Crow’s vision swam as he felt his consciousness slipping away from him with the intensity of the pain. With the brunt of Layth’s weight pressing down on his still-fresh injury, he couldn’t even breathe in. It hurt nearly as badly as when Jaxon had driven his sword through him in the first place. He closed his eyes, fighting the temptation to talk just to make the knight stop leaning on him. He couldn’t let Layth win. If he gave in now, he would be giving the knight exactly what he needed to bring both him and Penelope down. For her sake, he had to keep his mouth shut and tough out the interrogation until her brother decided he wouldn’t learn anything.

Just when he was starting to think he would pass out, Crow felt the pressure disappear from his body. He gasped, finally able to inhale again, and quickly brought his own hand to the wound. Despite the fact that Layth was no longer bearing down on him, the pain didn’t fade very much. He grimaced, biting his lip to suppress a whimper as a sharp ache wracked his torso. It was hard to tell how bad the damage was at the moment, but he knew it wasn’t good. The knight had definitely made something worse.

Vaguely, he was aware of the two knights arguing hotly nearby, and he turned his head to pay better attention to what was happening between them. When he did, he noticed that Penelope was cupping the side of her face as if it pained her. He knitted his brow, momentarily confused by the gesture, until he made the connection that Layth must have struck her. With the realization came a flash of anger, and he shifted on his bed, wanted to get up to come to her aid. However, the motion of moving his body sent another wave of fire through him that made him freeze in his tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut, silently cursing the wound that was keeping him restrained from helping the knight.

After a while, he managed to open one eye again, just in time to catch Layth storm out of the tent. [i]Thank the gods,[/i] he thought with relief, glad that Penelope’s brother had given up so quickly. After their last encounter, he had expected the hardheaded man to insist on finishing the interrogation no matter what his sister thought. However, now that the immediate threat was gone, there was also nothing left to distract him from his aching wound. He grimaced again as it sent another thrill of pain through his body.

[i]That moron probably undid whatever healing already started,[/i] he thought scathingly.

When Penelope hurried to his side, the thief shook his head faintly, panting from the strain of breathing through the pain. “I don’t know… I don’t know,” he managed to say between breaths, some fear seeping into his voice in his repetition. “It hurts.” Another wave of pain coursed through him, and he moaned. “Gods, I think he was really trying to kill me.”