I looked at Christian and gave him a faint smile, but his expression didn’t defrost one bit.
It was only last night that V’lane and the Keltars had succeeded in reconnecting the dolmen at 1247 LaRuhe to the Unseelie prison, then stormed the king’s fortress to retrieve him. He’d been out roughly sixteen hours and didn’t look much better than he had inside the Silvers. He was no longer a study in marble, cobalt, and jet but he was … well, it made no sense, but he gave the fleeting impression of those colors. If I looked directly at his hair, I could pick out strands of copper and even a hint or two of sun-burnished gold in the dark ponytail, but if I caught it from the corner of my eye, it looked ebony and longer than it was. His lips were pink and utterly kissable, unless I turned my head suddenly. Then for a moment I’d swear they were blue with cold and lightly frosted. His skin was golden, smooth, and touchable, but if I glanced sharply his way he would glow like backlit ice.
His eyes were changed, too. Lie detector extraordinaire, he now seemed to be looking right through everything around him, as if he was seeing the world completely different than the rest of us.
His father, Christopher, studied him when he thought Christian wasn’t paying attention. Somebody needed to tell him there was never a time his son wasn’t paying attention. Christian might seem to check out for a few moments, but if you were looking straight into his eyes, you could see that he was even more intensely focused on his surroundings—so focused that he’d gone still and seemingly absent, as if opening an inner ear that demanded absolute concentration.
“Lie,” he said now.
Drustan scowled at Christopher. “I told you to make sure he’d haud his bloody whist.”
“He’s not hauding his whist for anyone anymore,” Christian said flatly.
“What do you mean—lie?” Rowena demanded.
“They don’t know for certain that their chant will work. The old texts stored in Silvan’s tower had deteriorated, leaving them no choice but to improvise.”
“And we’re bloody good at it. We got you out, didn’t we?” Cian growled.
“It’s his fucking fault I ended up in there to begin with.” Christian jerked his head toward Barrons. “I don’t even know why he’s here.”
“He’s here,” Barrons said coolly, “because he has three of the stones necessary to corner the Book.”
“Hand ’em over and get the fuck out.”
“It’s not my fault you’re turning into a fairy.”
V’lane said stiffly, “Fae. Not fairy.”
“You knew my tats weren’t protection enough—”
“I’m not your babysitter—”
Christopher hissed, “You should have checked him—”
“For the love of Mary,” Rowena snapped. “I’ve a plague of barbarians and fools!”
“—and it wasn’t my job to tattoo you. Pack your own fucking parachute. It wasn’t even my job to try to keep the—”
Drustan said softly, “We should have checked him—”
Dageus snarled, “Doona be acting like ’twas some bloody favor you did—”
“You didn’t try to get me out of the Silvers. Did you even tell anyone I was there?”
“—but the hour grew late,” Drustan said, “and time can no longer be undone.”
“—for the human race, when you’re part of it,” Dageus finished.
“—walls up. And it was a bloody favor, though you wouldn’t know by the bloody thanks I’ve gotten, and don’t be lumping me in the same gene pool as you, Highlander.”
“Oh, shut up, all of you,” I said, exasperated. “You can fight later. Right now we have work to do.” To the Keltar, I said, “How certain are you of the parts you improvised?”
No one spoke for a moment as they finished the battle in silence, with glares and wordless threats.
“As certain as we can be,” Dageus finally said. “We’re not new to this. We’ve been the queen’s Druids since before the Compact was negotiated. We sat with them in the Old Days, when the great hill of Tara had yet to be built, and learned their ways. Plus we’ve a few other … bits of arcane lore at our disposal.”
“And we all know how well that turned out for you last time,” Barrons said silkily.
“Mayhap you weren’t helping but hindering, Old One,” Dageus growled. “We ken you’ve your own agenda. What is it?”