Bess looked worn, which had Drystan slowly replacing his irritation with worry, when she started to speak.
"What?" he asked, frowning, thinking surely he had misheard her.
When Penelope had come back to them, her memory in tatters, the Healers had advised not to stress her. She had been unable to tell the Hit-wizards anything about her kidnapping, was not even aware she had been forcibly taken and held somewhere for an interminably long time. Allow her time to rest, they had been told. She's protecting herself from whatever memories remain, to force them from her when she's not ready will only hurt her more.
In time, Penelope remembered bits and pieces of her lost time. They came to her in nightmares and waking dreams. For reasons no one could fathom, or wished to, the small, dark and quiet spaces soothed her. But never anything of her captor, especially when pressed. Drystan knew Chester had been involved. Their tense confrontation in the tea shop all but proved his involvement, but there was simply no proof, nor any indication as to the extent of his involvement. Drystan's hands were tied, but he was so unwilling to force Penelope into anything she was not prepared for. The details of Sadie's parentage were always kept vague, and barely a whisper of Chester was made around her after they realised no key details, no missing link, was coming back to her.
Perhaps it had been their mistake to shield her.
But this Tripp could not have been Chester. That was absurd. Surely that was absurd, as Drystan and Bess must have met him. Of course they had met him, hadn't—
"Was," Drystan said abruptly, gaze jerking back toward Bess. "You said 'was Tripp.' Why would—" He trailed off, taking in her whole appearance for the first time. "What happened?" he repeated.
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