I grabbed the wineskin and leaned back against the side of the house. I didn’t offer him any. Consider it a beer tax. “What are you really doing here?” I asked. “And don’t lie.”
“I never lie.”
“My father says the same thing. It’s even true, most of the time. Yet somehow . . .”
“Your father is an excellent diplomat. Prevarication is part of the skill set.”
“And you’re a king. What’s the skill set for that?”
He ran a finger up the side of my bare foot. “Everything. And just when you think you know it all, you discover that you require something else. It’s why I learned long ago to arrange help where I need it.”
“Like you need it from Claire?”
Dark eyes met mine, shining in the lamplight. “She likes you. Trusts you. After that little display today, I can see why. You could do her a service—”
“Her or you?”
“Does it have to be exclusive?”
“And what service would that be?”
“Persuade her to contact her father. He has the resources I need, but reaching him has been . . . challenging. But she could arrange a meeting—”
“Caedmon—”
“—here, on neutral ground—”
“Caedmon.”
“—we’re in-laws, after all, or will be soon. We should have met already—”
“Caedmon! Did you not see what happened today?” I gestured at the garden. “Did you somehow miss the massive freaking dragon tearing up the place?”
“No, she was magnificent.”
“Or the horrified woman running off in tears after she changed back?”
“She lost control, and was embarrassed. It happens—”
“That’s not what happened!”
I drank wine, and debated whether I should even be talking about this, because it was Claire’s business, not mine. But I knew Caedmon, and I didn’t see him going away without some kind of explanation as to why his plan, whatever it was, wasn’t going to work. And I thought Claire had enough to deal with without taking on her father-in-law.
“It’s getting stronger,” I told him, after a moment.
“What is?”
“Her dragon half.”
“Of course. She’s growing up—”
“Maybe she doesn’t want it getting stronger, Caedmon! Maybe she doesn’t want to think about it at all!”
“And why not?” He sounded puzzled. “Power is safety, in your world as well as ours—”
I laughed, and drank more wine. “It’s not always safety.”
“Yes, it is.” He still sounded puzzled, but also vaguely wary, like I’d just suggested that the sun comes up in the west or something. I wondered again what Faerie was like, that Caedmon, a being so old and—presumably—wise, couldn’t conceive of a single question to which more power might not be the answer.