“You?” He looked from her eyes to the rest of her body, making no effort to hide his disdain at her fragile limbs. He took her wrist in his hand, holding his hand up to show her where his fingers overlapped. He wasn’t gentle, and her eyes teared up, though she didn’t pull away.
“How strong do you need to be, really, to push a dagger home?” she whispered. “He’s not very powerful. Just a minor nobleman. And I don’t look like a killer. He won’t be expecting it from me.” There was an intensity in her eyes, either ambition or despair, he couldn’t tell.
“I can offer you more than a simple payment,” she continued. “I have connections with trade caravans. You must need money, with your guildleader gone. I can give you access to rare goods. Expensive ones. You could gain much by doing business with the traders.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I branch out into honest trade?”
“It’s not . . . entirely honest.” She spoke carefully. “But it could be lucrative. One run with them could earn you enough to outfit you comfortably for travel. And being friends with the caravans never hurts if you’re planning to take to the road.”
James wasn’t sure if he completely hid his surprise at her words. Apparently, he was no more alert to her eavesdropping than Gerred’s men. But he did need money, and if she really could deliver what she promised . . . “Are you lying to me?” he asked.
“I promise you I’m not. Give me a few weeks. See what I have to offer, and what you can teach me. Then you can be done with me.”
*
She came cautiously through the door the next afternoon, taking in his sparse room—the bed, his trunk, the window—with a few quick glances. When the blacksmith started hammering downstairs, her brow furrowed with annoyance, but she said nothing.
“You live here?” she asked.
“It in’t the Palace, but it’s got walls.”
“I grew up in a covered wagon. At least this doesn’t blow over in a storm.”
She moved as if to sit on the bed but thought better of it and crouched by the wall. James sat in the space she had just avoided and studied her. She sat with her dress bunched around her, and her hair fanned over her shoulders. Though her face was carefully blank, her fingers tapped restlessly against her knees.
“You’re serious about this?” said James. “You want to kill a nobleman.”
She nodded, studying the wall behind him as if there were an image there only she could see.
“And you want this enough to put your life in danger? Why come to me?”
She was silent for a moment, pulling at the hem of her dress. “I’ve been watching you,” she said slowly. “You think before you act. You don’t get carried away by your drink like your friend Bacchus. You look at the serving girls, but you don’t grab them. And I know you’re good at what you do.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
“Three months ago. When the fight broke out in the Scorned Maiden.”
He vaguely remembered that fight. A merchant and his friends had taken offense to one of Bacchus’s cracks, and James had come to his defense. “I didn’t kill anyone in that fight,” he said. It was better not to, if he wanted to continue to frequent the tavern.
“But you could have. I’ve seen my share of brawls. I know a good fighter from a bad one.” She spoke with the objective tone of a seamstress picking thread.
“So who is this mysterious nobleman?”
Her expression became guarded. “You’re not killing him for me. Just showing me how to use a knife.”
He’d thought her reckless, with the way she’d followed him into the alley last night. But perhaps he’d underestimated her. “How long have you wanted him dead?”
“Two years.”
“Did something happen two years ago?”
“Yes.” She didn’t volunteer any more information.
He shrugged. “Keep your secrets for now. One wallhugger’s the same as another to me. But if you really want me to teach you right, you’ve eventually got to tell me more. I’ll need to know how close you can get to him. If he’s guarded, and how well. If he’s trained with weapons. But right now, I want to know more about your connection with the caravans.”
She relaxed a bit at this new line of questioning. “I grew up with the trade caravans and traveled with them until a few years ago,” she said. “As you know, the Palace puts limits on what can be sold. It reserves some rare goods for itself by making it illegal to sell them to others in the city. I have friends though, who could be persuaded to overlook those laws.”
There was a knock at the door, and Thalia snapped her head to the sound. “That’s Rand and Bacchus,” said James. “Will you tell them the same thing you just told me?”
“Do you trust them?”
“With my life.”
She thought for a moment, then nodded.
Bacchus winked at Thalia as he came in, and Rand nodded curtly in her direction. She ignored Bacchus and returned Rand’s nod as James filled them in.
“What kind of rare goods?” asked Bacchus when James finished.
“Spices. Tapestries,” said Thalia.