The acrid scent of burning skin marred the air around us, and a tear drops from my eyes to the bloodied, yet healing skin.
“You love him,” the rogue says behind me, stoking the fire. “Father says love is weakness. You are not weak.”
My fingers tremble as I push the burning branch into Kier’s skin again, and he groans, trashing. All that pain, and his eyes won’t open. I feel the burn in my heart, my soul, and it hurts me to hurt him. “Is that a question or a statement?” I ask, surprised to find my voice steady and unnervingly cold.
“Why did you help me?” she asks, changing the topic entirely. Great, because I have no interest in conversing about my love or life with a rogue. “I was due the death sentence. Two years, I’ve been in that dungeon, waiting to die. I’d hoped for an execution.
