"The bottle," Samandriel said. "If my grace had just been taken and not put anywhere, it would've just gone straight back into me. The bottle's exactly the same, and those are his slave's hands holding it." Samandriel only met the fae once, but he'd paid attention to those nimble fingers. He'd recognize them well enough. The small scar at the curve of the boy's hand near the joint of his thumb helped as well.
"I imagine he made himself a market. Carrick's old and cunning, influential and feared. If he wants something, he'll get it. Right now, what he seems to want is me and I think that very much has to do with the fact that I remember the ancient days perhaps more clearly than he does."