The Bloodsworn by Erin Lindsey Page B

green eyes, like a dagger unsheathed. “Careful, my lady. You will find no mercenaries here, nor will you find men who bear insults lightly.”
    â€œI have no wish to insult you, but I can spare no more time for this interrogation. I’d hoped you could help us. Apparently, you can’t. So I’ll ask you to blindfold us and pack us in your wagon, because we have a long and dangerous road ahead.”
    Vel and the Wolves took the cue, rising. Asvin, though, remained seated, boot propped casually on his thigh, gazing up at Alix with his unsettling eyes. “It’s your call,” he said.
    Alix thought the remark meant for her, but then a dooropened at the back of the room, and a large, grizzled man with a close-trimmed white beard filled the doorframe. Hazel eyes met Alix’s, held her gaze in an iron grip as their owner strode over, boots tolling heavily across the floorboards. From its corner, the falcon gave a keening cry, as though in greeting.
    â€œHello, Wraith,” said Vel.
    â€œDaughter.” His eyes flicked only briefly to the priestess. They were too busy devouring Alix, stripping her to the bone. “This won’t do at all,” he said.
    Alix swallowed, resisting the urge to back away. It wasn’t so much his size—though he rivalled Rig in both height and bulk—but the sheer intensity of his gaze. Where Asvin reminded her a little of a fox, this one was a wolf—the kind that would set his pack on you without a thought.
    â€œSit,” he said with a perfunctory gesture, and Alix complied.
    Wraith.
An incongruous name for a man such as this; Alix had a hard time imagining a more substantial figure. The room seemed suddenly smaller with him in it.
    â€œThis won’t do,” he said again, straddling a chair in front of Alix, meaty arms draped across the back. “It’s very bad manners, my lady of Blackhold, to come into a man’s home and start making demands.”
    â€œI’m not demanding anything. I’m asking for help.”
    He nodded. “Rodrik. Indrask. I heard. Only you won’t say who he is or why we should care. So tell me, why would I risk the lives of my men to help you find him?”
    â€œDoes it really matter who he is?”
    â€œAye,” Wraith said, leaning forward, “it does.”
    Alix glanced across the table at Dain; he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
    She couldn’t tell Wraith the truth. Of course she couldn’t. But if she didn’t tell him
something
, he wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. She could see that clearly, could even understand it. Yet without the Resistance, her chances of success were vanishingly small. The incident with the soldiers had convinced her of that.
    Alix licked her lips. Made a decision.
    â€œRig wouldn’t want me to say.” An opening ploy. Destan himself wouldn’t judge her for it under the circumstances—or so she told herself.
    â€œI’ve not met your brother,” Wraith said, “but he must be a good judge of character, else he wouldn’t be able to play the Warlord the way he does. I’ve got to think he’d anticipate my position on the matter, yet he sent you my way nonetheless.”
    â€œI don’t know . . .” Alix shot another look at her companions, openly this time.
Can’t give in too easily, or he’ll be suspicious . . .
    â€œThere is little use belabouring the point,” Vel said, unwittingly playing into Alix’s hand. “Tell him or do not, but we have gone round this issue enough for one day.”
    Alix dropped her gaze to the floor as though weighing her options one final time. “Very well,” she said. “Rodrik . . . he’s a bloodbinder.”
    Asvin’s eyebrows flew up at that, as did Vel’s. Wraith just grunted.
    â€œI thought Alden had only one,” Asvin said.
    â€œThat’s true, which is why