“Is he alive?” Cold rage flickered across Rowan’s eyes. “No.” Dead. Cairn was dead. The tautness in her body eased—just slightly. Her flame, too, banked. “How?” No remorse dimmed his face. “You once told me at Mistward that if I ever took a whip to you, then you’d skin me alive.” His eyes didn’t stray from hers as he said with lethal quiet, “I took it upon myself to bestow that fate on Cairn on your behalf. And when I was done, I took the liberty of removing his head from his body, then burning what remained.” A pause, a ripple of doubt. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to do it
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