After a moment she gave her head a small shake and spoke to Isen again. “I’d like to make a deal.”
Isen smiled like the charming wolf he was. “What kind of deal?”
“You want to know things about me. I want to be free to leave by Monday with no more threats of prosecution or anything like that. “
“Why Monday?”
“I’m expected back at work Tuesday.”
“You would trust me to honor our deal?”
“We’d be trusting each other, wouldn’t we? That’s how deals work. You’d have to trust me to answer honestly. I’d have to trust you to abandon your coercion. Um … I’d have to ask for one more stipulation.”
“And what is that?”
“You recall that I said Robert Friar is clairaudient? I’d like your promise not to talk about what I tell you except here at Clanhome, where he can’t Listen. It’s extremely important.”
“I’m no fan of Friar, yet I can’t promise what you ask. My people consider a promise binding in an absolute sense. There is no wiggle room for changed circumstances, so flexibility must be built into the agreement at the start.”
“We can build in some wiggle room. What did you have in mind?”
They haggled. Benedict listened with a certain intellectual interest. His father was very good at this sort of thing, but his Chosen seemed to have a good grasp of it, too. He wondered if her long shower had been a way of buying herself some thinking time. She seemed to have put some thought into this already.
They’d just about hashed out the wording when Benedict heard someone yip twice out front. He recognized the voice, but still listened intently for a moment. There was no challenge, so he relaxed … mostly. Absolute safety was an illusion.
“One more thing,” Isen added casually. “I don’t think you’ll have a problem with this. I’d like you to wear a little truth charm while you’re here.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows drew down. “I don’t object, precisely, but … no, I might as well tell you. I doubt very much it will work.”
“Is that so?” Cullen Seabourne vaulted up onto the deck.
She jerked around. “Oh, my, you startled me!”
Seabourne had unusually vivid blue eyes. When he was on the trail of some magical mystery, they almost glowed. They were afire now. “Burning out truth charms—that’s a gnomish trait. You don’t look like you have any gnome blood.”
“I don’t, but I’m pretty sure I’ll burn it out. I don’t do it on purpose.” Arjenie shrugged. “It just happens. I don’t know how many of them we’ve tried, hoping to figure out what was going on, but we never did.” Her face lit up. “I know! If your truth charm does work on me, we’ll make it part of the deal that you tell me how you made it. That is, assuming you’re the maker?”
“I am.” Seabourne came closer. “Are you hoping to learn how to block it?”
“No, I’m hoping to learn more about my Gift. If I found a truth charm I didn’t burn out, I’d want to know why, wouldn’t I? Maybe that would explain why I do burn out the others. It’s only natural I’d want to learn more about how my Gift works.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You don’t know?”
“I know some things, but there are these huge gaps. I’m the only one with such a Gift in our realm, you see. I understand it’s rare even in the sidhe realms, except for … I think I’ll stop talking now. We haven’t agreed on a deal.”
“If you wish to learn how Cullen makes his charms,” Isen said, “you’ll have to make a separate deal with him. Otherwise, yes, I think we have a deal. While you’re our guest, you’ll answer our questions fully and honestly, save any that impinge on the subject you say you can’t discuss. You won’t lie about those, but you are free of the obligation to answer. You’ll remain our guest until Monday, and you’ll wear the truth charm unless you, ah, burn it out. In return, I and those under my authority won’t report or seek retribution or prosecution for your trespass, and we’ll only speak of what you tell us here at Clanhome unless we have a clear and compelling reason to disregard that stipulation.”
“I’m not entirely happy about the exemption.” She considered a moment. “Let’s make it unless you learn I lied to or substantially misled you, or there is a clear and compelling danger that might be prevented through disclosure.”
Was his Chosen a lawyer? Benedict was beginning to wonder.
“Agreed.” Isen held out his hand.
“Agreed,” Arjenie said firmly, and took Isen’s hand. They shook.
“And here,” Seabourne said, pulling something from his pocket, “is your new adornment.” A small silver disk attached to a silver chain dangled from his fingers. Benedict didn’t know much about charms, but he knew silver was magically active. “Shall I do the honors?”
“No,” Benedict said, and stepped up, holding out his hand. “I will.”
Seabourne’s eyebrows shot up. For once, though, he didn’t comment, allowing the necklace to drop into Benedict’s palm.
He probably thought Benedict had a good reason to do it himself. He’d be wrong. Sheer insanity wasn’t a good reason. Having begun, though, Benedict followed through, moving behind her. He looped it over her neck and paused. “Hair.”
Obligingly she gathered her hair in both hands—so much hair, frenetically curling and smelling of almonds from the shampoo—and held it up off her nape. He drew the chain around her neck and bent his head and inhaled slowly. Her scent filled him, settled him, excited him. He thought of moving her shirt aside so he could touch the pale skin of one shoulder. Of running his hands under her shirt and up her back, or just laying them flat on her waist and pulling her close. It was stupid to tease himself like this. Wrong to tease her. But he let the sides of his hands skim the skin at her nape lightly as he fastened the little chain.
She shivered.
“Done.” The effort to sound normal flattened his voice. He stepped back.
The chain was short. The silver disk rested against her skin just below the graceful indention at the base of her throat. As far as Benedict could tell, nothing happened.
“Damn.” Seabourne shook his head. “Can’t say you didn’t warn me.”
Isen spoke. “Does that mean it burned out, like she said?”
“Whiffed out within a couple seconds of touching her skin. If I’d known she had a habit of burning them out …” He frowned. “Do you feel anything when it happens?”
“Warmth. It’s still kind of warm, see?” She held out the charm. Seabourne took in between his fingers, rubbing it. “Hmm. Maybe if we try—”
“Try later,” Isen said. “Carl has brought out the lasagna. Let’s eat.”
CARL often ate with the Rho, but he didn’t join them tonight. Not that he’d go hungry. If Arjenie thought it was odd that a large square of lasagna was missing from the pan, she didn’t say so. “That smells desperately delicious,” she said as Isen held her chair for her.
Carl was the Rho’s houseman. He cooked and cleaned and—once in a long while—he spoke. He’d passed the century mark two decades ago and had been houseman to Is-en’s father as well, and his lasagna was, indeed, desperately delicious.
“Carl is a gifted man.” Isen accepted the bread basket from Benedict, took a slice, and passed it to her. “Please help yourself to some lasagna. I was wondering … are you a reporter?”
“Oh, no.” Arjenie took two slices of buttery garlic bread.