She had a dream.
In it, a little boy kept crying.
No matter what kind of man he would grow into, when he was still young, he had been controlled by women—by his mother. Even though he did not want to leave, he had been forced to go.
What echoed through the carriage racing through the night was not a frightened cry, but the cry of someone weeping over his own helplessness.
He wanted to grow up quickly so that he could gain strength. Yet unfortunately, once he grew up, he would miss those childhood years when he had been protected and had someone to rely on, rather than being like an adult, relied upon by everyone.
Just as she wanted to see what the little boy in the carriage looked like, she heard a song:
Tell us, pretty lady,
Where is your husband?
Is he in the Netherlands?
The Dutch have taken him away...
It had once been a very popular song, about the relationship between Britain and the Netherlands. At the time, the two countries kept forming alliances, then dissolving them, then making treaties again.
The song did not name anyone directly, but after it was published in the newspapers, Georgiana knew it was about her.
She had burned that newspaper with Incendio and wished she could cast Obliviate on herself so she could forget it. But people were still singing it now, and it made her flare up with anger, wanting to make him shut up.
She opened her eyes and woke from the dream. She was still in the carriage.
The carriage swayed as it traveled along the rugged road, surrounded by cavalry known as "guides."
The Mamluks were guarding the outer perimeter at the moment, and one of those guides was the one singing. She