"When are you going to make an honest elf of him?" Alistair repeats with more careful enunciation, as if there's any possibility that that's what she meant. And as if he's serious. "I suppose that's a trick question. He'll never let anyone make him honest. But as a figure of speech—thank you, Lucci."

The baby's returned with the doll. Alistair holds it long enough for Lucci to start looking perplexed and unhappy that the game might be over, then makes a show of fumbling it about like it's trying to escape of its own accord and tosses it to the base of a nearby statue. A little further away this time, so there's a longer break for him to grin sideways at Mia.

He's not serious. Or: he's not so serious that he can't claim not to have meant any of it if pressed.

"Since his parents aren't about, I suppose you'll have to ask my permission, when you reach that point."