He rolls his eyes in exasperation, but I can tell his ire is mild. Since we’ve all gathered in the same room—and he’s collected every knife and weapon-like item from the kitchen into his lap—he’s been less on edge. Leave it to Selwyn Kane to be comforted by a pile of sharp objects.

“Why is that, though?” I ask. William hits a particularly tender spot, and I do my best to stifle a quiet moan.

Sel’s head and ear turn slightly in my direction, and a light flush hits his cheeks.

He definitely heard that moan.

“Merlin physiology is just different enough that my”—William tilts his head back and forth while searching for the words—“variety of aether isn’t useful to their healing process.”

“What does that mean?” Alice asks, eyes wide.

“It means mind your business, Onceborn,” Sel interjects as he picks at his shirt. “I’ll clean and bandage it myself once we figure out what to do next.”

“I have a name,” Alice says with a glare. “Three, actually. First, middle, and last. You’re welcome to use any of them.”

“Well.” Sel tilts his head. “I’m honestly still deciding if I want to refer to you at all. I don’t really know you that well, do I? Other than that you’re Briana’s Unanedig childhood friend.”

“I don’t speak Welsh,” Alice says with a scowl.

“I am aware.” Sel scans the room, looking it over for the third time in the past ten minutes. For more weapons, more hiding places, hidden threats, I’m sure.

“Is he always so damn rude?” Alice asks me.

“Yes,” William and I respond.

“Call her Alice,” I command. Sel’s eyes flash to mine, then away. Closest thing I’ll get to an agreement from him, I think, at least in front of the others. To Alice, I say, “ ‘Unanedig’ is Welsh for ‘Onceborn.’ ”

“Your accent’s getting better,” William murmurs approvingly.

“Diolch,” I reply, and he grins.

“Da iawn, Bree!”

“Da” means “good.” That much I know. It didn’t take long to pick up on a few phrases. I look up, proud of myself and pleased with William’s praise—and find Sel’s penetrating gaze already on me. Heat climbs up my neck, and my smile falters. He knows I’ve learned some Welsh now, but “cariad” still hangs between us, a word in limbo.

He looks away, pulling something out of his pocket. A cell phone.

“Found Jonas’s phone in the car. Looked through it, but it’s a burner. Nothing useful.”

“Great.” A rib shifts across a nerve and I stiffen. Pain shoots across my chest in a bright, sharp line.

“Sorry.” William lifts his hands up, his face apologetic.