Page 85 of Silvercloak

The same emotional wound, carved as children, scarring into adulthood.

The same cleft in their hearts that would never smooth.

Almost without thinking—a rarity for Saffron—she rose to her feet. The boat glided over a harsh current, and she canted sideways before regaining her composure. She strode over to Levan, resting her forearms on the railing beside him. His hands were clasped together, broad and firm but somehow elegant. A few scarred nicks on the knuckles, wounds he could easily have healed clean and yet had chosen not to.

They were not the hands of a killer, and yet they were.

His forefinger tapped out a repetitive rhythm on the railing. A remnant of the compulsions? She thought of his alphabetized teabags and neatly labeled plants, the way he followed a regimented daily schedule without a minute of deviation, and wondered.

“Why are we chasing a necromancer, Levan?” Her words were gentle but firm.

A faded-green trader boat passed them on the water, giving them an unnecessarily wide berth. Levan said nothing, as expected.

“Harrow said you lost someone you were romantically involved with,” she added, hoping to draw out some semblance of emotion from him, because emotion created cracks, and cracks could be broken wide.

“Don’t,” he warned, gaze fixed straight ahead.

“You want to revive them? The partner you lost?”

“Don’t.”

The word was a knife tip, but that was good. Bladed words were usually emotional ones.

Saff swallowed. “Sometimes I think there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to bring my parents back to me.”

A pulsing silence. Then, “Even torture and kill?”

“I’ve already tortured and killedwithoutthe promise of a familyreunion.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “What does that say about me?”

A sigh. “What did Miret tell you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you talking. Heard the wordnecromancer.”

“He told me nothing,” Saff said carefully. “Said it wasn’t his place.”

“Good.”

“He obviously cares about you.”

Levan stiffened. “Yes.”

“It’s alright to admit you care about him too.”

“No, it’s not. You should never admit who means something to you. Look at your uncles, your old friends. They’re being used against you.” A sharp exhale. “Shut yourself off, Silver. It’s safer.”

“If your lost love is already gone, they can no longer be used against you. So what’s the harm in telling me about them?”

A subtle test. If he was planning to bring them back, this logic didn’t track.

He didn’t reply, but nor did he actively chastise her for asking. Progress.

She rested a hand on his forearm, and he flinched as though he’d been struck. But when she didn’t pull away, he relaxed into it. For some reason, she was surprised how warm his body felt beneath his cloak sleeve. What had she expected? That he was literally cold-blooded?

Time to drive the chisel all the way in. “I just want to understand you better. To remind myself that my captor is human.”

The moment ruptured like a membrane. He wrenched his arm away, storm clouds drawing in behind his eyes. “I’m not your captor.Youasked to be branded.Youinsisted you were useful to us.”

---