Page 44 of Silvercloak

“Are you alright?” Levan asked, almost like a reflex he couldn’t control. There was little warmth behind the question, but it was still surprising to be asked it at all.

“Fine.”

She loathed the idea of the kingpin’s son witnessing her like this,branded and hurt. Her pride bucked against the very idea. She’d come into this assignment feeling that she had the undeniable upper hand, and that if she could just grit her teeth through the branding, she’d be in full control of the situation, their defenses breached, their downfall inevitable; but everything that had happened since she entered the kingpin’s chambers had put her squarely on the back foot. To show the kingpin’s son her pain was to offer him a certain power over her. And she could not afford to lose any more power.

Yet her detective’s instincts still snagged on something.

He had asked if she was alright—as if he knew what it felt like?

What had Levan said as Segal restrained her?

It’s one thing to consent, and quite another to feel the pain.

“Doyouhave a brand?”

It was a little bolshy, perhaps. Too direct, too personal. Yet she got the sense this was a man who appreciated frankness. Conversation free from the usual trappings and obfuscations of most human interactions. The type who wanted you to say what you meant, without bells or whistles. He’d answered her questions about Neatras’s daughter, after all, and about the Brewer in the alley. Because she’d asked him explicitly? Or because he saw no reason to withhold the information?

But this time, dark shutters dropped behind his eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and she knew she had gone too far, too soon.

“I’m the kingpin’s son.” He stood abruptly, as did Rasso. “What do you think?”

Saffron’s first instinct wasI suppose not,but Lyrian seemed the sort to mutilate his son, just in case.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “That’s why I asked.”

The brief silence that spread between them was like a crypt, echoing and cavernous and cold. Rasso, the fallowwolf, glared at her, as though to sayHow dare you ask insulting questions of my master?

Levan crossed to the door. “Let’s go.”

Saffron blinked at him. “Where?”

“To find Auria Marriosan.”

“Right now?”

“I’m not an especially patient man.”

“But I can picture you doing needlework. Or knitting a long and complicated scarf.”

She didn’t know why her father’s impish humor was rearing its head now. Perhaps she was using quick wit as a way to establish herself as an intellectual equal, as she had in the alley. Or perhaps she was trying desperately hard to prove to this man that she was not afraid of him. Pride was a stubborn beast.

Levan sighed, resting a palm on the doorknob. “The truth elixir should still be in your system. Do you know where Marriosan is?”

Saints.Another corner of truth she’d been backed into. “What time is it?”

Levan looked down at a gold wristwatch with a black leather band. “Quarter to darknight.”

Auria would be drinking blossombeer with Nissa and Tiernan right now. Nissa had told her as much.

Saff swallowed. “The Jaded Saint. A tavern on Arollan Mile.”

“Alright. I’ll wait outside while you freshen up.” He gestured to a small washbasin in the corner of the room—and to a scarlet cloak laid out on a trunk at the end of her bed. “We’ll go together.”

“Why?”

“Just in case things get out of hand.”

“Pun intended?”

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