Cason had to hide his own grin. It was almost too easy. Curiosity was always enough to get people to lower their guards. “Well, it seems some of them are under the impression that a celvusa broke into their boss’s home.”
The woman let out a snort that was very unflattering, causing her to cough through what might have been pain if she hadn’t also been laughing. Her pale gaze met his as her smile disappeared. “You are joking, right?”
“I am not.”
“A mythical beast.”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating,” she replied, trying to clear the rasp in her voice. “And what game would you like me to play here?”
Cason opened his mouth but shut it as the woman folded her arms and gave him a pointed look.
“Really, I’m interested in what you thought you’d get out of me,” she pressed. “You’re smarter than the other men, I’ll give you that, but you should remember they barged through here first. I’m trying to figure out if you thought I’d suddenly drop to my knees and start praying to a mythical shadow creature or if you thought I’d flat out tell you that I was friends with the Night Terror assassin that you’re looking for.”
Four hells. This woman hadn’t fallen for anything.
She removed her hood and stood up—gods, she was taller than he expected—placing her hands on the table as she leaned forward. “Look, I’m not interested in playing games today so just ask your gods-damned questions, buy something, or get out of our village.”
So, bluntness it would be. Cason sighed, glancing at her table of various stones and herbs. “Have you sold these earth-blessed stones to someone with deep pockets?”
“Several.”
“Anyone who you think might be associated with Valisea or Veil Worshippers? Or who might have connections to the assassin?”
The woman shrugged. “No to both questions.”
He grunted, lifting up a few jars of herbs. “These are ingredients for finola.”
“Yes,” she replied. No heartbeat fluctuations, no shift in stance, just the same rasp in her voice that she’d had from the start of their conversation.
“There was finola poison used to silence the staff.”
She didn’t flinch. “And in this concentration, all you’d get was a rather bitter tea that relieved some aches and pains.” She lifted another jar, this one filled with thysys leaves. “Would you like me to explain the female reproductive system and that mixing these herbs with finola will act as a preventative?”
“I get it,” he snapped, his teeth grinding in frustration.
“Then stop treating us like we’re something less than you.” The woman kept a straight face for another few seconds before shaking her head. “I don’t think you understand what we have to go through to survive here. We’re afterthoughts until something shakes up your perfect little world and then you think it’s okay to blame and threaten us into submission. You and your men have done enough today.”
As she swallowed and rubbed at her neck, Cason saw the ring of bruises around her throat. No wonder her voice was scratchy—someone had recently choked her, and suddenly her casual comment about threatening into submission clicked, just like the rage he had felt when Merik approached the child at the orphanage. His stomach clenched as anger burned in his chest.
“Did those men do that do you?” he growled.
“Do what?” she asked, frowning.
“Your neck,” Cason replied.
Her hand darted, first to the space where her neck met her shoulder before lifting to the exposed skin on her throat. She quickly flipped her collar up, though it only hid a small portion of the discolored skin.
“No,” she said, her voice catching.
Cason shook his head. “If they did, I’ll make sure they’re held responsible for—“
“They didn’t touch me,” she hissed, baring her teeth. “It was my own fault and none of your business.”
He uncurled his fist but the anger didn’t dissipate. Everything that came out of her mouth was the truth—and her mannerisms and heartbeat hadn’t changed since the slight hitch when he mentioned the bruises. She really thought she was responsible for an injury someone else had given her.
Cason looked again at the woman in front of him—actuallylooked. He could see the scars that traced her arms now, something that he should have picked up on before. Those were not the first bruises she’d suffered, and judging by the marks that lined her arms, it was not the worst pain she’d experienced. Were his senses really that dulled today that he had missed her injuries?
