"Have you been terribly bored, mo chroí?" Conall asked, but he was pouring his drink, and both Laszlo and I glanced at one another, Laszlo's cheeks coloring slightly. I knew mo chroí—"moh kree" as it sounded—was an old Gaelic endearment for "my heart," but I didn't know which of us he meant. Indeed, when he looked up again, his eyes bounced between us with a mischievous glint, leaving the question intentionally unanswered. "Hywel's no closer to waking?" "I received a few words from him yesterday," Laszlo said, "but I think he was still dreaming."
