“Don’t you dare blame this on me.”
David laughed humorlessly, grabbing the bottle from Bertrand. He took a swig and pointed at Sy. “You knew. You might have stopped him. You might have so much asflinchedwhen you saw him die.”
“The way you flinched when you saw the wreck that bear left of my back?”
“Should I have frozen in panic?”
“You tend traumatic wounds with ease, you poach others’ ideas for your own gain. The forest is revealing another side of you. I only wonder what else you’re hiding.”
“Then at last, we’re on equal footing.” He took a drink of whiskey, then stared into the bottle and spoke flatly. “My father’s factory manufactures gunpowder. Accidents happen, not infrequently. I’ve seen and tended far worse.”
Sy kept his face neutral, but inwardly winced. He had seen his share of factory accidents himself when he tended the streets of Lower Bunting. Most amounted to a twisted ankle or a sprained wrist, but some were quite gruesome. No wonder David hadn’t flinched.
As for why Sy hadn’t stopped Terrence, he had no answer for that. No answer he wanted to face.
When David spoke again, his voice had less venom in it. Less venom, and a question. “When that woman was hurt. You ran out to help her.”
So David didn’t think him a complete monster. An idiot, perhaps. He felt a tension in his shoulders release. “It was foolish, I know.”
Bertrand sat up straighter. “You know about injured women better than most. Don’t you, Sylas?”
“I’m sure I don’t catch your meaning.”
“The rumors of what Edgard does with the girls he collects. Of what you help him with. Tell us they’re not true.”
At last, someone had asked.
And he said nothing. Let the answer haunt him in its silence, as it always had.
But then David spoke, venomous once more. “I know Edgard will have his way. And you are a King’s Wizard first. A King’s Wizard must obey the king. Especially one…like you.”
“Of course,” Sy agreed acerbically.
“But…to change someone, against their will. It’s a clear violation of our oath as scribes.”
Sy felt as if he had been kicked. His scarred left hand curled into a fist. “There’s no reason I should give a singleshitfor that hypocritical oath, but you honestly think I wouldevertake someone’s choice from them?”
“Ifyourchoice was taken? If you were desperate to free yourself?” He licked his lips, pressed a hand to his mouth. “If you saw a chance to get ahead of a competitor, one you knew meant something to me, even if it meant letting him die in horrific fear and pain?”
Sy felt his expression smooth.
“There,” he said, pointing weakly. “That. You disappear. I thought it was because of your upbringing, because you felt out of place. But now–”
“Don’t be shy,” Sy prompted, his voice deadly calm.
“After what I’ve seen today, I no longer know what I think you would do.”
Another kick, straight to the chest. David had been boiling with grief, with fear, with anger, and ready to spill it all on Sy. The moment his anger began to cool, Bertrand posed a question designed to paint Sy as an immoral beast. That didn’t bother him; he knew as much – and far worse – had been said about him behind closed doors.
But that David was willing to see the likeness? David, who he thought knew him better than anyone?
Didn’t that mean there was a likeness to see?
“You could have come to me, Sy,” said David, setting the whiskey aside. “I could have helped you. We could have found a way, together. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“Terrence was a beast. Little better than the king. Claude too, evidently.” David paled, and Sy pressed on. “Make of that what you will.”
“He’s right,” Bertrand put in. “They visit my club when they’re not at Martin’s. Not your sort of place. They like to… boast of their latest conquests.”
