More than once, James wondered why he never turned her away, and why he watched her give herself to the nobleman night after night while he himself stayed back. Not that Thalia would have refused James if he’d tried. She’d been willing enough—or resigned enough—that first time. But there was a wrongness to it that stopped him.
After the first night’s exhausted slumber, Thalia slept more fitfully, squirming and talking in her sleep. One night she woke up screaming. James covered her mouth so she wouldn’t wake the blacksmith’s family and held her until she remembered where she was. Gradually, her breathing slowed and her taut muscles relaxed.
“I can’t get the feel of him off my skin,” she whispered. Her back was to him, and she clutched his arm tight around her, staring out at nothing.
“You don’t have to keep returning to him,” he said. “Disappear for a few days. Come back when Alvie gets you the poison.”
She reached for Tess’s chain around her neck, clutching it like a lifeline. “The moment I leave his sight, he’ll fix his eyes on someone new. It’s only a few more days.”
Meanwhile, James looked for customers to buy Alvie’s spices. Rand had some connections with merchants, and James knew a few minor noblemen. It was a trick to make plans without arousing suspicion. Gerred had followed through on his plans to pair James, Rand, and Bacchus with different men during their jobs, and these ill-disguised informants used the pairings as an excuse to sniff around the Scorned Maiden even when they weren’t working. But despite all this, James had no trouble finding buyers. Everybody wanted forbidden goods. It was just a matter of getting them into the city, and for that, they had a solid plan. The city walls were tall, slightly taller than three men, but scalable. They would bring the goods in at night, out of view of the Red Shields.
Three days before the handoff, James and Rand scouted the city walls. Rand had found a stretch where trees obscured the watchtowers from view. They stood a few paces off the road and surveyed the surroundings.
“Guards come by twice an hour at night,” said Rand.
“Plenty of time, then,” said James. He put his shoulder next to the wall and looked to the watchtower. He sometimes glimpsed the guards on duty when the wind stirred the trees, but in the cover of night, they’d be completely hidden. On the opposite side of the wall, he could hear the murmurs of a crowd. “What’s on the other side?”
“Shops. They should be empty.”
“Good. Let’s try scaling it tonight.”
There was a sound of boots on gravel. The two of them rushed to the road just in time to see Gerred come around the bend. The guildleader approached slowly, eyes taking in everything—the walls, the rope in James’s hand.
“James, Rand,” said Gerred with false friendliness. “I heard talk that you might be here.”
James and Rand exchanged a look. It was too late to lie. “We all have our side pursuits, Gerred,” said James. “It has nothing to do with you. You have my word.”
“Your word?” Gerred’s tone was still mild, though there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “I expect openness from you. None of this skulking around doing who knows what. You owe me that much.”
“We owe Clevon a great deal,” said Rand. James shot Rand a warning look. It was unlike him to lose control. But though Rand’s face was flushed, he seemed to be reining himself in.
Only a slight hardening in Gerred’s expression acknowledged the insult. “Don’t be ungrateful, boys,” said Gerred. “Don’t take what you have for granted.”
Chapter Six
RAND’S remark about Clevon had been a mistake. Few things threatened Gerred more than a comparison to his predecessor. But what was done was done.
When Bacchus heard what had happened, he wanted to ditch the plan and attack Gerred. In the end, though, James and Rand prevailed with a more cautious approach. Gerred didn’t trust them, but he was a careful planner and slow to act, and they only had three more days until the handoff. So they laid low and kept their routines the same, doing their best not to push Gerred to action.
In the meantime, James inspected Thalia’s jewelry. He picked a pair of two matched silver pins as long as her hand. He filed one to a sharp point and left the other one blunt.
“Coat the blunted one with poison and leave the sharp one clean,” he said. “This way, you won’t poison yourself if your hairpin grazes your scalp. When you’re ready to use them, pull them out together. Get used to holding them like this.” He pressed them into her palm so that the sharpened pin protruded slightly farther than the poisoned one. “From here, aim for the throat, just as you did with the dagger.”
She did as he instructed, slowly angling the hairpins toward his neck. With the fluid motion of habit, James intercepted her hand and grasped the base of her palm, slowing and guiding her motion until the sides of the hairpins pressed cool against his throat. Their eyes met.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You could forget about Hamel. Come with us when we leave.”