I choke down a noise of derision. “But the Prinkepatrios has no compunctions about kidnapping wolf-girls. And binding me to a dying man, making me hear every gasp of his pain—more cruelty that doesn’t require absolution.” “That was Ferkó’s idea,” Gáspár says, gaze lowering. “Not mine.” “Then you’re cruel and gutless.” My face is hot. “Do you always let your men guide the swing of your ax?”
Ha!
