Page 64 of Silvercloak

“Yes, sir.” Vogolan’s voice betrayed no shock or pain, but he had to be stung by it. Non-magical violence was considered highly derogatory. It said, without words,You are not worth draining my well for.

And then they were gone, Lyrian’s cloak flapping behind him like a flag.

THE REST OF THE DAY WAS SPENT PARADING KASAN’S MUTILATEDcorpse through the docks, then hauling the body to the incinerator to destroy all evidence of the event, which was a very normal and not at all miserable way to spend an afternoon.

As Saffron and Levan traipsed back to their respective chambers, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. It reeked of the smoke, ash, and human remains chuffed out by the incinerator, and she could still hear the wet snap of Kasan’s tendons, feel the gruesome squelch of the socket beneath her hands. She longed for another bath—to wash away the greasy shame coating her from head to toe—and yet she knew, somehow, that it would not help.

She was dirty now. She would be dirty forever.

They drew level with Levan’s chambers, and as his hand went to the doorknob, Saffron remembered what she’d resolved to do.

She swallowed hard, allowing the smallest crack of emotion into her voice. “I don’t know how you do this all day every day. The torturing, the killing. You must be frighteningly detached from your emotions.”

“I don’t do it all day every day,” he answered flatly. “And my emotions are essentially scar tissue, at this point.”

“I just don’t understand what it’s allfor.” She wanted to grab him by the lapels and shake the answer loose, but this would require a softer touch. “All the violence, the death, the addiction. The horrors inflicted on innocent people. You have all the ascens you’ll ever need. You could retire now and never be poor again.”

An impassive smile. “Don’t Silvercloaks believe that some people are just born evil?”

“Some do. I don’t. There’s always a reason. A formative event that warped their worldview. Nobody is born bad. DidLost Dragonbornnever teach you that?”

A calculated reference to their common ground. A chisel hovering over the chink in his armor.

“You’ve read—?”

His eyes lit up almost imperceptibly, and for a split second, it was nearly possible to forget that this was the man who’d amputated and reattached a hand several times before her very eyes. He was just an awkward kid who loved a book.

“I lived and breathed it.” Saffron tamped down the bittersweet memories of curling up on Mal’s patchwork bedspread, head resting on his barrel-like chest as he read the story to her night after night. After the books had finally broken her spell of silence, he’d wanted to enjoy them with her too.

Levan looked as though he desperately wanted to follow this up with a thousand detailed questions, and then suddenly remembered who and where he was. When he spoke again, he’d lowered his pitch, as though trying to remind himself he was a grown man.

“Lost Dragonbornis just a story. You’ll have to let go of childish concepts of good and evil if you’re going to survive this life.”

“‘There is no good or evil, only evil and greater evil. And you still have to choose a side.’” As she quoted the villain from the series, Saffron rolled her eyes. “Got it.”

There was a stiff silence as Levan’s gaze flickered over her face. The intensity of it, the way he studied her like an ancient language when he was usually so averse to eye contact, sent warmth prickling up her neck.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” he asked, and the keennarrowing of his stare set Saffron’s teeth on edge. “There was a moment in my father’s study, before you were branded, in which you could have killed him. For a moment I thought I’d made an error in bringing you there, that the whole thing had been a ploy to get to him.”

Saffron shrugged. “My well was empty, and I was vastly outnumbered. To kill him would’ve been to kill myself, and I don’t want to die.”

“But if it were me … We took yourfamily.”

“No need to remind me.” Saff tapped two fingers to her brand, the way she’d seen him do. “In any case, I’ve lost my chance for revenge, haven’t I?”

He pushed a dark wave of hair from his face, and something odd darted over his features. Was it … suspicion? Realization? As though he were just now figuring out that itwasunlikely for her to be here, cooperating, bantering, without an ulterior motive?

“Do you still grieve them?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Your parents.”

Saffron was surprised herLost Dragonbornchisel had worked so quickly. Then again, she’d always been good at reading people. Finding their soft spots, pressing the advantage.

Still, the question wrought a sinking, plummeting feeling low in her belly. Grief wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with the very people who’d caused it, yet this felt like an important moment in which to build rapport with the kingpin’s son. A drawbridge lowered, a pot of tea shared.

“It feels like a brick lodged in my chest,” she admitted. “I carry it with me everywhere, and I do so willingly, because it’s all I have left of them. That brick proves that they existed, and that they made a mark, and that mark lives on in me. As long as I’m alive to mourn them, they are alive, in some way, too. And there’s also … I don’t know. Relief? Relief in knowing that the worst has already happened. That no other loss will ever feel as large or as heavy.”

Levan nodded, slow, processing, and Saffron could’ve sworn she saw something like recognition on his face. Then, rather abruptly, he seemed to remember himself, and became at once very uncomfortable.

He pushed himself off the wall and opened the door to his chambers. “Goodnight.”

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