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Kyla stares at her for an uncomfortably long time before turning to me, unspoken question clear on her face.

Nothing makes sense; this is the work of a SoulBinder, that much is clear.

She is openly admitting to being a Demon, a cursed, malignant spirit who should be purged from the earth, blood boiled to powder and scattered to the winds to avoid poisoning our people.

But as with everything up until this point, all of the Binder’s answers are muddy.

They are truthful, but not cleanly so. I can taste the vagueness on my tongue.

There is no bitterness of falsehood. She clearly believes what she says, that she has done no harm.

“BloodLetter?” The Binder’s empty gaze is fixed on me, her voice soft. It’s a trick, Axton. It’s all a trick. “Is there a way I could reassure you of this?”

Exhaling sharply, jaw tense, I pull my Letting Knife from its sheath. “If you offer your arm willingly, then repeat your words. Perhaps. Though I make no vow.”

The men near her vibrate with animosity, but the Binder is placid.

She calmly removes one of her bracers; at least she is honest that she has worn these for a long time.

There are smooth, shining grooves against her skin that tell the tale of how tightly these have remained against her flesh.

If I had to guess, it has been years to cause this kind of permanent tattoo, and the thought is like worms in my stomach.

The curve of her face in the flickering light of the fire makes her look younger than her years, and I have an uncomfortable flash of the child she must have been when she first put these on.

For protection, she said. For protection.

She is still sitting patiently in front of me, arm extended, and it takes everything in me to step forward, to put the tip of my knife against her flesh.

Suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, the prospect of tasting her, no matter how willingly presented, makes me nauseous.

I can’t press the point in further, can’t step back, and so we remain in a frozen tableau, the Binder as still as a statue, arm extended, and me towering over her.

“Axton?” Kyla is trying to mask the worry in her voice; it is enough to press the knife into pale flesh, and I hate myself, I hate myself when she makes a small, swallowed sound of pain, when the crimson liquid is pulled from her vein, when it flows down the curves of my blade, when I lift it to my mouth and drink it.

The Binder waits, no judgment on her face, just peaceful acceptance. Once my knife is clean, once there is no remnant of dark ruby staining it, she speaks without prompting.

“There is no living bone against my skin who was forced to be there. ”

Truth.

“I would release any who did not desire to be my Protector.”

Oddly phrased, but truth.

“I am not a SoulBinder. I am a BoneKeeper .”

Truth, somehow. Or something she believes is true.

Kyla stares at her, watching our interaction, then asks, “Will you agree not to bind any souls while with our people?”

The woman shrugs almost helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean. I would never do a thing to harm a soul if I could prevent it. I cannot agree to what I don’t understand.”

Truth.

“Why did you come to our lands?”

“Against my will, I can assure you.”

Truth.

“Who are these men to you?” The question bursts from me; I want to bite it back.

It’s a reasonable piece of information to desire, but the way it sounded when asked…

Curiously enough, though, it’s the first one that seems to disconcert her.

She doesn’t answer quite as readily; the two men are both leaning forward almost against their will, trying to hide their interest in what she will say.

Ah. I think. This is the way the wind blows.

She darts a quick, almost nervous glance at them from under thick, pigmentless lashes, then presses a hand against her throat, rubbing her neck as if for comfort.

“They…um…I would say that….” Her face, which until now has lacked any hint of colors, flushes a pale, pale pink, and my heart clenches in my chest.

The two men exchange a wordless glance, and the one who calls her ‘Flame’ smiles at her gently. “We are friends, Wren. Will that suffice?” The latter part of it is directed towards me, and I shrug.

“Only from her mouth.”

The Binder is staring down at her hands, fidgeting with the bone bracer she is fastening back against her skin.

It is quiet for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, and then she looks up, not at me, but at the two others, and smiles.

It’s not wide, her full lips are tremulous, and it’s almost impossible to tell the emotion behind it, but whatever they see in her face is enough to pull answering affection from them.

“We are friends,” she says quietly, a little chirp of happiness and near astonishment in her voice.

Truth, but a muddy truth.

“Just friends?” I ask, almost against my will. There’s nothing to be gained from the question. But for some reason I have to know.

“Yes,” she replies, almost absentmindedly, still looking at them, hesitant smile turning her lips up at the corners. “Just friends.”

Lie.