Blackfeather Woods mine are long and sharp, my Lord As long and sharp as yours

Ah, he was just as horrible as ever. She kept said ugly mask impassive, staring at him with cold eyes. At the mention of the messenger—undoubtedly the woman she had sent—she frowned, eyes shifting slightly, looking for her. Nowhere in sight. Hadn't she asked her to bring him, not send him alone? She had failed, clearly. Or he had killed her.

Either way, Maegi was not pleased.

I no longer serve Sithis, but you did wound me to taunt him, she said coldly. As for the messenger, I needed her to return with you—and she is not here. You're far too close to my border, Molag Bal. Leave, or you will pay. She kept her gimlet stare trained on the man, even as the fine trembling of her skin threatened to burst into all-out quaking.

He was, at least partially, right. The little girl he had hurt still lived behind the mask. She just happened to be accompanied by older (if not wiser) personas, wolves who were much braver and much less inclined to take his shit.