sudden depth to his voice that none had heard before. The question commanded their attentions instantly.
‘Cutting?’ the Librarian pressed, his hard stare never leaving Denaos.
‘Hazard of the job,’ Denaos replied coolly.
‘Adventuring is not considered a job,’ Bralston said. ‘It is long thought to be the last haven of scum, criminals and murderers.’
It wasn’t the first time those three words had been used to describe the profession. And by Dreadaeleon’s count, that was around the sixty-fifth time those three words had been used to describe Denaos specifically. The rogue had never had anything for the accusation beyond smiles and snidery.
The sixty-sixth time, however, he merely stared back at the Librarian.
‘From Cier’Djaal?’ he asked.
‘It is with pride that I confirm that,’ Bralston replied.
‘Nice city,’ the rogue said.
‘It once was.’
It was there for an instant, the briefest twitches across their faces, perfectly synchronised. Dreadaeleon watched their reactions with a quirked brow, as unsure as to what had just happened between them as he was unsure why Denaos turned and stalked off towards the forest.
‘What was that about?’ Dreadaeleon asked the Librarian.
‘I don’t like the look of that man,’ Bralston replied, following the rogue’s shrinking form.
‘I think that’s intentional on his part.’
‘You are mistaken.’ Bralston’s voice and eyes carried an edge. ‘That is a man too comfortable in masks. What we see is what he wants us to see. What he doesn’t want us to see is what lurks beneath. A coward … a predator.’ He looked to the forest and his voice became a spiteful razor. ‘A murderer.’
Dreadaeleon suspected absently he should speak up in defence of his companion. He did not, though; mostly because he had often thought the same thing about the rogue. Besides, before he could open his mouth, someone else beat him to it.
‘And what would you know of predators?’ For the first time, Asper turned to them. Even if her eyes had left the fire, however, the angry flames had not left her eyes. ‘What would you know of him?’
‘I have …’ Bralston hesitated, apparently taken aback by the outburst, ‘seen his type before.’
‘And there is no lack of types to be used in deciding who is who, is there, Librarian?’ she pressed, stepping towards him.
Dreadaeleon felt vaguely astonished at the audacity. Even if she weren’t facing a man who had aptly proven his penchant for and ability to turn things into ash, he was still a powerful physical specimen, standing nearly as tall as Gariath. Beyond that, he was a Librarian, an agent of the Venarium charged with destroying all threats to the Laws of Venarie and with extreme leeway in what he deemed threatening.
‘Asper,’ he said softly, ‘he didn’t mean—’
‘No, you great thinkers of the Venarium just have the answer to everything, don’t you? You can just look at a man and decide what he is, using those gigantic fat heads of yours to summarise an entire person in a few words.’ She scowled up at him. ‘Such as the type of person who, with the kind of power that makes him feel entitled enough to look down on another person, leaves other people to suffer in some ship’s cabin when he could just as easily lift a finger and help, but that’s just not fiery enough, is it?’
He blinked, glancing from her to a shrugging Dreadaeleon, then back.
‘Granted,’ she said coldly, ‘I could sum up that type of man in a single word.’ She shoved past him, stalking off and muttering under her breath. ‘But I’m far too polite.’
Bralston’s gaze lingered on her with equal intent as it had on Denaos as she skulked away. Dreadaeleon, too, followed her with a different sort of intent on his face and a different thought in his head.
Something’s wrong, he thought, immediately scolding himself. Well, obviously, you moron. She was held captive for how long? And you didn’t move to help her? Well, you stuck to the plan. Denaos was supposed to help her …
But you’re the wizard. You’ve got the power. It should have been you to help her. You could have done something … right? Right. You were feeling strong, then. Incredibly so. You didn’t even need the stone, or anything else. You recovered. But how?
She glanced over her shoulder, shooting him a pained expression. His eyes widened as the realisation struck him fiercely across the face.
Of course. It was her. It was all for her, wasn’t it? That’s what you’ve been doing wrong. You keep thinking of power for power’s sake, for the Laws, for