There was no reason that someone would rather have a baby than the head of one of the Winter Court’s most important fiefdoms. Unless it was an…unusual baby.
“Where would they take them?” Dylan asked. He got off the desk and stepped toward Somerset. The bruise on his neck was still wet, darkened to purple around the edges. “How do we find them?”
The “we” made the hair on the back of Somerset’s neck stand on end. He caught Dylan’s chin in between his fingers and tilted his head back to get eye contact.
“That’s my job,” Somerset said. “Not yours.”
Dylan’s mouth twisted. “She’s my friend,” he said. “I have to—”
“Do you trust me?” Somerset asked.
There was a pause, and Dylan’s eyes shifted away from Somerset’s for a breath. A man less aware of what he was might have been offended.
“When the wolves took them,” Dylan said, “did you try to save them?”
Somerset let go of his face and stepped back. “No,” he admitted. “I saved you.”
“That’syour job,” Dylan said. “I—”
Dylan cut himself off before he could finish and lifted both hands in a frustrated “enough” gesture. He turned his back on Somerset and took a few steps away. His shoulders were tight, hunched up toward his ears, and Somerset had to resist the urge to reach out and smooth them back down.
“I get that, I do,” Dylan finally turned around as he finished the interrupted statement. “But for the last year everything in my life has been dictated by the need to keep me safe.”
Somerset crossed his arms and frowned at him.
“I let you keep your job,” he pointed out. “Which might have been a mistake, since last night proved that our escort wasn’t enough to keep you safe.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “Let?” he said. “No, I just didn’t listen to you. Something I should do more often…at least then I’d not be sleeping alone so much.”
That stung oddly. Somerset shifted his shoulders to try and loosen the twinge between his ribs.
“If Yule or the Winter Court found out about us—” he said.
“I know!” Dylan interrupted. He turned on his heel and stalked over to the door, throwing the rest of his comment over his shoulder as he went. “I just don’t care anymore. If they don’t want me to be Santa…well, they aren’t the only ones.”
He yanked the door open to leave.
“Wait,” Somerset said.
For a second it looked like Dylan wasn’t going to listen. Then he turned around, the door propped open with his shoulder, and looked at Somerset.
“What?” he said.
“YouareSanta, like it or not,” Somerset said. “That means that when you wake up in the hospital and there’s no one there to protect you, you call me. You don’t get an Uber. Whoever killed—”
Dylan interrupted him. “I know,” he said. “Whoever killed my grandfather is still out there, but I wasn’t alone when I woke up. Jars was there.”
The taste of old suspicion was sour in the back of Somerset’s throat, like fresh skyr and just as unpleasant.
“Did you tell him anything?”
“No,” Dylan said. “But he told me he didn’t like me, and that he already had my replacement ready to go. Then he left. If he was behind the coup on Christmas, he’s really bad at making himself look innocent.”
That…was a good point. Somerset hesitated for a second, but in the end it didn’t matter. It was too late to trust him; they would have to admit they hadn’t until now. That would go over poorly. Jars had always been quick to take offense, and none of the Yule Lads were exactly slow at it.
Besides…
“He would be,” Somerset parried Dylan’s point with a shrug. “So would I. Guilty is much more in our wheelhouse.”
