“Is that so?” His eyebrows quirked at the notion of such an ancient creature being played like a fiddle by a slave – an angelic slave, if the fae were being literal, but a slave nonetheless. It was equal parts impressive and worrisome given the fact that the so-called angel had evidently been in contact with his household. What manner of havoc would be unleashed if someone like that were to be set loose on the weres? It took a great deal of hard work and politicking for him to reach that level of mastery in the past and his targets were never so old and undoubtedly cunning as this Lord Carrick. “I will have to keep that in mind, then.”
“If this angel is the will and you are the way, supposing that we did join forces, what then would that make me? I think you do yourself a disservice – your abilities are wide, wider than my own, and far reaching.” His fingers drummed thoughtfully on the borrowed canvas bag, his lips pursed with contemplation that didn't go near as deep as he led the fae nor the crowd around them to believe. “Three is a crowd, or so they say. What is it that I possess that you do not?”