It all made sense now—the number of times he’d drunk the other patrons at the House of Kala under the table. The Fae could drink themselves into oblivion if they wanted to; they only had to will it and they were as sober as a judge in their next breath. For as long as I’d known him, Carrion had been hiding his lineage. The glamor Kingfisher’s father had wrought on him as a baby had held his whole life, concealing his true appearance. In fairness, he’d always been tall. But his ears had been rounded, his features less chiseled and sharp, his frame not quite so broad. The reality of him was
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