“Spit it out, Sergente.”
“You’re not going to harm Fallon?”
“I’m not.”
My heart lightens at Cato’s concern. What a good man he is. If only he could see Dante’s true colors.
Once he leaves, Justus walks over to the wall and paints the sigil for privacy on the stone frame.
“When did you and Vanche pull the switcheroo?”
He hikes up an eyebrow as he turns back toward me. “Switcheroo?”
“When did he transform into you?”
“When he devised the idiotic plan with my wife.”
“So you weren’t in on it?”
“Do you really think I would’ve sent you half-naked and weaponless into the king’s chamber?”
“Where were you?”
“I had to meet with the dunce Dante left in charge of Isolacuori.”
“Tavo?”
“That’s the one,” Justus grumbles.
“Has Lorcan not murdered him yet?”
“Surprisingly not. He’s still hoping Tavo will lead him to you.”
“Speaking of leading him to me, my mate’s losing patience.”
A corner of Justus’s lips curls up. “One cannot lose something one has never been imbued with.”
I smirk. “Harsh.”
“But not untrue. On a scale of one to ten, what are my odds of surviving your mate’s wrath?”
“Ten being none?”
He nods.
“Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine.” Though I say it with humor, it’s the sad truth. “Unless you return me to him . . .”
“I cannot do that yet, Fallon.” He drops his eyes to the toecaps of his boots that are looking as scuffed as the healer’s were earlier.
“Look, I understand why you’re keeping me down here.”
He peers at me, a small groove etched between his brows as though he was confused, which, admittedly, is odd considering he knows all about Bronwen’s prophecy.
“I know I must be the one to kill Dante, but why keep Meriam down here? Why can’t you carry her somewhere else?”
The furrow turns shallower but doesn’t disappear. I suppose that between his clandestine operations and his advanced age, wrinkles are inevitable. “She cannot leave.”
“Why not? Does she not trust me to finish him off? I may not inspiremuchconfidence, but I’m chock-full of grit.”
