AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in that cave.”
Her hand stills on the way to her mouth, pausing before she bites into the bread.
“Death is hardly the worst thing a poison can do,” she shoots back.
Touche.
I study her while she eats, trying to look at her under a neutral lens to see what else I might notice.
She’s been raised as a lady, that much is clear in the mannerisms that are instilled in her. Her pinky doesn’t touch her mug, and her back is ramrod straight while she alternates small sips of her tea with bites of her food, setting down her utensils in between.
But that wasn’t all she was raised as.
She moves with a lethal grace that could match Khijhana’s, and her eyes constantly assess everything around her.
I think of the way she expertly handled the throwing stars, the way she moves and speaks, and the secrets she keeps so well, how she is so careful never to reveal more of herself than necessary.
An assassin, then? Or just a spy?
I clear my throat when I realize I’m subconsciously stalling, like part of me still doesn’t want to hear the truth from her lips, to throw that last handful of dirt on the grave of the woman I thought she was.
“Did you kill Willem?” I finally ask.
Though I need to know the answer, it’s mostly just to off-foot her. Given the man's height and weight, I don’t believe she could have killed him alone and I want to know what she’ll reveal.
Besides, I’m not ready to ask the worst question yet.
Her topaz eyes meet my gaze, as cold and unreadable as the stone they resemble.
“I’ve never killed any of your people,” she answers calmly.
I take a moment to dissect her words. Clearly, she has killed someone, just not Willem, then.
“Not for lack of trying,” I mutter.
Her fork skids across her plate, clattering down next to the butterknife.
“Itisfor lack of trying, actually.” She fixes me with a stare. “If I had tried, they would be dead.”
I think again about the rose in the saddlebags and the note with unfamiliar handwriting. To warn me? Or was someone warning her? I’m not ready to ask her about that yet either, though.
“Who did kill him then?” I don’t bother asking her if she knows who it was. She wasn’t nearly surprised enough when I asked her.
Sure enough, she doesn’t even blink. “If a man was found murdered, I suspect it was Damian’s doing. He had a mask with a small lightning bolt on it when he snuck in to see me.”
I picture Willem’s congenial voice coming through that mask and resist the urge to break something at the way she sits so calmly discussing his death.
Not to mention this man who she ran off with came to see her first. Here.
“Damian is the man you were with?”
She nods.
“Is he your lover?” I can barely spit the words out, murder coating each syllable as they roll off my tongue.
In light of everything else, it shouldn’t matter if she is with another man. That should be the least of my problems. But I watch her carefully for the answer.
She shudders, her eyes narrowing. Either she truly is the world’s best actress, or that thought repulses her.
