A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“Who?”

“Nobles and guess whose guards?”

“Let me think… Cel?”

“Who else?”

“But why does he keep picking on Galen?”

“I’m about to try to find out. How is the evidence collection going?”

“Okay. I put a guard on each of the humans, as per your order. We figured out how the reporter strayed outside the magical boundaries we set up.”

“How?” I asked.

“He had small iron nails in the soles of his shoes.”

“Cold iron,” I said. “He’d done his research.”

Rhys’s reflection wavered as he nodded. “And he came here planning to try to see something we didn’t want him to see.”

“I guess it is part of the job description for a reporter.”

“I guess so.” He sighed, and it was heavy.

“What’s wrong, Rhys?”

“Major Walters insists on seeing you in person. He says that the reflection could be an illusion.”

“I’m a little busy here.” I glanced at our prisoners.

“I figured that, but if you don’t put in an appearance soon, he’s going to want to come looking for you. Just a heads-up.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll try to keep him pacified.” The sword was suddenly empty, only my own distorted reflection showing.

I handed Frost’s blade back to him and looked at the prisoners. If I had been certain how the queen would take it, I would do something drastic to at least one of the nobles. But Kieran was right, the queen did need her allies. I didn’t think Kieran qualified, but Andais might, and I didn’t want her angry with me if I could avoid it. Still, Kieran’s reasoning meant that Andais was losing her hold on the court nobles. That was bad, because I didn’t have enough political clout on my own to compete for the throne, even though I was still of the ruling bloodline. If Andais failed as queen, they would see me as a threat, no matter who took the throne after her.

Hafwyn’s voice came with a thread of anger to it. “Let me see the wound, Aisling.”

“I dare not let you see more of my body.”

“I am a healer. We are immune to most of the contact enchantments. If it were otherwise we could not heal the sidhe.”

Aisling was holding his white cloak close around the bloody front of his tunic.

“Take off your tunic so I may see your wound.”

He shook his head, spilling his hood back, and revealing a veil like some of the Arabic countries make their women wear.