Page 176 of Fallacies

My brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner,” Salem shrugs, “that these were your mother’s rooms.” He looks down at the dress, then back up at me. “Can I tell you a secret?”

It catches me so off guard that my tears dry up instantly. I turn to face him. “You want to tell me a secret?”

“It isn’t my deepest,” he whispers. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

And now I want to know what his deepest secret is.

Putting a pin in that information, I nod in confirmation, “Hopes are low.”

Salem dips his chin, laying the dress at the foot of the bed, and tucks both hands into his pockets as he straightens. “When I said the King is in control of my freedom, I meant the King is in control of my power—or the blade I draw it from,” he amends. “Sena is how I…replenish.”

“A knife?” I clarify, and he nods.

Interesting.

“If I had Sena and the entirety of my magic, I would have known the second I stepped into this room that it didn’t smell like you. It smelled like someone related to you. The Countess and her inner circle fear me because of who I am, but in actuality, I’m a fraction of the Hound without Sena. The snaring and the magic I used to snap that guard's neck in the dungeon…that’s the extent of what I have right now. Without my blade to replenish it, when it runs out, it runs out.”

I blink back at him, trying to absorb his confession without letting fear follow it in.

I’ve been relying on his magic to free the Captures, and he just told me it’s dwindling. The power he doesn’t have isn’t his fault, but he and I are business partners—his inability to carry out our plan is my concern.

“But what about the Sol?” I ask. “What about the cages?”

Salem shakes his head, dismissing the worry. “I’ll rip them open if I have to.”

I fold my arms across my damp towel, suddenly more aware of my bare legs and the water droplets falling down them.

“I should get dressed,” I blurt out, taking hurried steps towards the bathroom. “But your secret is safe with me.” I pause in the doorway, turning back to face him. “What is your deepest?”

The Hound looks thrown off by the question. “My deepest?”

“Secret,” I clarify. It’s a shot in the dark, and I’m almost positive he won’t tell me, but my curiosity decided it was worth asking.

A slow smile spreads across his face, the blue in his eyes holding mine hostage. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

I huff a laugh. “You have the courage to say it out loud? What’s that like?”

Salem shrugs. “Freeing,” he admits.

My amusement fades at the simplicity in his one-word answer. At how casually he delivered it.

Freeing.

He breaks our eye contact and pushes off the bedpost. “Get dressed, Killer. We have sources to bleed.”

“You’re walking funny.”

“Excuse me?” I mutter, nearly tripping over the end of my curtain robe.

The halls of the Estate are busier than usual, servants bustling about as the Countess’s circle begins filing into the dining room for dinner.

“I said you’re walking funny,” Salem repeats, dropping his voice to a whisper, “like you’re trying to hide yourself.”

“I am trying to hide myself,” I snip back, glaring up at him from beneath the black fabric draped over my head.

“Well, don’t make it so obvious,” he tells me, sliding in front as we approach the dining room doors.