The Prisoner Bride. Susan Paul Spencer

a small sprinkling, I think,” she said a few moments later as she dug into the now opened bag, pinching up a small amount of the fine, glittering grains. Drawing in a calming breath, she held her hand out over the garments and shoes that lay before her and carefully released the powder bit by bit, lightly dusting them all. They grains fell, sparkling, as if alive—though Glenys knew full well it was only an illusion—and once fallen, sent out a tiny puff of purple smoke that briefly filled the air. Coughing, Glenys waved it away and then bent to touch Dina’s surcoat. She felt all about the heavy green cloth to make certain that she was correct, at last lifting her head and smiling at her waiting maid.

      “’Tis dry!”

      Dina was beside her in a moment, feeling for herself. “Why, it is!” She set a hand to her chemise, then to her shoes. “They’re all dry! It worked! May God and your uncle be praised. I always knew his sorcery was powerful, but this is more than I’d ever believed.”

      “’Tis no sorcery, Dina,” Glenys told her. “’Tis alchemy, a beneficial blending of natural elements. There is no magic in it.”