Page 151 of Salt Between the Wolves

"No."

"Sit."

"I am not a child."

Varda met his gaze without flinching.

"No, but children are easier."

Soren almost smiled at that, though the expression never fully formed. Instead, he lowered himself onto the edge of the chair, irritated by how much effort the simple movement required.

Varda stepped closer.

"Take off the shirt."

This time he obeyed, not because she had ordered him to, but because he wanted answers.

The fabric fell to the floor, and for several moments she simply stared.

The mark stretched across his chest exactly as it had in the training yard. It looked dark and angry, with a disturbing sense of life beneath the skin. Although the bleeding had slowed, it had never truly stopped, and a thin line of blood still traced one edge of the mark before disappearing beneath the surface.

The healer didn't touch it at all, which worried him far more than if she had.

At last she stepped back and released a long breath, followed by another.

"You fool."

There was no anger in her voice, only exhaustion.

Soren folded his arms.

"I've been called worse."

"I know," she replied immediately. "I've said worse."

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but Varda didn't return it. Instead, she looked back at the mark.

"You have no idea what you've done."

His irritation returned at once.

"I marked her."

"No."

The response cracked through the room like a whip, and for the first time since entering the chamber, genuine anger flashed across her face.

"No, Soren. As if that explains anything."

The irritation beneath his skin sharpened.

"Then explain it."

She let out a short, humorless laugh.

"I would if you listened."

Soren looked away, and Varda noticed immediately.