A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“Or perhaps the great Aisling has lost his power,” Melangell said, “and he hides behindhis veil not because he can bespell us all, but because he cannot.”

He stiffened, and this time I was almost certain it wasn’t from anything Hafwyn was doing. “His wound is shallow. Adair needs the healing more.”

“Then do it. I’m needed with the police.”

Aisling hugged his bare upper body, as if something hurt him. Melangell laughed.

Hawthorne put his blade a little closer to her skin, and the laughter quieted, but still chuckled out from between her lips.

“Why did you attack Galen? Why him?”

Hafwyn answered, “He was chosen because he is the only one of your guards who is a green man.”

Melangell hissed, “You don’t know enough to help them.”

“She’s right,” Hafwyn said as she had Adair lift the cloth around his wound. “I know why they chose him, but not why him being a green man marked him.”

“Does Melangell know?”

Hafwyn nodded. “She knows almost everything that the guard plans. Perhaps not everything that the prince did before he was imprisoned, but most.”

I nodded. “Good.” I went to her, staying well out of reach because even with her hands bound I did not want to risk her touching me. She’d once been able to love a man to death. It wasn’t the sex, but the touch of her skin. She had lost the power, or so I’d been told, but caution was better.

“I give you one last chance, Melangell. Tell us why you targeted Galen, not once but twice, for we know that Cel paid the demi-fey to try to ruin him. Why is it so important to Cel that I not bed Galen?” I motioned Hawthorne back enough so she could talk if she wanted to.

“I will not betray my master, for I did take oath to Cel. I never served your weak-willed father.”

I smiled at her sweetly. “My father is great enough to withstand petty insults. You refuse to answer my questions.”

“No magic or torture you can devise will make me forget my loyalties.” She shot a spiteful look at Hafwyn, who was busy healing Adair.

“Aisling, are you well enough to come here for a moment?”

“It is a scratch, nothing more.” If he’d been human he would have needed at least ten stitches, maybe more. I would not have called it a scratch, but it wasn’t my body. He came to me, his sword naked in his hand.

“Put up the sword, Aisling.”

He did, hesitating only a moment.