Shining Talon dodged each droplet of water with a speed Rags didn’t want to think about.
“See? My tender human flesh made it through the experience in one piece, thanks.” All he had to do was keep his teeth from chattering, and he might pull off the act. “But if your tender fae flesh needs the pampering, don’t hold back on my account. . . .”
Rags trailed off. Shining Talon had a hand plunged into the stream, eyes shut, the faintest wrinkle of concentration on his forehead like he was listening to something.
“Uh . . . ,” Rags said.
Shining Talon’s dark lashes fluttered, his eyes opening. “Seven hundred years.” He removed his hand and held it in front of him, staring at his palm. “The stream says it has been seven hundred years since it has seen one of my kind.”
“That specific, huh?” Rags asked.
“Water is not known for its specificity, no, but it is accurate enough. It was necessary that I ask the stream. The trees would not answer.”
“Right.” The trees. “Hey, when are we gonna have a talk about the rock in my pocket?”
Shining Talon’s gaze narrowed, and he glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of their camp, his meaning clear enough to anyone accustomed to deceiving people: Not while Morien’s around.
Except Morien was gonna be around for a while. Rags didn’t have a solution to that problem. Yet. He rocked back on his heels, thought about asking Shining Talon to apologize to the stream for him—sorry I plunged my dirty head into you—then shook the idiot idea away and left the riverbank.
Returned to the fireside, where Morien was waiting.
Sure, the sorcerer wanted to kill him, but at least he wasn’t talking to water.
23
Rags
A half day’s riding and the forest began to thin. Shining Talon paused near the edge of the woods, something Rags noticed because he was watching for exactly this kind of mold-for-brains behavior from their fae companion. It was already strange enough that he easily kept pace with the horses, though he was on foot.
Shining Talon needed to quit being bizarre so they could both stay alive. Rags had no doubt of Shining Talon’s ability to overpower Morien, especially with One the lizard on his side, but the big fae didn’t seem to think it was worth shredding Rags’s heart in the process.
A bad bargain any way you sliced it.
Right now, Shining Talon was simply gazing at the trees with a fierce look fixed on his face. Something about his expression made Rags feel like an intruder just by watching. Nothing in that silver gaze was remotely human. It should have made Rags tremble. Instead, he couldn’t help but notice the sharp, wolfish beauty in the golden planes of Shining Talon’s face. Looking at him, Rags got that same feeling he’d get when he caught the glimmer of untended coin. An excited twist in his gut. Pleasure so unexpected it was almost pain.
Any good thief knew when he’d glimpsed something he shouldn’t. Something that should have stayed in the safe.
“Quit staring at the trees and shake a leg,” Rags hissed, stomping the feeling flat.
Shining Talon looked at him, startled. The moment was broken. Good. “But I am saying goodbye.”
The wind shifted, and with it the clouds, which cast the long, ragged shadows of the tree line across them both. It was more than the trees he was saying farewell to. It was the Lost-Lands themselves, and all the fae who’d lived in them.
“Is there a problem?” Morien’s voice, when it came, was near enough that Rags could blame his gooseflesh on the sorcerer.
“Nothing.” Rags fixed his best I-haven’t-got-a-string-of-pearls-down-my-pants smile on his face.
Rags could see Morien’s frown even beneath the scarves. The sorcerer’s gaze passed to Shining Talon, but Morien didn’t say anything. Rags figured he didn’t want to talk to the fae any more than he had to.
“I must ask that you keep pace,” was all Morien said to Rags.
Then they were riding again.
Rags quickly noticed that while he’d been distracted, Morien had removed the Queensguard’s blindfolds. They seemed unimpressed with the new members of their party. Either they’d been working with the sorcerer long enough that nothing surprised them anymore, or they were well trained enough to keep their thoughts about a fae and an enormous silver lizard to themselves. Either way, when Rags looked around to see if he wasn’t the only one knocked on his ass by current events, he caught not one of the Queensguard