A Kiss of Shadows - By Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,136

me, and I didn’t know why.

“Galen and I have been teasing each other ever since I hit puberty. I’ve never seen you tease anyone, Doyle, until last night.”

“There are wonders yet to behold tonight, Meredith. Wonders much more surprising than me with my hair loose and no shirt on a cold October evening.” Now there was that note to his voice that so many of the old ones had, a condescending tone that said I was a child and no matter how old I got to be, I would still be a child compared to them, a foolish child.

Doyle had been condescending to me before. It was almost comforting. “What could be more wondrous than the queen’s Darkness flirting with another woman?”

He shook his head, still offering me his hand. “I think the queen will have news that will make anything I could say seem tame.”

“What news, Doyle?” I asked.

“That is the queen’s pleasure to tell, not mine.”

“Then stop hinting,” I said. “It isn’t like you.”

He shook his head, and a smile crept across his face. “No, I suppose it isn’t. After the queen gives you her news, I will explain the change in my behavior.” His face sobered, slowly, almost its usual ebony mask. “Is that fair enough?”

I looked at him, studying his face until every vestige of humor faded away. I nodded. “I suppose so.”

He offered me his arm.

“Put the body away and I’ll take the arm,” I said.

“Why does it bother you so much to see me like this?”

“You were adamant that last night never happened, never to be spoken of again, now suddenly you’re back to flirting. What’s changed?”

“If I said the ring upon your finger, would you understand?”

“No,” I said.

He smiled, gently this time, almost his usual slight twitch of lips. He flipped the cloak back over his shoulder so that his hand was all that showed out of that thick cloth. “Better?”

I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Now, take my arm, Princess, and allow me the pleasure of escorting you before our queen.” His voice was flat, unemotional, empty of meaning. I’d almost have preferred to hear the thick emotion of the moment before. Now his words just sat there. They could have meant many things or nothing at all. The words without emotion to color them were almost useless.

“Do you have a tone of voice somewhere between utter emptiness and joyous condescension?” I asked.

That tiny smile quirked his lips. “I will try to find a . . . middle ground between the two.”

I slid my arms carefully around his arm, the cloak bunched between our bodies. “Thank you,” I said.

“You are welcome.” The voice was still empty, but there was the faintest hint of warmth in it.

Doyle had said he’d try to find a middle ground, and he was already working on it. How terribly prompt of him.

Chapter 26

THE STONE ROAD ENDED ABRUPTLY IN THE GRASS. THE ROAD, LIKE THE paths, stops short of any mound. We stood at the end of the road and there was nothing but grass beyond. Grass trampled down by many feet, but trampled down evenly so that no one way was more traveled than any other. One of our old nicknames is “the hidden ones.” We may be a tourist attraction now, but old habits die hard.

Sometimes fey-watchers will camp outside the area, using binoculars, and see nothing for days, nights. If anyone was watching in the chill dark, they were about to see “something.”

I didn’t try to find the doorway. Doyle would get us inside without any effort from me. The door rotated on some schedule of its own, or perhaps the queen’s schedule. Whatever caused it to move, sometimes the door faced the road and sometimes it did not. As a teenager, if I wanted to sneak out at night and come home late, I could only hope that the door hadn’t moved while I was out. The small magic needed to search for the opening would alert the guards within, and the jig, as they say, would be up. I’d thought more than once as a teenager that that damned door moved on purpose.

Doyle led me out onto the grass. My heels sank in the soft earth, and I was forced to walk almost tiptoe to keep the heels free of dirt. The gun in its ankle holster made it a very awkward way to walk. I was glad I hadn’t chosen higher heels.

As Doyle led me away from the avenue and the ghostly lights, the