Page 10 of Mystic Justice
He snorted. ‘They do that frequently, but rarely to the death. These challenges have been to the death.’
I gaped. ‘But … you’re their High King. Theyrespectyou. I’ve seen it.’
‘Most do,’ he agreed. ‘But the ones that don’t are quite vocal.’ He shrugged. ‘There are fewer of them now,’ he said with some satisfaction.
‘And Einar’s coup?’
‘Stomped on, for now. But they’re undoubtedly just biding their time until they agree on a new leader.’ His tone suggested it was no big deal and I guessed he faced such challenges fairly often. To him they were no big deal, just a fact of life.
I didn’t know much about ogre culture – something I’d have to rectify if we grew serious – but I knew that the High King’s crown was passed on only by a death. Like many titles in the Other, it was a lifelong commitment, and sometimes that commitment shortened your lifespan. To my surprise, that thought made my stomach churn a little.
I searched Krieg for visible wounds. ‘Are you okay?’ Ogres were notoriously difficult to kill but, while that was true of him, it was equally true of his opponents. I relaxed a little when I saw no sign of injury. I reassured myself that I’d have noticed earlier if he’d been holding himself stiffly.
‘Fine.’ He smiled at me. ‘I like that you care already. This bodes well for us.’
I cleared my throat and waded into dangerous territory. ‘All the challenges … are they because you don’t have a mate?’
He froze – just for a moment, a beat – but I saw it. He forced himself to relax. ‘That’s part of it. And my heritage is another.’
‘You’re only half-ogre,’ I murmured.
‘Right.’
‘What do they think your other half is?’
He grinned. ‘My father misled the others into thinking that his mate was human – better that than tell them the truth. Plus it makes them underestimate me all the more. By all accounts my mother found the den an uncomfortable place, and she avoided it. When she died in childbirth, a number of my father’s compatriots didn’t hesitate to say they’d told him so.’
I winced in sympathy. ‘So a matching humanoid mate for you would be…’
‘A grenade in the den.’ He locked eyes with me for a moment before turning back to the road.
‘And yet you want to—’make me your mate?‘—date me?’
‘With all my heart,’ he answered honestly. Then, perhaps feeling too vulnerable, he added, ‘And other parts of me, too.’ I rolled my eyes at his innuendo, which made him laugh. ‘See?’ he said. ‘This is fun.’
‘We’re about to go and tell a couple their daughter is dead.’
The smile slipped from his face. ‘Yeah. That part won’t be pleasant.’
‘Perhaps you should stay in the car while I pass the death message?’
‘Will you crack the windows for me in case I get too hot?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘I don’t think you’re a dog!’
‘Good, because I won’t stay like one.’ He paused. ‘I’m not very well trained, either.’
That he would admit that made me laugh with surprise. ‘No shit? I hope you’re toilet trained at least.’
‘I put the lid back down and everything,’ he promised.
I was still snickering, appreciating the levity that he’d brought to an otherwise dark day, when we pulled up to Sefton Park.
It was just after midday but Channing’s notes from SPEL told us that the older dryad couple were retired and would more than likely be home. When we arrived, Channing’s police vehicle was parked by the main entrance so we pulled up behind him. ‘I called ahead,’ he said as we joined him.
My mouth dropped open. Younevercall ahead; when people know the police have bad news to deliver they can take drastic action. Before I could rip him a new one, Channing held up a hand. ‘I pretended to be a telemarketer. I just verified they were in, that’s all.’
‘You pretended to be a telemarketer?’ I asked incredulously.
