Before I could think or say anything, Bones turned towards Voltaire.
“Anything in the missive on Sunday?” he asked. “I’d meant to ask, but it’s been a hell of a week with training and with finals coming.”
Bones’s hands tightened on my waist in warning when I tensed.
Voltaire glanced at me, his eyes suddenly wary, then he nodded. “A few things, sure. She all right to hear about it?” he asked, motioning his jaw in my direction.
His scarlet boar primal stood on the grass, staring at me with blank eyes.
Bones nodded, impatient. “Of course. You really think I’d bring anyone here who wasn’t already in the network?”
I saw Voltaire’s eyes lose some of their tension as he glanced at me with renewed interest. Studying my expression, he nodded, right before he and Pants exchanged looks. I saw Pants smile at me, too, and nod back to Voltaire.
For the first time, it felt like something other than pure lechery.
“No wonder you like her,” Voltaire said to Bones, and I was stunned to hear real warmth in his words. “Glad to have you, sister,” he said to me, his voice shockingly polite, more polite than I would have thought possible from him. “I hope you can join us in town for the next one, if you live near. Bones can give you the address. It’s usually quite the party.”
I smiled back, and that time, I used my magic to make sure it looked real.
“I would love to,” I said sincerely.
31
How Drunk Are You?
We stayed for at least five hours, possibly closer to six. I didn’t know exactly, as I hadn’t brought a watch, and I didn’t want to ask Bones.
By the end, everyone was drunk for real. I fought to keep from getting too far gone, myself, partly by nursing drinks and even faking sips when everyone seemed to have something in their hand.
I never left Bones’s side.
The one time we got up to walk around, when he stopped to talk to a number of others he knew among the royals, he never left me alone, and never stopped touching me. At any given moment, he gripped my wrist, fingers, waist, back, arm, shoulder, even my thigh and bum, but he never took his hands off me entirely, and never severed that touch point.
I noticed he drank pretty heavily, especially after we’d stopped kissing, but after a while I noticed him slowing down, as well. He seemed to know roughly how long he wanted to stay,and I heard him trying to coax the others into talking more about politics the drunker they got.
He didn’t have a lot of luck.
Not that I didn’t hear things.
They theorized and gossiped about the leadership of Dark Cathedral, and who called the shots for different aspects of the movement. In listening to them talk, it soon became clear that no one in this crowd knew exactly how many or who comprised the inner circle, although they all seemed to know at least a few mages who were close to the top.
They talked about the Priest as if they knew him personally, even as they speculated about who he was. Possibly more than any other topic, they talked about when the “real” war would begin, and how long it might take to be won.
It wasn’t until we’d returned to our original chair, and closer to the warmth of the bonfire, that suddenly, out of nowhere, Norrick Voltaire turned to Bones and told us something I’d actually come there to learn.
“Hey, did you hear?” he asked, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Greythorne’s in the shitter. Like, for real this time.”
I tensed. I couldn’t help it.
Bones leaned forward and wrapped a hand around my belly, rubbing it as he pulled me so that my back pressed firmly against his chest. I crossed my legs in the short skirt between his, and rested my hands on his thighs.
“There’s no proof of that,” Bones said flatly.
Voltaire looked at him, and scoffed.
“I know he’s your mate, but you’ve got to admit, Greythorne’s always been a bit fucking off, Bones.” When Bones didn’t answer, he shrugged. “Anyways, my father says there’s proof now. They full-blowncaughthim at conspiring, and brought an Oracle in to confirm it.”
Bones rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment.
