One rested loosely on his knee, holding his blade.Perhaps he was still contemplating killing her.He was a man who lived by the sword.She knew, from stitching his side, exactly how much damage had been done to him over the years—the layered scarring across his ribs where slashes had met him more than once.The puckered marks on his shoulders that could only be arrows and the ones across his back that she had not let herself look at.Long, raised lines, some healed clean and some not, crossing each other in a pattern that suggested cruelty.Whip scars.Many of them were old, some new.
His chin was still propped in his other hand, his gaze somewhere above her window, and the dying light caught the topography of everything that had been done to him.She wondered what he looked like beneath the mask still covering his face.She had elected not to look before, for reasons that felt less sound now than they had this morning.
The heat wasn't receding.
She pressed the back of her hand to her own cheek and felt the warmth there and then made the mistake of looking at him again.He had shifted slightly, and the motion pulled at the bandaging she'd wrapped around his torso—white cloth against tanned skin, her own neat stitches hidden beneath it.She had put her hands there.She knew exactly what was underneath.
This, she recognised distantly, was the poison's effect—not that it invented feelings, but that it dissolved the effort she usually spent not having them.
Just like the concubine who had been hanged, she too would lose herself and eventually lose all inhibitions.
She looked back at the ceiling.
"Stop watching me," she said.
He glanced down at her, unhurried."I'm watching the birds."
"They've gone.It's dark."
A pause."So it is."
"You should leave," she said.Her voice came out level."Before it gets worse.I won't be responsible for my actions.It would be safer for you to go."
"...There are footsteps outside," he said."A man has been circling your quarters for the last ten minutes."
She closed her eyes.
Of course.Poison her, wait for it to work, and send someone to find her.
The Ugoeze was thorough.
"Then stay by the window," she said."If they come in, handle it however you see fit.After that, go."
"And you?What will happen to you?"
Why did he care?"I'll manage."
She heard him settle against the wall near the window.
The night stretched.She focused on breathing, on the cool dusty smell of the shrine walls, and on the small sounds of her snake moving somewhere across the room.On anything except the heat, which climbed regardless.
She bit down on her own hand, giving herself more pain to focus on.
Through the gap in the curtains, she saw a shadow approaching.A man, moving carefully, clearly familiar with the layout, expecting to find her alone and willing.
She heard her window slide open, and a man climbed through silently, turning to face her.
Ragnar didn't give him time to react.One hand over the mouth, one arm around the throat, a sharp twist—crack.
The body crumpled.
The Khan lowered it silently, checking for a pulse.
It was only then that the noises started.Shouting, running, and men barking orders.
"We saw him come this way!Search every room!"
Ragnar's eyes met Azul's.
