He stops a few feet away, tilts his head slightly, and studies me like I’m a riddle someone dared him to solve in one try.
“You’re still in one piece,” he says. “I suppose that’s a win.”
“Big win,” I mutter. “Didn’t even cry once.”
His smile twitches upward. Not warm. But real.
“Most do,” he replies.
I straighten, immediately on guard. “You’ve seen these things before?”
“I’ve seen many things.” His gaze drifts down the hall behind me, toward the still-glowing door. “Not all of them with quite so much ceremony.”
“Glad I could be the day’s entertainment.”
“Oh, it’s more than that.”
He steps closer—not threatening, not towering, but unsettling all the same. Like someone who has made a life out of not being surprised and doesn’t appreciate when the world changes the rules.
“You don’t burn,” he says. “But you left a mark.”
A mark on what?I want to scream, instead I force my lips to curve.
“Yeah, I’m good at that. Emotional damage in five seconds or less.”
Another smile. This one sharper. Almost proud.
“You’ll want to keep that to yourself,” he says. “There are those in this place who do not take well to uncertainty. Or humor. Or humans.”
“Noted.”
I cross my arms and level him with a look. “And you are…?”
“Solonar.”
“Are you another prince?” I ask. “Or just the chaperone with better hair?”
He chuckles. “I hold the title of Elder. I serve the court.”
“Which one?”
A pause.
“The one that still stands.”
I file that answer under ominous but important. Is there a court that doesn’t? One that has fallen? He glances back toward the room I just stumbled out of. Was he in there?
“They saw something.”
I stiffen. “They said I don’t burn. But I’m not unkindled.”
He nods once. “A paradox. My favorite kind.”
“Do you people ever say anything that actually means something?”
“We say many things. It is the listening that is tricky.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re really good at being cryptic. Is that part of the job description?”
