“Not enough,” he admitted.
“Not enough for what?” I asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“If you are known to regularly be in someone else’s company, it makes you vulnerable,” Jonas explained. “Your security at the Pythian Court becomes irrelevant, when it is known that, sooner or later, you will visit your lover. Someone doesn’t have to attack you at your home base, where you are surrounded by wards and guards; they merely have to wait.”
“In Pritkin’s rooms. In the heart of HQ.” I wondered if he understood how crazy that sounded.
“I admit, under normal circumstances you should have been safe here—”
“I was safe here.”
“You were attacked here!” Pritkin snapped.
I crossed my arms. “And which of us is dead?”
“If the fey had been carrying a ranged weapon, he could have shot you as soon as you materialized in the training salle! Or didn’t you think of that?”
For a moment, we just glared at each other.
Jonas sighed. “This is partly my fault,” he admitted. “I should have put a stop to this before—”
“A stop to what?” I asked.
“—but it was useful. Many people are concerned that you are too close to the vampires, Cassie. Having you seen to be dating a war mage was . . . reassuring . . . for them.”
“My love life is nobody’s business—”
“It is when you are Pythia.”
“—and even if it was, it wouldn’t be up to you to lecture me. You and Agnes were an item for years!”
“Not in wartime.” The steel was back in his voice. “Anything that makes you vulnerable at this juncture must be reconsidered.”
“Then reconsider it. And once you have, keep your opinions to yourself.”
He blinked at me.
I was too angry to care.
I was also tired of this conversation.
“Jonas, if we could have a minute?” I said, looking at Pritkin.
I expected an argument, but didn’t get one. He shut his book, and put it back on the shelf. “Of course. Would you care for some tea, Cassie?”
“Love some.”
He left.
I was about to ask for a silence spell, because I didn’t trust that wily old wizard at all, especially in his own lair. But one clicked shut around us before I could. “I can’t believe I’m spelling the Lord Commander’s office,” Pritkin said.
“There are worse things,” I pointed out. “Like the Circle finding out that you’re Merlin.”
The scowl he’d been wearing for the last half hour reached epic proportions. “I never used that name—”
“Myrddin, then. Does it matter?” He started to say something, but I interrupted him. “You know damned well that the fey have every reason to want you dead!”
The emerald eyes narrowed. It did strange things to my stomach, because, as usual, he’d forgotten to shave and was also in uniform, which included khakis that strained over muscular thighs and shirt sleeves rolled up to show strong, tanned forearms. He looked ungodly hot, even with the disastrous hair.