When he didn't immediately answer, I looked up at him, and a corner of his mouth lifted.
"It's important to you."
"Yeah, but...I could kill you with it."
He crossed his arms, his smile growing bigger. "But why would you do that before we find the familiars' cemetery? At least wait until afterwards."
"We'll see," I said and he chuckled.
"What's Biscuit mean?"
Swallowing hard, I knelt and slipped the knife into its sheath hidden in my boot, replacing the steak knife, which I subtly dropped into my pocket along with my quill, ink pot, and parchment. My other pockets I'd sewn up to prevent any more death charms from slipping inside.
"Biscuit is what my brother used to call me," I finally admitted.
"Oh," he said softly. "The brother who was murdered..."
I nodded, my eyes prickling. I
