9
It really wasn’t plain, at least not to my eye. I stared and stared at Jay, and saw the same features as ever. The same human features. They were good, no doubt about that: finely etched, sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw, all the hallmarks of what might be considered solid good looks.
But he was human. Not a hint of a fae glamour about him; none of the unusual tints or beautiful, slightly alien cast to the features that might mark him as part fae. None of the things that had stood out so clearly in Cicily Werewode’s portrait.
But the Lorekeeper disagreed. ‘You haven’t the eyes,’ he said to me, not unkindly. ‘It’s clear enough to me. And to Her Majesty, no doubt.’
‘Jay?’ I squeaked.
He flashed me a tight, unamused smile. ‘Can we talk about it later?’
I folded my arms, and stared him
