He grinned and he laughed deep in his throat, down in his chest. He pulled them close together again, skin against skin.
"You're right about that."
Metaphorically, literally--being an executioner was a messy job, for one thing. But if only she knew, if only she knew, that even her boy, the boy she would go to again--if not tonight then after the week was out--even his blood was on his hands. He, in his disguise, all painted blue and crouching alongside the rabble of the Good Man's forces, had let fly the bolt that had ruined the fine, dark, keen eye of Cuthbert Allgood. And he laughed again, low and dark.
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"You're right about that."
Metaphorically, literally--being an executioner was a messy job, for one thing. But if only she knew, if only she knew, that even her boy, the boy she would go to again--if not tonight then after the week was out--even his blood was on his hands. He, in his disguise, all painted blue and crouching alongside the rabble of the Good Man's forces, had let fly the bolt that had ruined the fine, dark, keen eye of Cuthbert Allgood. And he laughed again, low and dark.