Steelhands - Jaida Jones [176]
Light flooded the stairwell from below, and we all held our breath.
“I’m so glad I’m back,” Raphael whispered privately to me as Toverre moved quietly over to stand with us. Perhaps he assumed, however falsely, that as members of the ex–Dragon Corps, we’d be able to defend him from any sudden attacks. “This is even better than a welcome-home party.”
“Stop yapping,” Ghislain suggested from the doorway.
We did as we were told and waited for the intruder to show himself. As my heart pounded in my chest, I thought I could hear the sound of large, metal gears turning—but it was probably just my imagination, the sound of the cogs inside my hands moving, made louder by anticipation.
Then Royston crested the top of the stairs, presumably having found the switch in the storeroom so he wouldn’t have to blunder about in the dark.
“You know, I do have a bell,” Luvander pointed out. “Although since everyone I know seems intent on simply letting themselves in, I wonder why I ever bothered to have it installed in the first place.”
“I didn’t want to cause a commotion,” Royston said, shaking off his coat, the shoulders of which were glistening with melting ice. Sometime between afternoon and nighttime, it had started to snow. When he was finished, he paused, looking at Laure with her poker, Ghislain by the door, and the rest of us, ranged around the room and—speaking mostly for myself—positively vibrating with nervous energy. “Did you multiply while I was gone? I know that children are made during times of duress, but really, this is too much.”
“Ghislain just has excellent timing,” Luvander said, tasting a sauce he’d been stirring around in a pot. “It seems he brought a friend with him, too. I hope that’s all right. We can vouch for him; he was an airman, you know.”
Royston gave him a distracted nod, then did a double take, eyes falling on Raphael with more attention than they had before.
“Hello,” he said, passing a hand through his hair to shake out the melted snow. “You aren’t Rook.”
“Bastion,” Raphael said, giggling faintly. “Can you imagine if I was? What a life that would be! I don’t even think I can imagine … If the fishermen were shocked by the size of my assets, they would have all fainted dead away once they saw Rook’s! Actually, I’d rather not think about it. It’s too perverted.”
“So he’s a babbling idiot?” Royston asked, still carefully regarding our newest companion.
“He has always been a babbling idiot,” Luvander huffed.
“Found him near Seon,” Ghislain said, sitting down now that we’d determined Royston wasn’t a threat. “They were worshipping him for being a fish god or something.”
“And for the size of my—well, no need to anger the lady any further, especially when she’s wielding such a fearsome weapon herself,” Raphael said, catching himself.
“Now he sounds a little more like Rook to me,” Royston said, then smiled. “I’m sorry for staring; my manners aren’t usually this atrocious. I was merely thinking about how happy Owen would be to see you … But of course, thinking about him reminds me of this whole rotten situation, and it hasn’t found me in the best of states.”
“Owen?” Raphael asked, as though someone had just told him it was his birthday and they were giving it away for free at Our Lady of a Thousand Fans, all in his honor. “Ghislain—someone—please tell me I heard that correctly. Who’s Owen? Is that who I think it is?”
“Owen’s Adamo,” Luvander said, sliding the sliced eggplant into the pot. “Or rather, he’s Owen Adamo. I’m not sure which is more fun to say, really.”
“I’m glad we’re all so concerned about