He couldseethe moment happen behind her glare. The calculation. Lie, or truth? Protect, or reveal?
Finally she said, “No. They’re not Varyth’s.” She looked up at him, unflinching. “They crossed with me.”
Fuck.
Ashterion managed to keep his expression neutral. It took effort not to scrub a hand across his face. Every time this female opened her mouth, the situation got more gods-damned complicated.
More bullshit to deal with later.
Ashterion rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “Well,” he said, tone clipped. “Let’s see to those wounds, shall we? You can return once we’ve made it look sufficiently… unpleasant.”
He caught it, the tight lines around her mouth softened, and some of the stiffness in her shoulders uncoiled. She didn’t speak, just nodded.
He turned to step around the table, when her gaze caught on something. Her eyes dropped to his chest, fixating.
“What?” he said flatly, already annoyed.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m—what?”
She pointed, frowning now. “Your tunic. There.”
He glanced down. Sure enough, dark crimson had seeped through the fine grey linen. A sluggish bloom, vivid and ugly, right over his ribs. He prodded at it with two fingers and hissed faintly as pain lanced beneath the skin.
Huh.
He hadn’t even noticed.
Of course the wound had reopened. Why wouldn’t it? It wasn’t like his entire fucking ribcage wasn’t already on fire every time he breathed.
“Relax,” he drawled. “I won’t bleed out before you get back to your cell.”
“Let me see it.”
His head snapped toward her. “Let you see it?” The words came out edged with incredulity. “Why would I do that?”
She crossed her arms, her stance shifting to something more determined. “Because you’re bleeding all over your fancy floor, and I’d rather not slip in it when I finally get the chance to murder you properly.”
Despite himself, his lips twitched. “How considerate.”
“I’m a very thoughtful assassin.”
Ashterion studied her, trying to parse through whether the concern in her eyes was genuine or merely a tactic.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered, turning away again.
“And you’re bleeding.”
Her footsteps padded across the stone floor, each one far too confident for someone who should be afraid of him. For someone who had every reason to be.
Ashterion let out a measured breath as she came to stand in front of him again, her expression carved in stubbornness. The same look she wore every time she challenged him, which was far too often.
She meant it.
And gods help him, she wasn’t going to back down.
“Lift your shirt,” she said.
