"That woman..." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusation.
One of Romandro's men was among those who'd scrambled over at the sound of the servants' screams. It was him – the one who'd slain Colin while traveling with the Mereloff caravan, bound for Sheiron.
"Lord Ian," the man said, his voice tight with barely suppressed urgency. "She's the one who caused all that chaos in the Sheiron Mountains."
"Her? You're absolutely certain?" Ian's voice was sharp, demanding.
"I saw it with my own two eyes. I watched her kill Colin." The man's words were clipped, definite.
A flicker of something – suspicion, perhaps, or a dawning understanding – crossed Ian's face as his gaze locked onto Mereloff's wife.
"I told you," she hissed, "I despise everything to do with Mereloff!"
"So you resorted to sabotaging the trading caravan?" Ian's voice was laced with steel.
"Instead of thanking me, you dare treat me like this?"