Page 87 of Silvercloak

The illusion shrouded the ledger in a faded indigo clothbound cover. She hadn’t been specific enough, and there was no volume number on the spine, but she hoped Segal wasn’t enough of a fan to notice. She turned to face him.

The smile on his face was as crude as it was smug.

He wasdelightedto have caught her.

A quiet fury unfurled inside her, like a porcupine unrolling its barbs. This man had slaughtered her parents, and even though some distant part of her understood that he had been following orders, she couldn’t rationalize away her hatred of him. Her impulses twitched, longing to slay him as she had slain Vogolan.

Because truthfully, it was troubling how easy it had been to kill the kingpin’s right-hand man, how difficult it was for them to trace it back to her. How little remorse she felt in the aftermath. Only a vague, abstract guilt—a shadow, an afterimage, a distant vestige of shame but not shame itself.

How good would it feel to avenge her parents this very moment?

But she didn’t. She simply stood from the chair and held up the fake novel.

“Trying to read in peace.”

A beat of suspicion. “And you couldn’t do that on the deck?”

“Miret was snoring.”

His eyes narrowed. “There’s sensitive information in this room.”

Saff made a show of looking around, as though seeing where she was for the first time. “Is there?”

“You expect me to believe aformerSilvercloak is so unaware of her surroundings that she missed the row of shipment ledgers?”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Surely the brand would kill me for snooping.”

Segal leaned against the doorframe, blocking the only exit. One half of his bulbous face was red and wrinkled from the way he’d slept on the bunk. “Something doesn’t sit right with me, Filthcloak. Your parents died at our hand, and yet here you are. Working missions. Lurking amongst ledgers. Now tell me, Saffron Killoran, why would the daughter of two murdered mages willingly walk into the den of the monsters who killed them?”

The lie came to her from thin air. “I got hooked on loxlure in Duncarzus. One of your scarlets supplies the prison. When I was released, I just … followed the scent. All the way to the gamehouse. The need overrode everything else.”

As all the best lies were, it was rooted in truth. The Bloodmoonsdidsupply Duncarzus—Saffron had overheard them discussing it the previous night. Half the guards were in on the smuggling, and paid handsomely for it too. After all, some of the best gamehouse patrons were vulnerable ex-cons with nowhere better to go. The Bloodmoons hooked them fast and early, the moment they were hauled through those gates in deminite chains, and by the time they were free … their feet would find the gamehouse before their heads caught up.

Segal studied her for signs of deceit. “A neat little story.”

“Feed me truth elixir, then.”

“Or I’ll cut you open and see how black you bleed.”

Saff proffered her forearm, feigning casualness, when her body was straining at the effort of holding the ledger illusion. She fought tokeep the tremor from her hand. “You’re most welcome to. But I’ve been clean for weeks. I’m in the monsters’ den, after all. I have to keep my wits about me.”

Before Segal could respond, a hulking silhouette appeared behind him, head and shoulders taller than the squat brute.

Levan.

“What’s going on?” His teeth were gritted, his cold eyes hardened even more than usual—and pointedly averting Saffron’s own gaze.

Segal scoffed. “The Filthcloak was snooping through the ledgers.”

“I was just trying to readLost Dragonbornin peace.” Saff held up the book, but her pulse faltered for a second. Levan wouldn’t be as easily fooled by the illusion.

Sure enough, he frowned at the indigo spine. “What edition is that?”

“I’m not sure. It belonged to my uncle.”

“Can I see?”

As she handed him the enchanted ledger, she prayed to Naenari, the patron saint of enchanting, that it would hold up under scrutiny. All those hours of practice with her father could not have been in vain.