“Ingrid,” Geoffrey supplied.
The woman being Snorre’s mate was, of course, the logical conclusion, but still, Matthieu was troubled. Omegas who gave birth to human children were returned to the Pedigree and both they and their cursed children were forever seen as Disgraces. Even if the woman was mated to Snorre and Snorre wished her to stay, the child would have been sent to a cloister and raised by the Attendants that worked there. Dragons did not care for disappointments.
“She had a young child with her,” Matthieu said at last. “A human child.”
“Well… I suppose we’ll find more once we arrive.”
The Hellcat came to a stop outside the consulate’s doors. Compared to the Topaz consulate, the Opal consulate was huge. Two arresting hexagonal-shaped fieldstone towers flanked either side of the front doors, their generous windows designed to let in as much sunlight as possible. Above the double doors leading into the consulate was a second-story balcony—a tiny thing with wrought-iron railings which Matthieu believed led to the master bedroom. High above, near the peak of the sloped roof, was a decorative oval window that Matthieu imagined looked rather like an egg.
Through his mate bond came a pang of longing.
Geoffrey thought it looked rather like an egg as well.
As Ian parked and Geoffrey undid his seatbelt, Matthieu remained where he sat, observing the wings that stretched to the left and the right of the central hub. How many bedrooms could there be in a home this size? Twenty? Thirty? The Amethyst clan had spoiled their Opal colleagues. For some reason, a foreign, inexplicable sadness resonated in Matthieu’s chest.
The Topaz consulate is sad in comparison. Ian must feel…
“Are you coming, kitten?” Ian asked politely. It seemed like he’d been lost in his head—both dragons had already vacated the car. Matthieu blinked several times in an attempt to clear his mind, but was sidetracked when he noticed the glint in Ian’s eyes.
Sorrow.
It was understated, but every now and then, Matthieu caught a glimpse of it, much like a minnow flitting through shallow water. Matthieu wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the disparity between the consulates, but Ian was too kind to address it.
It isn’t Geoffrey’s fault,Matthieu thought out of nowhere.He’s a mouthpiece, not the one calling the shots.
As if Ian had heard his reassurance, the sorrow flitting in his eyes vanished, and he smiled for Matthieu instead.
“I’m coming,” Matthieu said. He stroked the feathers on Killian’s head until the bird stirred, then directed him out the door Geoffrey had left open. With flawless grace, Killian hopped down from the car and stretched his wings, then flutter-hopped a few times before circling Geoffrey like a lovestruck dog. Geoffrey reached into his pocket to collect something in his cupped palm and offered it to Killian, who gladly pecked at whatever it was.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ian asked in a near whisper as Matthieu exited the car. “You seem…”
“I’m fine,” Matthieu promised. He tried a smile, but he knew that Ian didn’t buy it. There was an understanding between them now—Matthieu knew how to read the language of Ian’s body and hear the tells in his voice, and Ian, it seemed, knew how to do the same. Some of it had to come from Geoffrey, funneled through their bond. Out of anyone, he knew Ian the best. “Let’s not waste any more time. There are answers waiting for us in the consulate, are there not?”
“There are.” Ian held out his hand, and Matthieu took it shyly. “And we’ll find them.”
Geoffrey brushed off his hand and fell into place beside Ian, and together, they walked to the consulate door. Killian, his tail feathers spread, strutted proudly behind.
18
Ian
“What are you doing here?” Erik Jormun, the current legal counsel for the Opal clan, demanded from the brown leather Chesterfield armchair in the main study. Twin south-facing windows illuminated him from behind, making his thick platinum hair sparkle. The beta Attendant who’d shown Ian, Geoffrey, and Matthieu to the study bowed his head and took his leave, giving them their privacy. “It’s illegal to set foot on consulate grounds without twenty-four hours written notice or prior written agreement by… well… me. Myself. And I’m one hundred percent certain that I have not given anyone written consent to visit me while I am in my lair. What you’re doing right now? Illegal. Tell me why I shouldn’t call the counsel immediately to report this heinous transgression.”
Heinous transgression. God, was the man dramatic.
Ian cleared his throat, preparing his defense, but Geoffrey was quicker. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward, leaving Ian and Matthieu in his shadow. Hands in his pockets, his head cocked slightly to the side, he rattled off the details of a case long past like the old pro he was. “Scyrythian v. Dupont, 21 B.3c 215 (1726), in which Dupont was found not guilty for trespassing on foreign consulate grounds after the council uncovered he had been invited inside by Scyrythian’s Attendant.”
Erik scowled. “Which doesn’t dismiss Greene v. Lowell, 7 E.4d—”
“82 (1903),” Geoffrey concluded, cutting Erik off in the cool, effectual way he so often did when dominating council debates. No one could shut down an argument like Geoffrey. “But you know as much as I do that Greene v. Lowell has no standing here. I expect better of you. You know that all I’m going to do is remind you of Saxon v. Katz. I don’t need to cite the numbers, do I?”
Erik scowled and didn’t answer.
In the silence, Matthieu dared whisper, “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
What’s going on?
“Erik is a walking legal encyclopedia,” Ian whispered back. “It’s an Opal thing. They fixate. It’s in their nature. What Geoffrey is doing is beating Erik at his own game and shutting him down before he has a chance to gain the upper hand.”
