Mindful of her unsettled stomach, she slowly sipped her tea. “Why didn’t you pass out?”
He grinned. “I have a harder head.” He unfastened his cloak and threw it in a corner.
She saw the blood staining his sleeve. “What happened?”
Reden grimaced as he tried to peer at the back of his arm. “He targeted me first. I pretended it knocked me out and waited. When he came at you, I fired my musket. Unfortunately, I missed. As I was drawing my pistol, he threw a knife. He’s got a wicked aim. I’ve no idea why I’m not dead.”
“I thought the Leader of the Guardians was a little busy to be watching me.”
He twisted the wick up on the lantern. The room brightened. He eased his shirt over his head and examined the nasty slash on his arm. He muttered curses in Tarten. “Collum’s sick. Joshen and Timpnee are gone with Arianis. Hesten and Deere already had their shift.”
Senna dropped her head. “I’m sorry for being so much trouble.”
Reden didn’t bother responding. His cut wasn’t long, but it was deep. She winced. Part of her training as an Apprentice had been the basic care of wounds. But the pig carcass she’d practiced on hadn’t been alive. “It will scar worse if you don’t have it stitched,” she said. “Nor will it heal as well.”
He gave her an odd look and gestured to his bare chest. “What’s one more?”
Her gaze traced the scars riddling his skin like the lines on a map. Beneath those scars, his body was hard and smooth, the body of a career soldier.
He took a bottle from a shelf and bit off the cork. Immediately the strong scent of alcohol flooded Senna’s nostrils. After taking three deep pulls, Reden tamped back the cork. “That ought to tame it.”
He gave her a pointed look before twisting the glass of the lantern up to expose the flame. He slid the blade inside.
She suddenly realized what he was planning. Her vision blurred again. “Oh, no. You’re not doing that.”
“If I cauterize it, I won’t need stitches.”
Senna felt like she was going to throw up again. “I’ll stitch it.”
He assessed her. “I don’t think you’re up to it.”
Feeling lightheaded, she rested her forehead on the heel of her hand. “Why not ask for help?”
“Because I don’t know who to trust.”
She stared at him. “What about the Heads?”
Reden sighed. “We have a traitor on the island—someone in a position of power.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been busy.”
By the Creators, she was nauseous. “And you think it’s one of the Heads?
He nodded. “It’s the only option that makes sense. No one else has the influence to force you to stay here, to let someone on the island, and to hide them for this long. Not to mention sending away two of your Guardians, including Joshen, and making the other sick. And at least one of my informants has been intercepted.”
Intercepted? Senna decided she didn’t want to know what that meant. She considered all of them. Coyel, Prenny, Chavis and Drenelle. Her eyes widened. “Not long before I was attacked, Drenelle took Joshen away and sent me off alone to gather pollen.”
Reden rubbed his chin. “Might mean something. Might not. Either way, you’re not safe here, and if Drenelle really is the traitor, she’ll never let you leave with me. I’m getting you out. Tonight.”
She gaped at him. She’d been bracing herself to escape alone. Now Reden was offering to help her. A tight knot of fear loosened in her stomach. “Tonight?”
He gestured to his knife, slowly turning black from the smoke. “Cauterizing is faster.”
The idea of sizzling flesh sent her head spinning again. “How are you getting me out?”
He spoke with cold detachment. “I’m going to order the Guard at the entrance to stand down. Then you’re going to sing us out.”
She was not going to throw up again. She wasn’t. “And if he doesn’t stand down?”
“Then I will incapacitate him.”
She took a calming breath. “And then?”
Reden wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “You’ve already been preparing to go to Tarten.”
How many spies did he have on the island? Through fits and starts, she told him her plan. To go to Tarten and lift part of the curse. Find Espen and unearth the secret of these foreign Witches who threatened Haven.
Reden listened, occasionally asking questions. When he was satisfied, he sat back. “We’ll need supplies.”
She shook her head. “Joshen—”
Reden used the blade to gesture towards Nefalie. “Is in Corrieth. We’ll find him there.”