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“We need to speak to him.” Beatrice sounded calm, but nothing I knew about her made me think she meant only speak. One didn’t rise to control thedraugrin any way without violence.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“No.” Eli met my gaze, and I wanted to have the argument somewhere without a witness.
“He’s my responsibility.”
Beatrice cleared her throat.
“Let us speak of your joyous union. I give you these tokens as a small gift for your nuptials.” Beatrice offered the gun to me. Then she motioned to the halberd. “A more suitable gift shall be yours upon the date of the ceremony.”
Then she removed a pendant from her neck and walked over to Eli, careful not to let her mail shirt brush against him. Her shirt was steel of some sort, but the pendant was a stone on a long golden chain with an enormous fire opal. Such gems were always costly, but this one had vivid streaks of blue, gold, and orange that marked it as particularly pricy. It truly looked as if a flame burned inside.
“I carried this sunlight, my own reminder of when daylight welcomed me.” She twisted the chain, so the stone was caught and illuminated by the last bit of the day’s sunlight that filtered through the trees overhead. “It was the first thing I had when I was free of masters. It was the one thing that wasmine.I give it to you, Eli of Stonecroft, and I remind you that this that I have worn forcenturiesmore than you have lived is nothing compared to the love of my family that burns in my heart. I’ve moved the seat of my crown to this place because of Lauren and Geneviève. I would cast that away sooner than my daughters.”
Eli bowed his head to her, and she dropped the chain around his throat. I flinched, hoping that it was not iron in any way. That he trusted her enough to lower his head to allow this was as much a gift as one of the fae could give anydraugr.
“With this stone comes my protection,” she added, as if it was an aside. That protection, of course, was the real gift. The stone was symbolic. Beatrice added, “Anyone strong enough to be a threat will know that you are under my cloak if they see this.”
“You are kind.” Eli nodded and then gave her a deeper than usual bow.
Beatrice flashed fangs. “No, grandson. I am not kind at all. I simply know what it means that you are melded to Geneviève. To harm you is to harm her, and I would slaughter the nation for my daughters.” She shrugged. “And so, too, with you.”
I sighed loudly. “Well, this is festive. Maybe we ought to reconsider ceremonies and just ask for blood gifts.”
“You aredraugr-born. Such gifts are fitting.” Beatrice shrugged delicately before she took a seat. She withdrew a carafe-thermos-thing that was decorated with fanged kittens. “Incidentally, I have brought blood. I wasn’t sure if you were fed overthere.”
Eli accepted it and sat.
“Kittens?” I said.
Beatrice smiled. “Your Alice sent it to me.”
As soon as I sat, too, Eli poured a serving of Beatrice’s blood into the lid that functioned like a cheap cup and extended it to me. Something about his expression made me pause.
“Geneviève,” he prompted.
That the fae needed to serve the food for one’s spouse was going to take time to accept, but in some way, it was already easier because it was Eli. He’d been bringing my drinks to the table at Bill’s Tavern for years.
I paused, rolling that detail over. He’d been bringing my drinkspersonallyfor years.
“You fed me,” I accused. “For years now.”
“Geneviève?” Eli’s expression was unreadable.
“All those times at the bar. Youknewthat I lived on liquor. Youknewit was my food.” I stared at him with growing clarity. “You started doing thatyearsago.”
He sounded remarkably calm as he explained, “I was attempting to court you, to indicate my interest in taking you as a bride.”
I wanted to be irritated, but mostly I felt charmed. I’d been oblivious to his degree of interest for so long. “Years ago?”
“Years.” He smiled. That was it. A smile.
How this amazing person picked me—with my temper, my prickly responses, my general tendency to bleed on his floor and person—would never stop astounding me. I found myself staring at him with a dopey grin.
“Let us speak of murder, though,” Beatrice said, her words a big ol’ bucket of ice water on my mood.
“Right. Murder. Committing or investigating?” I blinked.
