“My first birthday present from Her Majesty,” Somhairle explained. “Inis and I used to ride it together with one of my brothers and both of hers.”
Her brothers, who were now dead. Rags had to say something, quick. “What’s something like that cost, anyway?”
“I know. It’s extravagant, like Her Majesty.” Somhairle wavered, then caught his balance. One toe dipped into the lake, staining the tip of his boot, splashing the bottom of his crutch, which slid on the shale. “My apologies. It’s been a long day, with more excitement than I’ve seen in months, and I—”
They all moved to Somhairle’s side, Two included. Rags crashed into Inis and Shining Talon’s speed put him in front of them. But none of it was necessary, because one of the carousel’s menagerie had unhinged itself from its pole and was already winging its way over the water toward them.
Not graceful. Lopsided. It had only one eye, and it was missing half a wing.
Kind of matched Somhairle, Rags thought.
Then it was before them, leaving ripples across the surface of the lake where its talons had dipped too low, its sharp-tipped feathers arcing to Somhairle’s crippled side.
The prince’s crutch melted off his arm, the rest of his brace off his body.
The last piece of Three had been with Somhairle already.
It wasn’t enough to fix the missing eye, but it patched up the wing perfectly.
Without his crutch, Somhairle slipped, barely catching himself on a nearby sapling. He wouldn’t keep his balance for long. Inis started toward him again, then let experience hold her back, instead reaching a hand down for Two to butt his face into.
Three, in the form of an owl, was nearly too big to land on Somhairle’s shoulder, but it did, balancing him on his weak side. Instantly, panic faded from Somhairle’s expression, that split-second concern replaced by a peacefulness that made Rags avert his eyes.
He knew what was coming. The beauty, the bonding.
That didn’t mean he had to watch.
Or think about how that was promised for him. Some made-of-metal animal from times past invading his thoughts, making him feel better than ever, letting him know how little he’d meant in his life up until—
When Rags turned away, Shining Talon was there, facing him.
“Gonna put a bell on you.” This close, Rags had to look up to meet his gaze.
“That would be inadvisable.” Impossibly tall, impossibly golden, with a jaw cut sharper than a broken window. “A warrior’s pride is his stealth.”
Rags groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Those looks, noble fae blood, and the ability to sneak up on a born thief? Not fair. At least before, Rags had found him too annoying for all that other stuff to matter, but now Shining Talon couldn’t even do Rags the courtesy of pissing him off like he used to.
He looked away and caught sight of the massive one-eyed silver owl bending its head to nuzzle Somhairle’s cheek. Somhairle held the bird’s face in both hands, one whole and one withered, and didn’t flinch at the hinged talons digging into his shoulder.
He was one tough nut, more so because he’d been strong enough to stay softhearted.
Morien would put an end to that with his mirrorcraft. Too bad they couldn’t cover their eyes now, pretend they didn’t know where they were so Morien wouldn’t, either.
The blindfolds, Rags thought. If Shining Talon could wrap one around his chest and one around Inis’s, maybe they’d have a shot at warning Somhairle before the sorcerer descended on them.
They’d already found Three. They had a matter of moments, if that, before Morien appeared to piss all over it.
“I’m bored,” Rags announced to Shining Talon’s face. Though they couldn’t speak mind to mind like Somhairle and Inis and their clockwork partners, Rags was trusting him to follow along. Didn’t know why. “Think I’ll take a nap.”
He closed his eyes and tapped his chest, tracing lines over his heart.
What was the point of Shining Talon staring at him every moment if he wasn’t going to learn to read Rags’s every movement?
A hand at his pocket. The blindfolds tugged free. One weight lifted, Rags’s face splitting into an unstoppable grin before another weight took its place.
For all that he had no real-world instincts, Shining Talon had figured it out. He’d figured Rags out.
“Inis Ever-Loyal,” Shining Talon said, in that voice that made everything sound like it was a precious gem from ancient times, “perhaps you would like to join him? I know human constitutions can be frail, and the ride here was long.”