[ She takes a moment to look—really look—at Isaac. Drawn, pale, over-used. She’d not had too much cause to observe mages expended by their magic. Once or twice after Ghislain, but near everyone had looked the same. She softens with what little kindness grows in her garden today, and nods, pulling off her gloves and folding them inside the satchel before stretching to begin the process of undoing the line of delicate pearl buttons that lies along her spine. ]

This I can manage, but it may happen that I need your aid when lacing myself back in.

[ The barest of bright spots on her skirts might be memorable, never mind what would occur were she to whisk them across the slaughterhouse floor, kneel to attend to Lea where he lies prostrate, so she peels herself bare perfunctorily. Little ability to disguise the flat-handled knives strapped to her thighs now, but there’s nothing for that. They and their sheathes will join the slowly and neatly accruing pile of gown, frothy layers of petticoat, corsetry, fine silk stockings. Even the pearls around her neck, the gold and pearl earrings. She’s left in her hair when she retrieves what she needs and makes her way over to the bed without a single iota of embarrassment.

(For the last two steps, the red is vivid on the white of her feet, a bloody swan.)

She touches Lea’s broken nose with the very tip of her finger, and offers him a small wry smile. ]

Sneeze on me, and I shall sew your nose shut.