Shakala’s eyes turned to him as soft light spread around from objects some of the Zulus were carrying. They weren’t torches, or didn’t seem to be; Serrin thought he felt the aura of magic on them, but he was locked into the shaman’s gaze. Despite the situation, Serrin couldn’t help registering the beauty of the man. With that aquiline nose, the high bones of his face, the elegance and proportion of his hard body, he looked like a prince.