The coffeepot on the table at her side was cold, the thin sandwiches dry and unappetizing. Balthasar’s lower-class tastes had affected her, she thought wryly; she liked her sandwiches cut thick, with abundant moist filling, each a meal in itself. She stood up in penance for her lapse, and began to circle the library again. Unlike the ducal summerhouse, the city palace had never been a place for childish exploration and games of hide-and-seek, even for the children of dukes. So she had not previously been in the botanical library. It smelled of resin and dried flowers. Three walls were shelved from floor to ceiling, to house old monographs and journals from natural-history societies. The fourth wall was given over to a bank of small drawers, each containing desiccated samples of leaves, flowers, or seeds. When this was all over, she must arrange permission for Bal to visit, even if she would not see him again for days. When this was all over . . . The archduke had retired hours ago, and was deep in an untroubled sleep.
