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“I don’t care. I can’t do it with you watching. So if you want me to cut you, you better look away.”

He rolls his eyes but turns away.

I throw a quick glance Petrik’s way; he has his eyes squeezed shut and two fingers pinching his nose, as though he’s afraid he’ll smell the blood from there.

Temra gives me an encouraging nod.

Kellyn doesn’t so much as blink at the pain when a thin well of blood appears on the littlest finger of his nondominant hand. He must be used to all the injuries that come from his line of work.

“How does this work?” Kellyn asks. “Do you ask me a question and I answer? Does it compel me to be honest?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I say, but I lose my train of thought as the mercenary’s voice floods my mind.

I’ve always wanted to go back to Thersa. It’s beautiful, full of waterfalls and warm weather. Really, it’s like these girls are paying me to take another vacation. They’ll be safe with me.

The bladesmith is so gentle and quiet at times. You really can’t help but feel like you want to protect her. The sister is feisty and pretty, to be sure, but this one has a more calm beauty, something I feel drawn to inexplicably.

I drop the sword and step away from it, as though it might say something else offensive.

Offensive? That’s not quite the right word.

Kellyn eyes me, and I feel my cheeks heat like the sun.

Uncomfortable. Awkward.

Yes, those fit better.

“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?” he asks.

I can’t answer right away. “It reveals some of your thoughts. Usually the more relevant ones to whoever is holding the blade.”

Kellyn smirks. “And just what did it tell you, bladesmith?”

I start coughing for no reason. Probably to prolong my words for as long as possible. Temra sees right through this tactic, but I hope the mercenary doesn’t.

Finally I catch my breath and say, “You’re excited to go back to Thersa. You said we’re practically paying you to take a vacation.”

“True,” Kellyn says. “Was that all?”

“You said we’d be safe with you.”

“Also true. Anything else?”

“N-no.”

“Did you know you get a blush on your cheeks when you’re lying?” Kellyn asks.

I look to Temra for help.

“He’s right,” she says. “You do.”

Panicked, I say the first thing I can think of to get the attention off me. “He thinks you’re pretty and feisty.”

Temra lets out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Both are true, but you’re not my type, mercenary.”

Kellyn claps a hand over his heart in a mocking gesture. “Alas, most ladies just can’t handle a paramour who is better-looking than they are. These features”—he runs a hand over his face—“are a blessing and a curse.”

Temra laughs. “Whatever you tell yourself. Petrik, let’s check on that stew.”