Boris nodded. “She’s really quite something, isn’t she? She’s made tinctures for all of us—healing, pain relief, sleep aids, even for stubborn ingrown toenails.” Silas wrinkled his nose behind his cup. He didn’t want to know who needed that last one. But his valet’s sentiment stood. Ivy was truly someone special. And not just because of her magical talents. “Yes, she is,” he murmured.
