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“Really?” She pivoted toward him slightly. “You are a complete enigma to me.”
His smile curved on one side, something she’d begun to associate with him. “You think that because I’m a Guardsman, and I battle the Invictus for a living, that I couldn’t appreciate fine art?”
“I guess that’s a bit of a stereotype.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Huh.” He was so damn handsome and she loved that he could meet her gaze and not look away. She knew she had something of a dominating presence and frequently the men she met couldn’t always look her in the eye.
Quinlan had no such problem, another reason he was a dilemma for her.
She was about to turn away, to shift her attention anywhere but at him, when a familiar and oh-so-welcome voice ran the length of her gallery.
“What happened here, most beloved daughter of mine?”
“Papa,” she called out, whirling.
Davido stood at the top of the room, near the entrance to the back hall, his arms wide, waiting for an embrace. He was an ancient troll and had more power than Batya would ever understand that he could have passed through her enthrallment shield so easily.
She crossed the gallery quickly, and though she stood several inches taller and had to lean down to hug him, somehow she felt like the little girl he’d loved and raised all those centuries ago.
He didn’t release her but looked at her with strong affection glowing in his light blue eyes. “How is my favorite one, my most beloved of all?”
She giggled. She must have lost at least a century of her real-age hearing that comment. “Papa, you say that to all of us.” Because he was over two thousand years old, Davido had several dozen children, grand-children, and innumerable ‘greats’. But he loved his offspring more than life itself and it showed.
“My sweet love, I feel that way about all of you, so why shouldn’t I be able to say each is the most beloved? And how could I feel anything less?”
“It makes no sense.” She grinned so hard, her cheeks hurt. She hadn’t seen him since Bernice’s birth nine months ago. “And how is your new most-favorite daughter?”
“Beyond splendid, growing into her third little baby troll ridge. But how are you, my darling dove?”
She rose up and quickly looked around. “Papa, how did you get past my enthrallment shield?”
He chuckled. “I closed my eyes.”
She shook her head at his dismissive response. However, she now feared that the ancient fae could do the same. “I just need to know if we’re at risk from the enemy. We’re holding a very powerful woman at bay with my shield. If you could get in, maybe she could as well.”
“Trust me, daughter, you have nothing to fear. Your shield will do its job.”
As secretive as he was, he rarely answered questions pertaining to any of his powers. So, from long experience she chose to trust him and let the subject drop. “Fine. I don’t care how you got in, but I’m so glad you’re here. You know Mastyr Quinlan, of course.” She gestured with a sweep of her hand toward him.
Davido pretended to block a strong light by holding up his hand. “Is that Quinlan? I thought it might be a bonfire. What the deuce are you wearing, my good man?”
“What your daughter provided for me.”
Batya didn’t know why it was that Quinlan’s voice always surprised her. Davido had an excellent resonant voice, a nice baritone. But Quinlan’s timbre sank into the deepest registers, which in turn affected the ability of her knees to hold her upright.
Davido lifted his brows and met Batya’s gaze. “Indeed? You gave him this shirt?”
Batya smiled. “As you know, Quinlan can be very provoking. He’d had his clothes burned off in the battle, you know.” She then told him about the attack.
“Ah. Vojalie is so wise. She’d been troubled for days, insisting that I come to you, that something terrible was afoot. And now we have Quinlan wearing a clown’s costume, workmen replacing your plate glass window, and you having created a very fine and exquisitely powerful enthrallment shield. I’m most impressed, daughter.”
Batya wasn’t fooled by her father’s light tone since the three ridges of his forehead had become compressed—a sure sign that he didn’t like the current situation at all.
“But come,” he added. “I’d like to go elsewhere so that your workmen can finish their job, I can enjoy a cup of tea, and you can tell me in greater detail exactly what happened.” He glanced at Quinlan. “Both of you. My talented wife insisted that each rendition of events would be important.”
“Of course,” Quinlan returned.
Davido sounded so serious that a new shiver went through Batya. Some part of her must have been blocking all that had transpired until she could assimilate what the recent attack might mean for the future.
She knew one thing for certain, she was not going to like what her father had to say.
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan stunned Batya by telling her he would make the tea. One of his reasons was very selfish, however, since he couldn’t bear the thought of Lorelei preparing anything else. He felt certain she’d add too many bags or not enough, or something.
Of course the real reason was much closer to his sense of self-preservation. He wanted time to think.
If he’d been bothered before by what seemed an impossible situation, Davido’s sudden presence, urged by his wife, one of the most powerful fae in the Nine Realms, cemented the idea that the recent attack and continued surveillance had huge realm implications.
Not that his thoughts had been much different, since the sheer size and power of the radical mastyr vampire wraith-pairs told him that a new threat had entered the war.
But when visionary elements intruded, like Vojalie’s, brought here by one of the most enigmatic and powerful trolls in his world, Quinlan’s heart had turned to stone and started sinking.
Sweet Goddess, what was going on here?
He took his time making the tea, then finally carried the tray into the sitting room adjacent to the dining room. Batya, he’d come to discover, owned the entire building.
Davido stood with her next to a large north-facing window that overlooked a small enclosed patio garden. They were discussing weather control options and planting some specialty roses that would bloom all winter for her.
Davido was a renowned gardener.
He set the tray on the coffee table, the sound serving as a call to tea since both turned and headed in his direction. Father and daughter kept talking while Batya took charge of the teapot and poured out three cups through a strainer.
