Page 79 of To Catch A Rogue
"I was going to sit down. My... head aches."
"It will only take a moment."
Lark silently held the door open for him, tension crawling down her spine as he sauntered into the wash chambers.
"You know what these mean, don't you?" Obsidian murmured, tugging his sleeve up and staring down at his tattoos.
Despite the menace she suddenly felt, she glanced around the suite and swiftly shut the door. "You shouldn't show those tattoos here in Russia."
"Why?"
All her lies were coming home to roost. What the hell was she going to tell him? They already suspected her of knowing more than she should.
"Because they are themarque du sangof the Prince of Tsaritsyn and his House." A twist of unease flickered though her. "Peter the Great brought the concept to Russia from France many years ago, before the French humanists guillotined their blue bloods. Only those of the direct Grigoriev bloodline are allowed to wear the Grigorievmarque. Each member of the Blood is marked with the family's coat of arms at the age of five, to show they belong to the family bloodline. To wear themarquewithout belonging to the family is forbidden. If anyone saw these, they would kill you."
"And you know this how?"
"There was an old Russian exile who lived near us. He used to tell me stories." She made her mouth twist ruefully. The best lies were formed with a little bit of truth. "Once he started, you could barely get him to stop."
This is your heritage, Irinka. Remember it,Tin Man had signed.
Obsidian dragged a footstool toward her and sat down, his hands clasped between his knees, his sleeves deliberately rolled up. "My name is Dmitri. I thought my surname was Zhukov, but that also could have been an alias I was given for a mission. I don't know. I want to know who I am."
She had a sudden brief flashback of a tall, serious boy with pale brown hair. The last time she'd seen him, Dima had been on the verge of growing a mustache, a thin, scraggly thing she'd teased him about.
She sat very still, her world shattering into little pieces around her, and then abruptly shook her head. "It's impossible. The entire Grigoriev line was murdered fifteen years ago by their cousin, Sergey Mikhailovich Grigoriev. I don't think any of them survived."
Except for the stranger in the tower, but she didn'tknowwho he was.
All she had was suspicion.
Obsidian's gaze locked on her. "That's not the sort of thing that is common knowledge."
"There were witnesses. It is spoken of among thebratstvo bezmolvnogo. My friend—the exile—he was one of the Brotherhood of the Silent."
"Is he still alive?"
"No."
"Do you have proof?"
"No."
Obsidian scrubbed at his mouth. "What you'resayingis very dangerous."
"Iknow. Sergey cut their throats and burned Grigoriev Palace to the ground. And then he blamed it on the Dorontsovs and sued for peace." She met his eyes. "It should make killing him easier."
"I don't need many excuses." His eyes grew heavy-lidded. "Gemma said your grasp of Russian is better than expected."
Suspicion echoed in every word. She'd been careless, but how could she not have been? She'd made one mistake and now she was scrambling.
Lark pushed past him, wrapping her arms around her middle.Never speak your name, Irinka.Never tell anyone who you are. As if summoned, Tin Man's ghost filled her head, making her swallow hard.
This was becoming so hard. First Charlie, and now Obsidian....
She didn't know what to do.
"The man I knew didn't just live near me. He took me in off the streets and raised me. He was highly placed within thebratstvo bezmolvnogoand fled Russia many years ago," she told him carefully. "It wasn't safe anymore. He knew too much. He never wanted to come back here. It's dangerous for me to know so much, so I pretend I don't."
