Chapter Seven
Holding his brandy glass up to the light, Konrad swirled the dark amber-coloured liquid around admiringly. It was the finest he had, aged and perfect, and he hadn’t let himself touch it in nearly a year. He took a sip, savouring the rich flavour, then set the glass down.
‘You know,’ Nanda said sleepily, ‘I’m proud of you.’
They had, by mutual and unspoken consent, gone straight back to Konrad’s study after the events at the circus, stoked up the fire as high as it would go, and collapsed into his armchairs. In her quest to warm her feet, Nanda had slouched until she was almost horizontal, her toes dangerously close to the flaming logs.
It was comfortable. He liked it.
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, frowning. It wasn’t at all a Nanda sort of thing to say.
‘You complete
