“West does what Saint needs done. Whatever it is. And it’s usually pretty dirty work.” “Like Sowan?” I asked in a low voice. He nodded. “Like Sowan. He’s been Saint’s guy for a long time.” “That’s why Saint let him have the Marigold,” I mumbled. He’d earned it. Clove leaned forward to set his elbows onto his knees. “He’s dangerous, Fay,” he said more gently. “You need to be careful with that one.”
