At that moment, her eyes were glancing at the position of the sun and then darting around the woods, noting the movement of the soldiers. Intelligent as well as beautiful—but a terrible spy. She was broadcasting every thought so loudly, she might as well shout it.
He leaned back and folded his arms as he spoke. “You can forget it. Any one of us would catch you before you took two steps. And in the extremely unlikely event you made it to the road, Garet and Jos will see you from the air.”
She turned her face to him, assessing. Blinked, and then looked away without bothering to reply.
He cleared his throat, not used to being ignored. “Tell me what happened at the manor house.”
“You’ve been?” she asked, voice soft and husky in a way that made him inexplicably uncomfortable. “Does anything stand?”
“No.” He shook his head, frustrated at his own gruff response.
“Then you know what happened,” she said quietly and looked away again.
“I want you to tell me.”
She turned her body toward him, watching him carefully as she asked, “Why do you care about the house?”
“I don’t,” he started, realizing as he watched her face shut down completely that it was the wrong thing to say.
“Nim,” he tried to reason with her, “I’m trying to get some kind of understanding of what’s happened.”
“And this,” she waved her hand, taking in the armed soldiers, “is you being understanding?”
“No,” said an angry voice beside him.
Tor. The angriest of all of them over what had happened. The others had lost their commissions, but Tor had been disowned. He’d brought shame on his illustrious family, and they had cut him out completely in response.
Now he was staring at Nim with a belligerent scowl. “This is the Hawks taking a traitor’s sister, a traitor herself, into custody to face justice. With a bit of luck, you’ll hang together.”
If he hadn’t been sitting right next to her, Tristan wouldn’t have been able to see the repressed flinch. As it was, Nim’s face drained to a deathly pale.
He could feel his scales flickering. That primal part of him, his inner beast—that part that turned him into a berserker, indifferent to pain, deadly in bloodlust—was rearing its head in frustrated rage and an inexplicable need to protect this small, treacherous woman.
He frowned at Tor, trying to keep calm. “Shut up and get back to work. You can patrol the road.”
“But—” Tor’s fists were clenched, his black and red tattoos rippling as he folded his arms.
Tristan stood, giving him no time to continue. “Yes, sir. That’s all you say. Do it now.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, sir.” Tor’s reply was rich with sarcasm.
“No.” Nim’s voice was clear and firm as she rose to her feet. “Don’t send him away. What’s the point of this stupid game? Is it making you feel better to act all friendly before you condemn an innocent woman? Is this to lull me into some false sense of security before you—”
She cleared her throat, and Tristan braced himself, but she didn’t finish the thought.
Instead, she stood, back straight, chin up, and slowly spread her wings. For the first time, he could see the deep gashes and angry, blistered burns. Her right wing hung slightly low, and he realized that she had flown miles with internal damage. It must have been agony.
Her head only just reached the top of his chin—she was tiny compared to him, or any one of the men, broken and exhausted, but she stared them down, unflinching.
The men in the clearing were absolutely silent, watching her as she stepped up to Tor and held out her arms, wrists together, palms up. Like a supplicant. Or a slave.
She continued, her voice only just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Do it. You know you want to.”
Tor didn’t move. No one did.
“So full of judgment,” her voice was low and mocking, “you didn’t even need to ask one single question before you condemned me. Do it. Here, I’ll help.” She shoved her bruised wrists toward Tor’s chest. “First you take my wrists and pull, drag me to those trees over there.” She tilted her head toward a small thicket surrounded by blackthorn. “That’s right,” she murmured as they all looked distrustfully into the darkness of the forest.
She lifted a trembling hand and pulled her jerkin collar wider, exposing her slender neck. “Then you wrap your hand around my throat and throw me to the ground, climb over me, pin me down, make sure I’m truly afraid. Then you whisper in my ear, nice and slowly, all the things you do to traitors.”
