Chapter 10 · Scalding Water, Boiling Blood

"Yes," I said. "I'd rather burn it down."

His thumb dug into the hinge of my jaw. The gold in his eyes swallowed the last of the black. Behind him the pine coals popped, and the heat in that room pressed on my skin like a wet hand.

"Say that again."

"It's silver, Vane." My tongue was numb on one side. "In the broth. I tasted one drop before I threw the rest in the fire."

He went still.

Not calm. Vane has never once been calm. This was the stillness of a wolf that has heard something in the brush.

The chain at my wrist clinked when I swallowed. Black iron, a yard and a half of it, bolted to the bedpost. Long enough to reach the hearth. Not long enough to reach the door. He'd measured it himself, the bastard, with his own hands.

"Show me," he said.

I opened my mouth. Let him look. His breath hit my face, hot and sour with fever. His thumb pulled my lower lip down.

The skin under it was blistered. A small white welt, already weeping.

He didn't speak. A muscle jumped in his jaw.