He didn’t find Gunther, but the view that greeted him seemed almost incomprehensible. All across the hall, men, women, and even goblins stared at him as if in awe. After a moment, some burst out in laughter; others cheered. Many, even those among the wounded, dropped to their knees before him. The girl with her black blankets knelt with her hands raised toward him as if she were warming them before a fire.

“Lasair,” called a man in leather armor as he too knelt.

Beyond the open doors the rain seemed to suddenly cease and sunset rays of light poured into the already bright hall. Jason couldn’t be certain, but it almost seemed that the entire building was rising upward.

As more people poured in through the great, golden doors only to drop to their knees, Jason began to wonder seriously if he was dreaming.

Then Gunther appeared at the door and sidled his way through the growing crowd to approach the throne.

“I leave you alone for ten minutes and you become the high king,” Gunther commented. “Not exactly discreet.”

Jason frowned at Gunther’s words. Then he realized that Gunther was making fun of the ridiculous scene he’d made. He wondered how long this was going to take to straighten out. Outside the hall, bells rang out and Jason thought he heard distant voices rising in cheers.

“Sorry,” Jason rasped. He flopped his hand off the arm of the throne, trying to reach the body sprawled there. “I found Henry.”

Gunther’s eyes dropped to where Falk lay in the shadow of the throne. He winced at the sight of the spears jutting from his body.

“He’s alive,” Jason assured him.

Gunther nodded and then crouched down at Falk’s side. With what struck Jason as practiced efficiency, Gunther jerked the spears from Falk’s body. He groaned.

“Time to wake up, Henry.” Gunther stood and surveyed the crowd gathering at the foot of the throne. “You’re going to miss the high king’s coronation.”

Jason mouthed a dry rasp of a laugh at Gunther’s sarcasm.

But then Falk’s eyes opened. He stared up at Jason for a moment, then offered him a weary smile and clumsily sat upright.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Henry told him. He tugged self-consciously at the sweat jacket he wore, as if he could shield Jason from the sight of the wound in his abdomen.

“Neither are you,” Jason replied hoarsely. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Henry sounded almost surprised. “I feel better than I have in a long time…You don’t look so good, though.”

“What kind of thing is that to say to your knight in shining armor?” Jason murmured.

“Nah, you’re Prince Charming,” Falk told him. He scowled out over the gathering in the gallery of the hall. “Looks like you’ve got quite the audience.”

Jason just shook his head. He would tell Falk all about it later and Falk would probably laugh at him. But he didn’t mind that because they were going to be all right now.

That knowledge seemed to release what little energy Jason retained. He leaned back into the throne, hardly feeling Princess’s weight as she leaped up onto his lap. Jason let his eyes fall shut.

Outside the hall, voices rose in a song. Jason didn’t recognize the words, but it sounded welcoming. He was sleeping when Falk stood, touched his brow once lightly, and then left him.

Chapter Eleven

An unctuous, onion-perfumed steam clouded the view of the world beyond the plate-glass windows of the HRD Coffee Shop. Henry thought that was just as well. The gray December sky and fine drizzle of rain only reminded him of the Tuatha Dé Dannan Islands.

Not that it would be piss and misery there anymore. According to Shadow Snitches and at least one drunk ambassador, High King Lasair had brought blue skies, abundant harvests, and a new charter of rights to his subjects. Apparently Jason was shaping up into something of a populist monarch, despite the opposition of his courtiers and ministers.

Henry tried to picture Jason wearing the golden crown and saffron robes of the high king, but the closest he could manage was a memory of the way he’d looked, satisfied and stretched out, sleeping on a divan with Henry’s battered trench coat lying across his naked bronze body.

Not exactly the stuff of royal portraiture.

Certainly not what Henry should be thinking about now that Jason had returned to the nobility of his birth right. A high king didn’t need a rangy, half-dead relic for company. But it had been beautiful while it lasted…

Henry took a swig of his coffee and scowled. It was short about four shots of whiskey to really do him much good.

He picked up the festively decorated invitation that he’d been considering throwing away for over an hour now. Inside, a photograph of Gunther and the various poor souls he’d roped into assisting with the social outreach program that he disguised as a Christmas cookie-making party stared back at him. Henry recognized Gunther’s current boyfriend—the vegetarian—holding up a snowflake-shaped cookie cutter. Agent August and some feral-looking man made eyes at each other from behind him.

Not Henry’s kind of thing at all—too many people, not enough rotgut.

And yet, for the first time since he’d been a young man, Henry found himself welcoming the thought of company, craving noise and novelty. It was ridiculous. After ninety-four years wandering alone and half lost in the desolation of the past, he had no right to turn up at some Cookie Jamboree—or whatever the hell Gunther was calling it—like a repentant alcoholic uncle.

Henry folded the card back closed.

He contemplated his meal, Jason’s favorite, the kimchi burrito. He took a bite and found that it tasted odd but good. In spite of himself he wondered if Jason missed it. More than likely he’d discovered something far more exquisite and less messy among the elegant sidhe.

“Jason! Is that you?” the Hispanic cashier called out in delight. “Oh my God, honey, you look great!”

Henry looked up.

And there Jason stood, dressed in a gray army jacket, black T-shirt, and jeans that fit him just right. The cashier grinned at his bronze skin and striking, angular features. He’d always been this handsome. Now with the anonymity spell worn away people were free to take note.

Jason smiled back at the cashier, a friendly, genuine smile. Then he turned and surveyed the crowd of customers at the counter and tables.

Henry met his gaze because it would have been childish to look away. Jason stared hard and too long at him—as if he were attempting to pin Henry to his seat with just the power of his dark eyes.

The cashier gave a little cough. Jason returned his attention to her, ordering his usual and making small talk about the money he’d recently come into and the vacation he’d been on.

Henry tried to pick out Jason’s security detail. But either they were invisible even beyond Henry’s sensing or no one had Jason’s back. The thought disturbed Henry deeply.

“But you’re back in town now?” the cashier asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m back,” Jason stated firmly.

Henry thought it was a little mean for Jason to kid with her like that, but then Jason probably didn’t realize how easy it would be for her to get taken with him.

A moment later, Jason strode to Henry’s table.

“You can be a very difficult man to find,” Jason told him.

“Yeah, well.” Henry shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious under Jason’s scrutiny. “I don’t like to get underfoot.”

“No, you leave your cat to do that.” He placed his order of fries and his kimchi burrito on the table and very deliberately took the seat next to Henry. “She’s fine, by the way.”

Henry nodded. He’d known Jason would treat her well.

“Does NIAD know you’re here?” Henry instinctively lowered his voice.

“Why? Do you want to see my travel visa and diplomatic passport before I can sit down and eat with you?” When Henry didn’t respond, Jason shook his head and said, “Yes, they know. I’m all cleared, paid up, and legal.”