Page 81 of The Bone Season

‘Do it.’

I paused.

‘Cold steel cannot kill the deathless.’ His gaze burned into my back. ‘Even if you drove that blade into my heart, it would not cease to beat. But if you wish to try, by all means, vent your gall.’

A silence fell, thickening by the moment.

‘You’re bluffing,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘We both know you couldn’t stop me. You can’t even clean your own wounds.’

‘That may be so, but my point stands. Ask yourself,’ he said. ‘If weapons of human making could harm us, would we arm the red-jackets?’

I considered that question, the haze clearing.

‘If I succumb to these wounds, you will be given to a member of the Sargas family,’ Warden said. ‘Know this before you make your choice.’

My nape prickled. After a long moment, I put the letter opener back.

There was the Pale Dreamer, rearing her head in the wrong place again. Even flirting with the idea had been madness. I hated Warden, but he was the lesser of two evils. Thuban would snap me in half.

‘If I help you,’ I said, ‘will you forget this?’

‘You stayed your hand,’ Warden said. ‘There is nothing to forget.’

‘Good.’

I returned to his bedside. Slumped against the headboard, he reached for his shirt, pulling it away from one broad shoulder. I soaked a cloth and leaned in to examine the slash there, which ran under his collarbone. It reeked of something rotten and metallic.

‘Either you’ve somehow wrestled a bear,’ I said, ‘or this was the work of a Buzzer.’

‘As the performers call our enemies of old.’

I sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You didn’t wake up last time.’

‘Those were puncture wounds.’

‘This slash is still quite deep.’ I looked closer. ‘It needs stitches.’

‘For the time being, purging with salt will suffice.’

‘You’ll bleed out.’

‘No. It is a corruption in my body that imperils me at present. Rest assured, the salt will help.’

‘If you say so.’ I glanced at his drawn face. ‘Will I start, then?’

Warden gave me a nod.

I squeezed hot water into the laceration. His muscles hardened, and the tendons of his hand pushed out, visible through the back of his glove.

‘Sorry,’ I said, then regretted it. I should be savouring this chance to make him feel our pain.

Warden watched me blot the wound. His blood seeped like honey. The way it sharpened my senses was distracting and calming at once.

As I wet the cloth again, I remembered the first time he came back in this state. I looked towards the window. The curtains were open.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ Warden said.

I stilled. ‘What?’

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