"I don't think so. It's about Simon."
"Yes." In invitation, Rowena patted the cushion beside her. "Exactly. Bradley's been very insistent that I do something tangible, something specific, about Simon."
"Kane's not going to touch the boy." There was steel, cold and immovable, in Brad's tone. "He's not going to use the boy. Simon is to be taken out of the mix. That's not negotiable."
"And you are setting terms now for Zoe, and her son?" Rowena asked. "No." Zoe spoke quickly. "I can speak for myself, and for Simon. But thank you." She looked at Brad. "Thank you for thinking about Simon."
"I'm not just thinking about him, I'm making this crystal clear. You and Pitte want the third key," he said to Rowena. "You want Zoe to succeed. Kane wants her to fail. There were rules, you said, about causing harm to mortals, shedding their blood, taking their lives. He broke those rules last time, and would have killed Dana and Jordan if he could have. There's no reason to think he'll go back to fighting fair this time. In fact, there's every reason to believe he'll fight even dirtier."
The muscles around Zoe's heart seemed to clench, leaving her breathless. "He's not touching my boy. You have to promise. You have to guarantee it, or this ends now."
"New terms." Rowena lifted her eyebrows. "And ultimatums?"
"Let's put it this way." Before Zoe could speak again, Brad silenced her with one sharp look. "If you don't do something to remove Simon from the board, if you don't shield him from Kane, he could be used against Zoe and cause her to fail. You're close, Rowena. Too close to let one stipulation stand in your way."
"Well played, Bradley." Rowena patted his knee. "Simon has a formidable champion in you. And you," she said to Zoe. "But it's already been done."
"What?" Zoe looked across the room at Simon, who was sneaking Moe a bit of crust from his pie.
"He's under protection, the strongest I can make. It was done while he slept, the night Dana found the second key. Mother," she said gently, touching a hand to Zoe's cheek, "I would not ask you to risk your child, not even for the daughters of a god."
"He's safe, then." She closed her eyes against the sting of relieved tears. "Kane can't hurt him?"
"As safe as I can make him. Kane would have to go through me, and Pitte. I can promise you, such an attack would cost him dearly."
"But if he got through—"
"Then he'd come up against us," Brad put in. "All six of us—and a big dog. Flynn and I talked about it earlier. You should take Moe with you, keep him around the way Dana did. An earlywarning system."
'Take Moe? Home?" That big, clumsy dog in her tiny little house? "I'd think you'd consult with me before you made such decisions."
"It's a suggestion, not a decision." He angled his head, and though his voice was mild again, his face was set. "It's just a sensible and reasonable suggestion. Besides, a kid Simon's age ought to have a dog around." "When I think Simon's ready for a dog—"
"Now, now." Swallowing a laugh, Rowena patted Brad's knee again, and Zoe's. "Isn't it silly to argue when you're both only thinking of what's best for Simon?"
"Can we just do what comes next? I'm getting all twisted up waiting for it to be official."
"All right. Perhaps Simon could take Moe out for a walk around the grounds. He'll be watched," she assured Zoe. "He'll be safe."
"Okay."
"I'll arrange it. Then we'll move into the next room."
Zoe found herself sitting on the sofa with Brad, without Rowena as a buffer between them. She linked her hands in her lap as he picked up his coffee cup.
"I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful and rude," she began. "I'm not. Not ungrateful."
"Just rude?"
"Maybe." Knowing she had been brought heat to her cheeks. "But I didn't mean to be. I'm not used to anybody—"
"Helping you?" he prompted. "Caring about you? About Simon?"
There was a bite in his voice, but there was something both careless and cool about it that made her feel small. She countered it by shifting and looking him dead in the eyes. "That's right, I'm not. Nobody helped me raise him, or feed him, or love him. Nobody helped me put a roof over his head. I've done it myself, and I've done a decent job of it."
"You haven't done a decent job of it," he corrected. "You've done an extraordinary job of it. So what? That means you have to slap away every helping hand?"
"No. No, it doesn't. You get me so mixed up."