cold tobacco and the depressing realization dawned on him yet again that he was an exile from the aether. Simon grumbled and stood up. He went to the stove and lit his pipe with a taper, puffing heavily with effort.
    â€œFire,” Malcolm commented. “Great invention.”
    When Simon returned to the table, he looked at the paper bag covered in his drawings. He snatched it up with annoyance, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into the burning stove.
    Kate leaned her chin into her hand, watching Simon. “Aren’t you the man who once told me, in this very kitchen, I believe, that using magic for everyday facilities, such as lighting a teapot or a pipe, was a criminal waste of skill?”
    â€œThat’s when I had a choice.” Simon then chuckled with a shake of his head. “Thank you both for your outpouring of sympathy.”
    â€œIf anyone deserves sympathy, it’s me.” Kate tapped the greasy paper that once held the food. “Next time I breakfast here, if there is a next time, this horror show can’t happen.”
    Simon took the pipe from his mouth, admiring the even glow of the tobacco. “I’ll have chickens and a pig brought in for your dining pleasure.”
    Kate started to retort, but a knock came from the front door. Simon stiffened with alarm. Malcolm looked confused at his overreaction.
    Simon said, “This house is warded to the shadows, and it is still in effect. Only one person has ever seen through those wards.” Simon went down the corridor and swung open the door. “Hogarth, come in.”
    The Anstruther’s manservant bowed. “Mr. Archer, good morning, sir.”
    A small shape pushed past Hogarth. Charlotte was fashionably attired in a rather formal dress and bonnet. She grinned as she stared around the foyer.
    â€œThis is where you live in London, Mr. Simon? I couldn’t even see it, but Mr. Hogarth swore it was here. And it is.” She wrinkled her nose. “Do you have cats?”
    â€œIt’s lovely to see you, Charlotte, even this early. And Imogen, welcome.” Simon shut the door after Kate’s sister glided into the hall dressed in her traditional full mourning. “To what do we owe this surprise?”
    â€œMiss Kate!” Charlotte scampered to Kate, who was coming from the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around the smiling woman’s waist. “Guess what?”
    â€œYou are now suddenly craving bananas?” Kate winked at her.
    The young girl’s delighted laughter filled the room. “No, silly!”
    â€œThen wha—?”
    â€œWe’re going to see the king!” Charlotte blurted over her. “He asked for me too!”
    â€œThe king?” Kate looked down at the overexcited girl. “What are you talking about, dear?”
    Hogarth held up a thick gilt envelope. “This letter came from the Court of St. James to Hartley Hall last night. You are requested to attend His Majesty, King William IV, with all due haste.”
    The sitting room in Clarence House was crowded. Simon paced to work off unaccustomed nerves, struggling to appear merely energetic. Kate was truly at ease; she wasn’t used to meeting kings, per se, but she had grown up in rarified air, mixing frequently with the nation’s greatest. Malcolm stared out the window toward wide Pall Mall beyond the trees with its parade of carriages. Imogen stood like a statue behind Kate’s chair, and Charlotte was in the process of touching every lamp, vase, and painting in