She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. But he was not a father one could make much of. She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Then a ride to London on horseback. Lucy entered and Mike followed. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club.
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