"He's a good man," Descry said just after the Teleporter and his girlfriend had blipped away. "We're lucky to have him on your side."
"Nice kid," was Rover's verdict, underpinned by a faint moan from Dexter as the Elemental worked his muscles carefully. "Love the hair. How many peanuts did you get into it, Rafey?"
Rafe's tongue lolled out in doggy laughter. 'Lost count. Don't think he's noticed yet, either.'
"And your take on Valkyrie?" Corrival asked, and although he didn't direct it ostensibly at either, his gaze was on Descry, and it was Descry who answered.
"She's lucky to have the parents she does. And she's going to be better for the fact that they know, whether she knows it yet or not."
Solomon said nothing. He didn't have to. He couldn't tell from the words alone whether they were a reflection on what he'd been teaching her, or what Skulduggery had been teaching her. But the lanterns had spiralled out, apparently unconsciously, and for a moment Solomon glimpsed ... something. Images, yes, a combination between visions seen through someone else's eyes and processes like hieroglyphs--a front for words. Things he couldn't read, precisely, but of which he could perhaps guess the meaning because of how they translated to his eyes.
The main thing that caught his attention was that most of the actual memories--they had to be memories, Valkyrie's memories--were rose-tinted.
The nearest lantern turned, its panes shifting from Valkyrie's mental process to a swirl of mirrored lights. Then, as if Hopeless had realised his soul needed to be reigned in again, the lanterns drew tight around him. It was fascinating and irritating in equal turns.
This, Solomon decided, was going to be a problem if they had to remain in each other's company, unwarded, for any length of time. The vague burn of resigned amusement in the depths of Hopeless's soul agreed. Resigned amusement and not exactly pained, but aware more than anyone just what Solomon was seeing. Part of him wanted to know more. Part of him knew that was because there was another part which didn't want to see this spell enacted, didn't want to see the armour in Skulduggery's soul, and could see Hopeless as a fitting distraction.
If.
"Are Bespoke and Low awake yet?" he asked, a tad brusquely, "or should Rafe and I weave some magic while we're waiting for them to climb out of their nest?"
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"Nice kid," was Rover's verdict, underpinned by a faint moan from Dexter as the Elemental worked his muscles carefully. "Love the hair. How many peanuts did you get into it, Rafey?"
Rafe's tongue lolled out in doggy laughter. 'Lost count. Don't think he's noticed yet, either.'
"And your take on Valkyrie?" Corrival asked, and although he didn't direct it ostensibly at either, his gaze was on Descry, and it was Descry who answered.
"She's lucky to have the parents she does. And she's going to be better for the fact that they know, whether she knows it yet or not."
Solomon said nothing. He didn't have to. He couldn't tell from the words alone whether they were a reflection on what he'd been teaching her, or what Skulduggery had been teaching her. But the lanterns had spiralled out, apparently unconsciously, and for a moment Solomon glimpsed ... something. Images, yes, a combination between visions seen through someone else's eyes and processes like hieroglyphs--a front for words. Things he couldn't read, precisely, but of which he could perhaps guess the meaning because of how they translated to his eyes.
The main thing that caught his attention was that most of the actual memories--they had to be memories, Valkyrie's memories--were rose-tinted.
The nearest lantern turned, its panes shifting from Valkyrie's mental process to a swirl of mirrored lights. Then, as if Hopeless had realised his soul needed to be reigned in again, the lanterns drew tight around him. It was fascinating and irritating in equal turns.
This, Solomon decided, was going to be a problem if they had to remain in each other's company, unwarded, for any length of time. The vague burn of resigned amusement in the depths of Hopeless's soul agreed. Resigned amusement and not exactly pained, but aware more than anyone just what Solomon was seeing. Part of him wanted to know more. Part of him knew that was because there was another part which didn't want to see this spell enacted, didn't want to see the armour in Skulduggery's soul, and could see Hopeless as a fitting distraction.
If.
"Are Bespoke and Low awake yet?" he asked, a tad brusquely, "or should Rafe and I weave some magic while we're waiting for them to climb out of their nest?"