"Oh, I am," said Solomon lightly. He couldn't see the wince, but the way Ravel's shoulders tensed under his hand was impossible to miss. "It's so amazingly ironic. I leave the Temple, and discover depths of our magic of which they only dream."

Ravel was composed, Solomon would give him that. Not that Solomon expected otherwise; Dead Man, and all.

"Don't fret your pretty head too much," he added with self-deprecating amusement. "It's much more limited than it sounds. I can tell who you are and I can see that you have scars, which frankly sums up half the Foreigners in Keeliai. I can't tell where those scars came from and I can't tell anything you want or intend to do. Your deep, dark secrets are safe from me, Rue."

Whatever the other deep dark secrets might be, to make Skulduggery treat Ravel with cool indifference or irritation; much as he had Solomon for decades. Not that some of those scars were much of a secret, but one did not discuss those matters with a man as tense as Ravel currently was.

Either way, it ought to be a clear enough statement for Ravel to know Solomon wouldn't destroy Rue's cover. Too much fun to be had, there. Solomon wondered if China knew.