Page 259 of The Sun He Buried

“Then stop using it on me.”

She should argue. Her fingers move through Snowpetal’s fur instead.

The hurt enters the bond before her eyes drop. I put the soap down.

Asta stands near the bed folding the purple cloak. The blood didn’t come out of the hem. She’s been working at the same dark patch with a wet cloth while producing enough anger to sour the entire floor.

Most of it’s aimed at me.

Some belongs to Solveih.

All of it’s covering fear.

“She needs food,” Asta says.

“I’m here,” Solveih tells her.

“You need food.”

“Yes.”

“And sleep. And one morning where you don’t disappear on me, fall off anything, adopt a predator, accept a mate bond, or get kidnapped.”

Solveih thinks about that.

“That feels very restrictive.”

Asta put the mate bond on that list without slowing down.

Asta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

The anger thins around the edges.

“Broth,” she says. “I’m getting broth.”

“With bread?”

“If the kitchens have recovered from hearing what you did.”

Snowpetal’s purr changes when Asta crosses the room. The creature opens one white eye, confirms she’s passing, and closes it again.

Asta stops beside me.

Her gaze goes to the clean water, then my face. I left the mask on the washstand after I opened the runes and let Solveih clean beneath them. Fresh blood’s dried along the brands over my mouth.

“If she leaves this room,” Asta says, “I’ll blame you.”

“A refreshing change.”

“If she leaves this room because you upset her, I’ll use the knife.”

“Which one?”

Asta’s hand rests on the hilt at her hip.

The second remains in her boot.

“Surprise me,” I say.