Sublime

“Lambeth Amara, short-range oracle,” the woman called out, consulting her paper. “Cadence Blackburn, mesmerist. Morrigan Crow, Wundersmith. Francis Fitzwilliam, gastronomist. Mahir Ibrahim, linguist. Anah Kahlo, healer. Thaddea Macleod, fighter. Hawthorne Swift, dragonrider. Archan Tate, pickpocket.”

If anyone else had talked about her “good heart” and “brave spirit” with a look of such glowing approval, Morrigan might have made gagging noises. But there was something about Miss Cheery that made her want to simply sit quietly and listen closely to every word she said.

Story of a Soul.

Today, the brave warrior who saved my queen—” The crowd roared in approval again, and Arthur let them carry on. Guinevere raised her hand, acknowledging the people, though her only role in this narrative had been to be in peril and be saved.

All in all, Morrigan had been so pleased to see Jack that she’d thus far resisted the urge to mock his posh uniform from the Graysmark School for Bright Young Men, and felt deeply virtuous in her restraint.