He jerks futilely at the blanket, pulls that corner painstakingly further out to hide what little more he can behind it. It doesn't conceal the bright, hot flush that creeps down his chest at the skewer she shoves through it.

It's one thing, bad enough, to be lectured in well-meaning earnest by a mage who'd gotten further into Cade's good graces over a single game of cards than Simon had managed over the entire course of their acquaintance--but to have Wren jam her thumb into the arrow wound of his guilty negligence is intolerable. He could have been there to prevent that tavern brawl, should have been there, should have known Callum was someone to protect Cade from and not anyone who could have been expected to take care of him.

"So why the hell did you task me with looking after him, knowing that he doesn't listen to me one forsaken bit?" he snarls back. "If all you wanted me for was a snitch, you should have told me as much. I've none of the authority that makes him take you seriously, but you expected me to keep him out of trouble all the same, and I did the best I fucking could. Should I have had you tie him to the bed to keep him from moving out of here? Would you rather I have let you find him an inn that wasn't full of criminals to stay at? What about when we were stranded in Rivain? I'm so sorry I didn't bother you about it from afar."