The fire crackled in the dimly lit chamber, casting flickering shadows upon the stone walls. The scent of burning herbs mixed with the iron tang of blood as the wounded assassin groaned on the cot. Dastan sat beside him, arms crossed, his own injury bound with a strip of linen. Liria remained near the entrance, her eyes darting between the two men, tension thick in the air.
"You should have left him," she said finally, voice low. "What if he wakes and tries to kill you again?"
Dastan barely spared her a glance. "Then I'll kill him again."
Liria bristled. "You're wounded. What if he bests you?"
He gave a wry smirk. "Then I suppose I deserve to die."
Liria's hands curled into fists. "That's not funny."
The wounded assassin stirred, his breath ragged. Dastan leaned forward, his voice calm but laced with warning. "Don't be a fool, Rennan. You lost."
The man—Rennan—gritted his teeth and turned his head slightly. "I underestimated you."
"You did," Dastan agreed. "And yet, here you are, breathing, because I chose to spare you."
Rennan chuckled bitterly, wincing at the pain. "Is this mercy or humiliation?"
"Neither. It's honor. You know our code," Dastan said, leaning back. "A defeated assassin isn't left to die if he fought well. We may be killers, but we are not without principles."
Rennan scoffed. "Easy words from the one who walks away the victor."
Dastan exhaled sharply. "You would have done the same, Rennan. Had you won, I'd be the one on that cot, and you'd be offering me water and bandages, grumbling all the while."
Rennan's silence confirmed it. Liria shifted, crossing her arms, her eyes still wary. "So what now? He leaves and tells others where to find us?"
"No," Dastan said simply. "He will honor the fight."
Liria's brow furrowed. "And if he doesn't?"
Dastan's gaze flickered to hers, steady and unwavering. "Then I'll hunt him down before he gets the chance."
Rennan let out a ragged breath, his smirk faint but still there. "No need, Dastan. I know when I'm beaten."
A silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling fire. The old maester shuffled back into the room, placing a small bowl of thick salve beside Rennan. "This will ease the pain. Rest."
Dastan rose to his feet, his own wound protesting. He turned to Liria. "Come, we shouldn't linger."
She hesitated before following, casting one last glance at the man on the cot. Rennan's gaze met hers, dark and unreadable, before he closed his eyes.
As they stepped out into the night, the cold air bit at Liria's skin. The distant howl of wolves echoed through the trees, and she pulled her cloak tighter. Dastan walked beside her, silent and brooding, his usual sharp confidence subdued.
She studied him for a moment. "You're different than I thought."
"Oh?" His voice was laced with mild amusement.
"I thought assassins were merciless, ruthless."
Dastan chuckled under his breath. "We are."
Liria shook her head. "No. If you were, Rennan would be dead."
He exhaled, glancing at her. "Killing is easy, Liria. Anyone can take a life. But to know when not to… that is harder."
His words lingered in the space between them. They reached their small encampment, the dying embers of their fire barely casting light. Dastan removed his cloak, draping it over a log before sitting down. Liria hesitated before joining him.
For a while, they sat in silence, the night settling around them. Liria turned to him. "Your arm—does it hurt?"
Dastan glanced at his wound, shrugging. "Nothing I haven't endured before."
She frowned. "Let me see."
He raised a brow. "Since when did you become a healer?"
"I didn't," she admitted. "But I can still help."
He sighed but relented, pulling back the linen. The gash was deep but not severe. Liria reached for a water pouch, wetting a piece of cloth before dabbing at the wound. Dastan barely flinched, his gaze fixed on her.
"You don't have to do this," he murmured.
"I know."
Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. The firelight cast a warm glow on her face, and for a moment, Dastan forgot the world outside their small circle of warmth.
She broke the silence first. "You protected me back there. Against Rennan."
"Of course," he said simply. "Do not forget that you are my bounty."
Her breath hitched slightly, her hand stilling on his arm. "Well, if that's what you said."
"If you are dead on Rennan's hand than he will get the reward. Therefore, I need to protect you, you need to remain as my captive, you know why." His cold voice shot right pierced through the night.
Liria swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. She wanted to argue, to tell him she could take care of herself, but the truth lingered in the air—she had needed him today.
Dastan smirked at her silence. "Admit it. You'd be dead without me."
She rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here you are tending to my wound," he teased.
She huffed, finishing her task before leaning back. "There. Try not to get stabbed again."
"No promises."
Liria watched him, her chest tight with emotions she couldn't quite name. Dastan had been an enigma from the start—a man of contradictions, of sharp blades and unexpected kindness.
He turned to her suddenly, expression unreadable. "Get some rest. We leave at dawn."
She nodded, pulling her cloak tighter as she lay beside the fire. Dastan remained sitting, staring into the flames, lost in thoughts she could only guess at.
As sleep slowly claimed her, one thought lingered—Dastan was dangerous, unpredictable, a man forged in the shadows where loyalty was fleeting, and betrayal came as easily as breathing. Yet, despite the blood on his hands and the ruthless nature he bore, he was the only one standing between her and a fate far worse than death. Without him, she would be lost to the whims of those who sought to use her, a pawn in a game she barely understood. But with him—though the path was uncertain, laced with peril and veiled in mystery—there was a sliver of hope. And that, for now, was enough.