uncle.”
A clamor of noise from the back of the house gets our immediate attention. All three of us pull magic, not knowing what to expect. With a synchronized sigh of relief, we all let our magic go when the King and his private guards come barreling around the house.
Dagda does a beeline for me. With his hands on my shoulders, he searches me for any sign of injury. “Are you well?” he asks.
I nod. “We were downstairs when it happened.”
Dagda does his own sigh of relief, but that emotion is short lived for him. Turning to his guards, he says, “Search the house. Thoroughly. I want nothing missed. If you are the least bit suspicious of something, bring it to my attention immediately.”
“I will aid in the search,” Isla says as she comes out the terrace door. She walked through the house instead of around it. I want to tell both her and Dagda that’s not safe, but I know neither would listen. “Kallen,” she says, “are you up to joining the search? You will know as well as I if anything is out of place.”
Kallen nods. With a quick kiss on my lips, he stands and follows Isla back into the house. It makes sense that she didn’t ask me to help, I guess. My curiosity and desire to explore the house has always been trumped by some disaster. Like this one. So, I wouldn’t know if anything is out of place.
“Come,” Dagda says, holding his hand out to me. “We will wait in my carriage. I do not like having you exposed like this.” His eyes have been scouring the shoreline since he arrived.
He’s right. I am a sitting duck out here. Putting my hand in his, I let him pull me up. My legs feel a little rubbery as the shock hasn’t completely worn off yet, but I force one in front of the other.
At the back of the house near the garage, Dagda’s everyday carriage is parked. Two guards are in place, one on either side, ensuring that it is not messed with. Dagda opens the door and I climb into the wonderland of blue comfort. The walls of the carriage are a pale blue and the soft leather seats are a beautiful midnight blue. The carriage is large enough to transport six, so we are definitely not crowded. Dagda pulls open a small cabinet door and takes out two glasses and two decanters, setting them on a fold down table he puts in place between us. In one glass, he pours a clear liquid that I am sure is water and he slides it across the table to me. In his glass, he pours a brownish liquor that I am sure is scotch. He downs it one gulp. I’m guessing that the burning feel of it as it slides down his throat eases him somehow. I take a sip of my water and try not to cry over everything I lost in the explosion.
Looking at me again, Dagda says, “I would appreciate it if you limited your life-threatening disasters to one per day.”
I try to muster a laugh because I know he’s teasing me, but a slight upturn at the corners of my mouth are all I can manage. “You know me, I’m an overachiever,” I say wryly, repeating Garren’s description of me.
Dagda barks a laugh. “That you are.” He pours himself another shot of scotch. He doesn’t down it this time, though; he simply takes a small drink. “Any ideas of who is responsible?” he asks.
I shake my head, but then remember what I said to Kallen and Garren. “The scribe started a mob scene when I was in town. Could it have been him?”
Dagda thinks about it for a minute. “He is an annoying old bastard, but I do not believe he is capable of such a thing. Primarily because of his mobility issues. The Fairy can hardly move and his magic has all but left him. He was not a strong Fairy in his youth and the years lessened his power more so than in anyone else I know.”
“He seems to really hate me regardless of all that. Maybe someone helped him?” I certainly have enough enemies here. Any
A clamor of noise from the back of the house gets our immediate attention. All three of us pull magic, not knowing what to expect. With a synchronized sigh of relief, we all let our magic go when the King and his private guards come barreling around the house.
Dagda does a beeline for me. With his hands on my shoulders, he searches me for any sign of injury. “Are you well?” he asks.
I nod. “We were downstairs when it happened.”
Dagda does his own sigh of relief, but that emotion is short lived for him. Turning to his guards, he says, “Search the house. Thoroughly. I want nothing missed. If you are the least bit suspicious of something, bring it to my attention immediately.”
“I will aid in the search,” Isla says as she comes out the terrace door. She walked through the house instead of around it. I want to tell both her and Dagda that’s not safe, but I know neither would listen. “Kallen,” she says, “are you up to joining the search? You will know as well as I if anything is out of place.”
Kallen nods. With a quick kiss on my lips, he stands and follows Isla back into the house. It makes sense that she didn’t ask me to help, I guess. My curiosity and desire to explore the house has always been trumped by some disaster. Like this one. So, I wouldn’t know if anything is out of place.
“Come,” Dagda says, holding his hand out to me. “We will wait in my carriage. I do not like having you exposed like this.” His eyes have been scouring the shoreline since he arrived.
He’s right. I am a sitting duck out here. Putting my hand in his, I let him pull me up. My legs feel a little rubbery as the shock hasn’t completely worn off yet, but I force one in front of the other.
At the back of the house near the garage, Dagda’s everyday carriage is parked. Two guards are in place, one on either side, ensuring that it is not messed with. Dagda opens the door and I climb into the wonderland of blue comfort. The walls of the carriage are a pale blue and the soft leather seats are a beautiful midnight blue. The carriage is large enough to transport six, so we are definitely not crowded. Dagda pulls open a small cabinet door and takes out two glasses and two decanters, setting them on a fold down table he puts in place between us. In one glass, he pours a clear liquid that I am sure is water and he slides it across the table to me. In his glass, he pours a brownish liquor that I am sure is scotch. He downs it one gulp. I’m guessing that the burning feel of it as it slides down his throat eases him somehow. I take a sip of my water and try not to cry over everything I lost in the explosion.
Looking at me again, Dagda says, “I would appreciate it if you limited your life-threatening disasters to one per day.”
I try to muster a laugh because I know he’s teasing me, but a slight upturn at the corners of my mouth are all I can manage. “You know me, I’m an overachiever,” I say wryly, repeating Garren’s description of me.
Dagda barks a laugh. “That you are.” He pours himself another shot of scotch. He doesn’t down it this time, though; he simply takes a small drink. “Any ideas of who is responsible?” he asks.
I shake my head, but then remember what I said to Kallen and Garren. “The scribe started a mob scene when I was in town. Could it have been him?”
Dagda thinks about it for a minute. “He is an annoying old bastard, but I do not believe he is capable of such a thing. Primarily because of his mobility issues. The Fairy can hardly move and his magic has all but left him. He was not a strong Fairy in his youth and the years lessened his power more so than in anyone else I know.”
“He seems to really hate me regardless of all that. Maybe someone helped him?” I certainly have enough enemies here. Any
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