His question hung in the air, a blade pressed to my throat. “Or did you find something you shouldn’t have?”
My throat was a desert, my tongue a stone. I stared up at him, trapped in the cold, blue phantom-light of his war. He knew. The map wasn’t a secret I had discovered; it was a confession he had been waiting for me to read. The calculated, life-sparing arc of his artillery was a message, and my horrified recognition was the reply he’d been waiting for.
“You…” I whispered, the word a wisp of smoke, a ghost of an accusation.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. His thumb, still resting against my chin, stroked my skin once, a slow, possessive gesture that sent a tremor of pure terror through me. He was going to kill me. Right here, in the heart of his power, he was going to silence the one per
