Page 120 of Silvercloak

“I had to.” Heat rose in her chest, her throat. “To save my uncles. Why doyoudo it, Levan?” Her voice was low, loaded, aimed squarely beneath his defenses. “Why do you take lives over and over again? Why do you torture with such cold brutality that something must be broken inside you? Because nobody has a wand to your temple. Nobody is threatening your loved ones.”

A long, shredding beat. “Aren’t they?”

“Tell me, then,” Saff urged. “Tell me what this is all about. Tell me why you are the way you are.”

“I don’t owe you that.” His unimpaled hand clenched into a fist. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“Fine,” she muttered, climbing to her feet and turning to the door handle. “Rot here, for all I care.”

She turned the handle, and he groaned self-loathingly behind her.

“Urgh. Silver, wait.”

She didn’t turn to face him. “What?”

“Harrow is coming to my chambers tonight,” he said flatly. “Can you let him know I’m otherwise engaged?”

Saffron nodded once, opening the door.

“Saffron,” he said, hoarse, and hearing him say her real name for the first time unspooled something deep inside her. “I’m sorry. I hate people seeing me helpless.”

She’d felt the same way after being branded. They were so hideously similar.

“You’re not helpless,” she replied, sullen but softening. “I offered you help. That is in direct opposition to the wordhelpless—”

“You know what I mean. Stop being a pedant.”

She sighed, resting her forehead against the door. The wood was cold and smooth.

“Could you … bring me some salve?” he muttered. “I have another wound that’s starting to fester.”

This made her finally turn back to face him. “Another wound?”

He swallowed. “It wasn’t my father, if that’s what you’re thinking.” From the closed look on his face, she didn’t suppose he’d say any more.

“Which salve?”

“There’s a pot in my desk. Third drawer down. Password is, erm …Baudry’s bitch.”

Laughter flared in her ribs, but she kept it caged. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “No?”

“There’s a word most people use when asking for help. Just to give you a hint, it’s considered good manners in all cultures except Nyrøthi,in which outright hostility is generally preferred. But I’m not from Nyrøth, and neither are you.”

Levan cursed under his breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” Saff goaded.

“Please.”

“Great,” she said, plastering a false smile over her face. “Anything else?”

“No.Thank you.”

Saffron gave him a sarcastic mock salute and left the cell, Rasso trotting at her heel.

The smile died as soon as she slid the deadbolt back into place.