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I think I like this strange man. “You truly are a genius.”
Caenan preens at the compliment, and he's right to.
I don’t tend to finish my plates unless I’m serving myself. Even my parents, who know I don’t have much of an appetite, tend to serve me a little too much. But although the tray was full, I’ve ingested almost everything on there.
“You’ll have to tell me how you make the cream,” I demand, offering him another piece of buttery softness.
“I beat it into submission. Not by hand; it’d take too long. I hear you can’t find your core—I can’t explain the hows if you aren’t used to your magic.”
I grimace. Did Ryther share my weakness with everyone?
That reminds me…
“Caenan, was it?”
“Caenan LeFray, yes. At least, that's what I call myself.”
What is it with fae and names?
“Darina,” I reply, realizing I haven’t shared my name yet. He likely knows it, but introducing myself is the polite thing to do. “Can I ask you if you can hear my thoughts?”
He tilts his head, frowning a little. “Now that you mention it, yes.”
Crap.
“But it does take a little concentration,” he adds. “Many among the folk haven’t mastered the art of mind reading, and if we have, we don’t use it unless pressed to. It takes a lot of effort.”
That makes no sense. “Ryther did it so easily.”
Caenan huffs. “If you’re going to weigh us all against his skills, you’ll find everyone lacking, Darina.”
That’s somewhat reassuring; at least I don’t walk around bellowing my thoughts to whoever wishes to hear them.
“But I’d take care to mask that fact, in your shoes,” Caenan says, responding to my last thought. “If people know they can access you, they will try. Don't fret too much, though. As I said, I am Ryther's second. You can't weight the skills of the fae against mine, either.”
He sounds matter-of-fact, rather than bragging.
“There are ways to block us. Running water—like rivers—will muddle our abilities. Iron of course, but it’s in short supply in Ilvaris—not to mention it would harm you if you were to touch it directly.”
“I need to take notes,” I grumble, sitting up and throwing my legs over the bed.
After Valdred and Ryther's intensity, I'm grateful for Caenan's presence. He's easy to speak to. He doesn't stare at me in a way that makes me want to either hide or remove my clothes. In fact, he seems more interested in stealing more of the food he just brought me than in seeing what's under my shirt. I hand him another piece.
As I do, he does actually take in the garment.I’m still wearing the dark shirt, and Caenan’s intense eyes don’t miss it—though he says nothing.
I find myself flushing for some reason.
I clear my throat.“Ryther leant me clothes to sleep in.”
I don’t know why I’m justifying myself. Even if we had spent the entire night bouncing on that bed, it wouldn’t be anyone’s business.
“You’re wrong. You’re the heir to the high throne. He’s an unseelie lord, and the unseelie king. Fucking him would be everyone’s business.”
I frown, not quite understanding.
“I seem to recall a god in the ironworld who would hold a scale to judge mortals. They’d determine whether they deserved to go to your heavens or your hells based on their deeds.”
I incline my head. “Anubis, I think? The Egyptian god.”
