The question was so sudden, so forthright, that it made Solomon laugh again, genuinely and rather incredulously. The thing was ... the thing was that, as the laughter trailed off into speculative silence, Solomon found he wasn't sure that Ravel was wrong. Not entirely wrong, at least, but wrong for ... not quite the reasons he would probably assume.
"No," Solomon said after a moment, turning them down a specific corridor. "I've less-than-no-reason to expect anything either from Sai--Gabe--or God. I'm hardly going to insult them with faint praise in the hope my crimes might be assuaged."
Ridiculous. And a lie, besides. What would be the point in pretending? He'd seen what Saint Gabriel was. A lie would only make things worse, and even though Solomon couldn't see how things could be made better, there was no point in knowingly doing the opposite.
Except something about that made Shudder tremble with brief silent mirth. "You may find you've a better chance than you believe," he said, his hoarse voice bitter and resigned at once. "Perhaps. Or not. The Archangel wasn't too enamoured of me either."
Of course. The Gist. The Gist, a manifestation of pure anger and hatred. Naturally Saint Gabriel wouldn't like that. And yet ...
"Strange," Solomon murmured. "If he can stand Skulduggery, I would have imagined your restraint would be just glorious to him."
It was a careful, pointed suggestion. This time Shudder didn't just freeze; he stopped short and turned slowly to look Solomon in the eyes. With a cold trickle down his back Solomon was abruptly aware of the man's bloodshot eyes, of Ravel's previous words about the man's Gist, and the fact that he himself had no magic to speak of. "How long," Shudder asked in a low voice, "have you known?"
Solomon swallowed and kept very, very still. "Two days. Valkyrie told me, just after she found out. I swear it."
If Shudder believed Solomon had known all this time, for centuries, his life was worth less than a penny. Luckily, after a long, searching look which Solomon didn't dare turn from, the Gist-user finally nodded slowly and relaxed, somewhat, back into their grasp--more on Ravel than on Solomon, it had to be said.
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"No," Solomon said after a moment, turning them down a specific corridor. "I've less-than-no-reason to expect anything either from Sai--Gabe--or God. I'm hardly going to insult them with faint praise in the hope my crimes might be assuaged."
Ridiculous. And a lie, besides. What would be the point in pretending? He'd seen what Saint Gabriel was. A lie would only make things worse, and even though Solomon couldn't see how things could be made better, there was no point in knowingly doing the opposite.
Except something about that made Shudder tremble with brief silent mirth. "You may find you've a better chance than you believe," he said, his hoarse voice bitter and resigned at once. "Perhaps. Or not. The Archangel wasn't too enamoured of me either."
Of course. The Gist. The Gist, a manifestation of pure anger and hatred. Naturally Saint Gabriel wouldn't like that. And yet ...
"Strange," Solomon murmured. "If he can stand Skulduggery, I would have imagined your restraint would be just glorious to him."
It was a careful, pointed suggestion. This time Shudder didn't just freeze; he stopped short and turned slowly to look Solomon in the eyes. With a cold trickle down his back Solomon was abruptly aware of the man's bloodshot eyes, of Ravel's previous words about the man's Gist, and the fact that he himself had no magic to speak of. "How long," Shudder asked in a low voice, "have you known?"
Solomon swallowed and kept very, very still. "Two days. Valkyrie told me, just after she found out. I swear it."
If Shudder believed Solomon had known all this time, for centuries, his life was worth less than a penny. Luckily, after a long, searching look which Solomon didn't dare turn from, the Gist-user finally nodded slowly and relaxed, somewhat, back into their grasp--more on Ravel than on Solomon, it had to be said.