Two of them clocked Dominic behind me. One looked too long. Dominic didn’t turn his head. The aide dropped her gaze and stepped away from the glass.
I had the deeply irritating realization that I had been noticing versions of it all morning.
The staff weren’t only careful around Dominic. They were careful around Dominic near me.
I added it to the list of things I didn’t currently have enough context to understand.
Dominic was still standing at my shoulder. “Are you all right, Ms.Cordero?”
“Fine.”
“Mm.”
“Don’tmmme, Mr.Graves.”
“Mm.”
A laugh slipped out. I let it. Small. Unprofessional. Entirely his fault.
Emmaline’s fingers paused over her keyboard.
Dominic looked at the glass, not at me. His shoulders eased.
* **
The receiving hall was full an hour later.
Yuki Mendel-Ashenmere stood at the head of the Ashenmere receiving line in a pale-gray suit that looked simple until you noticed the cut, the fabric, and the fact that every person in the room had oriented themselves around her without being told.
Yuki held the receiving line at a frequency I recognized. Iron under silk. Jurisdiction that didn’t require presence to enforce itself. Mama ran her kitchen the same way. I’d been trained to recognize this woman since I was four.
She’d been head of the Ashenmere council for eighty-one years. Chess grandmaster, in human terms. Her public photograph hadn’t been updated since 1994 because she’d refused every formal sitting since.
Her face was at most thirty. Her eyes betrayed her true age.
I took my place at her left shoulder in the translator’s position. She gave me one look. Calm, appraising, and not remotely surprised to find me there. Then she nodded once. Permission.
Dominic took his position behind Yuki at three paces.
For about four seconds.
Then he moved just enough that he was no longer entirely behind Yuki. Enough that his line to me was clear. Two Ashenmere elders looked at him, then at me, then away.
The Norwegian delegation walked in.
Three men in Northern formal coats. The elder in the middle was Bjorn Solberg, Martin Solberg’s brother and senior diplomatic proxy, handsome, broad through the shoulders, and pale-haired. The second dragon, tall and silent, took the left flank. Security, most likely. He was very still. Someone had told him to be a wall, and the assignment suited him.
Rhain Solberg walked on Bjorn’s right. He was younger than the other two and made no attempt to hide it.
Not young. No dragon in that room was young by human standards. But Rhain carried his years differently. Lighter. Brighter. He moved through the room. He didn’t endure it.
Rhain’s smile arrived first. The smile from the briefing. It was warmer in person. Twice as calibrated. From forty feet away, I couldsee it: a smile that read as friendly to people who hadn’t built a shield of their own.
He looked at me.
Across the hall, with three dragons and four humans between us, Rhain Solberg looked at me and his face did the same thing Dominic’s had.
The smile didn’t change. Rhain Solberg had trained his face out of changing in front of strangers. Behind the smile, a small narrowing. A flicker.