Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the drawer. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one. A thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool, meant for sleek incisions and scraping out rot. Cairn groaned as unconsciousness gave way. By the time Cairn awoke, chained to that metal table, Rowan was ready. Cairn beheld who stood over him, the tool in Rowan’s tattooed hand, the others he had also laid out on that piece of velvet, and began thrashing. The iron chains held firm. Then Cairn beheld the frozen rage in Rowan’s eyes. Understood what he intended to do with that sharp, sharp
...more
