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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 4 из 293He bristled with knives, and Frost always had other weapons that you couldn’t see. No suit was designed to cover that much armament and hold its shape. His jacket couldn’t be buttoned at all, and the guns and sword and one knife glinted in the camera’s flash.
Cries of “Frost, Frost” filled the room, while Madeline picked a question. The man was another one I didn’t know. Nothing like an assassination attempt to attract the media.
“Frost, how badly were you hurt?”
Frost is a little over six feet, and since I was sitting down, and the microphone was adjusted to my height, he had to lean down, way down. With a weapon of any kind he was graceful. But bending low over that mike he was awkward. I had a moment to wonder if he’d ever been on mike before, then his deep voice was answering the question.
“I am not hurt.” He stood back up, and I could see the relief on his face. He turned away from the cameras, as if he thought he’d get off that easily. I knew better.
“But wasn’t it your blood on the princess?”
His hand was gripping the pommel of his short sword. Touching his weapons unnecessarily was a sign of nerves. He leaned over the mike again, and this time he bumped my bad shoulder with his body. I doubted the press saw such a small movement, but it was too clumsy for words, for Frost. He braced a hand flat against the table, steadying himself. He turned eyes the grey of a winter sky to me. The look asked silently, “Did I hurt you?”
I mouthed, no.
He let out a sigh and leaned back to the microphone. “Yes, it was my blood.” He actually stood back up, as if that would satisfy them. He should have known better. He had been decorative muscle for the queen at enough of these over the years to know that he was being a little too concise. At least he didn’t try to go back to his spot behind me this time.
A reporter I did know, Simon McCracken, was next. He’d covered the faerie courts for years. “Frost, if you are not hurt, then where did your blood come from and how did it get on the princess?” He knew how to word the question just right, so we couldn’t tap-dance around it. The sidhe don’t lie. We’ll paint the truth red, purple, and green, and convince you that black is white, but we won’t actually lie.
Frost leaned over the mike again, his hand pressed to the table. He’d moved minutely closer to me, close enough that his pants leg touched my skirt. His sword was almost trapped between our bodies. That would be bad if he had to draw the weapon.
Cries of “Frost, Frost” filled the room, while Madeline picked a question. The man was another one I didn’t know. Nothing like an assassination attempt to attract the media.
“Frost, how badly were you hurt?”
Frost is a little over six feet, and since I was sitting down, and the microphone was adjusted to my height, he had to lean down, way down. With a weapon of any kind he was graceful. But bending low over that mike he was awkward. I had a moment to wonder if he’d ever been on mike before, then his deep voice was answering the question.
“I am not hurt.” He stood back up, and I could see the relief on his face. He turned away from the cameras, as if he thought he’d get off that easily. I knew better.
“But wasn’t it your blood on the princess?”
His hand was gripping the pommel of his short sword. Touching his weapons unnecessarily was a sign of nerves. He leaned over the mike again, and this time he bumped my bad shoulder with his body. I doubted the press saw such a small movement, but it was too clumsy for words, for Frost. He braced a hand flat against the table, steadying himself. He turned eyes the grey of a winter sky to me. The look asked silently, “Did I hurt you?”
I mouthed, no.
He let out a sigh and leaned back to the microphone. “Yes, it was my blood.” He actually stood back up, as if that would satisfy them. He should have known better. He had been decorative muscle for the queen at enough of these over the years to know that he was being a little too concise. At least he didn’t try to go back to his spot behind me this time.
A reporter I did know, Simon McCracken, was next. He’d covered the faerie courts for years. “Frost, if you are not hurt, then where did your blood come from and how did it get on the princess?” He knew how to word the question just right, so we couldn’t tap-dance around it. The sidhe don’t lie. We’ll paint the truth red, purple, and green, and convince you that black is white, but we won’t actually lie.
Frost leaned over the mike again, his hand pressed to the table. He’d moved minutely closer to me, close enough that his pants leg touched my skirt. His sword was almost trapped between our bodies. That would be bad if he had to draw the weapon.