He considered it, then sent a sidelong look over his shoulder. “What is it in English, the colored glass at church?” Lucas hesitated before answering, and Jean couldn’t fight back a faint scowl at the sound of it. “Stained glass. English continues to be a hideous invention. Stained glass.” He flicked his fingers, trying to erase it from his memory, but said, “That is what the Ravens are: sharp-edged and shattered, and fused together into a new whole. You cannot take them apart again.”
