“Perhaps, but he has been nothing but good to me.”
“You are one of the lucky few, and I can count on my hands how many that is.”
So could she. “Let me guess: six.”
“Seven, eight with you.”
Calliope’s brows furrowed. “Who is the seventh?”
“Another scarred rodent.”
Another brother? Maxen was only ever loyal to his family. “Aren’tyoua rodent by your definition?” she shot back, annoyed.
He tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair. “I’m one that rose from the gutters, too.”
“Like them.”
“Well, I’ll argue I rose without gruesome scars.”
Calliope scoffed. “Just because you don’t bear physical scars, that doesn’t mean you don’t bear scars at all.”
“Spoken like a truly educated woman.”
She shrugged. “I have sense at times.”
“Just not enough not to fall in with that lot. They would sell their own children if it meant it would save their skin.”
What rot! “Nonsense! Not one of those men would commit such atrocities!”
“Can you say that with complete certainty?”
“Yes.” Because she had come face to face with such a monster before. Lived in her house for years. Was about to be sold to an old man as a wife. But she wouldn’t give this coxcomb the satisfaction of an explanation just for him to twist her words.
“Do you know why you’re still breathing, Miss Turner?”
Her heart lurched. “Why?”
“Alive, you have value. Dead, you are only a message.”
“You broke your word to whoever gave you that instruction, so that doesn’t make you the most loyal person to trust, does it? Anyway, what gives you a right to what they’ve built?”
“In this world, Miss Turner, no one gives you the right to anything. You take it.”
The philosophy of a blackguard. Fabulous.
Her hands fisted in her trousers. It would be best if Maxen didn’t come. But she knew as clearly as the image of his dark eyes blazing with fury filled her mind that he would come. She quite imagined that when he raged, the world would either bend or break to his will. She didn’t know if she should be comforted by that thought or terrified for him.
She chose the former. “You will regret this when he arrives.”
Peregrine cocked his head, studying her as one might study a puzzle. “There will be no regret when I see the look on his face when he realizes he cannot win against me. Ever.”
Her throat went dry.
He’s baiting you, Calliope.
His eyes glinted, like a cat toying with its prey. “Your heroes are such fragile things, Miss Turner.”
Her lips parted, scathing retorts burning on her tongue, but she never had the chance to blast them.
