People with fabric draped over them—and little else underneath—danced in front of bright lights, turning the sheets they held completely sheer. Every inch of their bodies was visible. Some wore nothing underneath; others wore limited underclothes. The man was watching them intensely, elbows on his knees.
All right. There he was. Somehow, they would have to get information from him. “He seems preoccupied. How are we—”
Grim looked from the dancers to Isla. Then back again.
She scoffed. “Absolutely not, you cursed demon—”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Then we’ll find another way. I just thought, you being a temptress and all, you could use your powers, since I’m unable to use mine.”
Powers. She was supposed to be a cursed hearteater, able to tempt a person with a single look. Capable of bringing anyone to their knees with her seduction. Somehow he hadn’t seemed to notice her powerlessness, beyond a few pointed statements. He couldn’t find out she didn’t have ability. What if that was why he was working with her in the first place? Would he rescind his offer to help her during the Centennial?
Roaring began filling her ears. They hadn’t found the skin gloves. She and Celeste needed him. Her people needed her. They were suffering.
“Can’t you just torture the information out of him?” she asked. Suddenly, that option sounded a lot more appealing.
Grim looked amused. “Of course I can, Hearteater. But one of the most infamous thieves, one of the only people who knows about the sword, turning up dead in such a violent fashion? It would be suspicious . . .” He shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose, if you are unable to actually use your powers—”
“Of course I can,” she said quickly.
Grim looked unconvinced. “It’s fine. We’ll find another—”
“No.” She was suddenly intent on wiping that look off his face. She reached back into her dress and shoved her starstick at him. “Take this from me, and you’ll see my other Wildling curses in action,” she said.
Then she turned on her heel, toward the tent behind the stage.
All her previous bravado was gone. She had traded one of the girls in the show a ruby from her necklace in exchange for her extra set of clothing. Now, she stood just offstage, trembling. Her chest was covered only by a thick strip of black fabric. Her other parts were covered only by a skirt that truly had not earned that description, for it barely concealed anything.
The sheet was over her, but she had seen it at work in the light. Everything would be revealed. She would be revealed.
Get it together, she told herself. Her people were starving. The mark above her heart was only the faintest scar now, but the encounter had left more than torn flesh behind. She had seen the women’s desperation. They looked guilty, but they were hungry. She was their ruler. It was her responsibility to do whatever she could to survive the Centennial and break their curse.
With her people in mind, a stupid dance in front of a thief seemed easy. She had a plan. Seduce him, bring him to a private place, and feed him the bottle of liquor she had also bought off the dancer.
“A drink of this, and any man will be flat on his stomach,” she had said. “Lets us accept payment without doing most of the more unsavory acts.”
Finally, Isla had asked for advice. “Do you know the man with the serpent?”
She had rolled her eyes. “We all do, unfortunately.”
“How do I get him to notice me?”
“Easy,” she said. “He likes attention.”
All she had to do was dance in front of him.
How hard could it be?
She was wearing a mask. Anonymous. No one knew her here—except for the cursed demon, who she doubted would even be watching.
With a burst of confidence, Isla stepped onto the stage, wrapped in the cloth she knew was made completely transparent by the lights behind, casting her body in full shadow.
Gazes were brands searing her skin. At first, she rejected it, felt disgusted, but then . . .
This was a choice. She was not being forced. They were here to watch, and she had agreed to be part of the entertainment.
She positioned herself right in front of the man with the snake, making sure to give a smile just for him, and she began to dance.
The music was a rush of drums and strings so fast and intoxicating that her body moved to its rhythm, matching the routine of the others. Her hips swayed, dipped, her arms reached above her head, she ran her fingers down her stomach, touching her body through the fabric . . .
And met his gaze. Him.
Grim.
He was watching her like she really had power and could seduce a man with one look. He was staring like a man entranced, standing predatorially still. She met his eyes, and he did not look away—no, if anything, he looked more intensely. His eyes swept down her body, and up, and lingered, and she felt it in her blood, in her bones, him—
His gaze broke away, narrowing on something right in front of her, just a half second before she felt a pull on her fabric.
She heard a hiss.
The thief. The snake around his neck flicked its tongue out. The man offered his hand, which was full of coins she had never seen before. “Might I have a private show?” he asked.
Bile worked its way up her throat. She gave her most convincing smile. “Of course.”
The man helped her off the stage, and she led him to the back of the tent, where she had watched other dancers take their clients. Before going into one of the private areas, she scooped up her bottle of liquor.
“For you,” she said reverently, and he smiled. The snake hissed again, and he petted its head. “Apologies—she is a jealous woman,” he said about the serpent.
The curtains made a scratching sound as she opened them. They were in a building now, with stone walls. The sounds of music and yells were muted here. In their room, there was only a chair, some candles, and a table with awaiting goblets.
She uncorked the bottle and poured him a glass.
He took it immediately, and Isla thought he was a fool for not even smelling it before gulping it down. He must not have viewed her as a threat.
Perhaps this was how he’d lost the sword.
“More,” he said, offering his goblet. She happily obliged, and he downed the drink again, before loudly leaving it on the table. “Now,” he said, smiling, teeth shining in the limited light of the few scattered candles. “Dance.”
Isla did. She danced in front of him, smiling coyly when he made to reach for her, turning around strategically, so he didn’t think she was denying him.
When she turned around again, she saw his eyes were drooping. He fought to stay awake, his head lolling, then straightening, again, and again.
This was her chance.
“Come here,” he said, patting his leg. She felt a bout of nausea but complied, sitting on his lap, far from where he wanted her.
The snake lunged for her, and Isla startled, but the man just laughed, head lolling to the side. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite,” he said. “I had her fangs removed.” Though she was grateful for it now, Isla thought that was very sad. For a moment, she felt pity for the snake.
“I’m looking for something,” she whispered.
“Are you?” he said, his voice slurring.
“A sword. The one your group stole from the Skyling market and that you stole from them. Where is it?”
He laughed, his eyes rolling back. “That sword ruined my life,” he said. “It’s nearly killed anyone who’s tried to use it. I suppose none of us were powerful enough for it.” He laughed some more.
She leaned closer, clutching both sides of his open shirt in her hands. “Where is it?”
The man smiled. His eyes were nearly closed now. His very pale cheeks were now flushed. Perhaps the drink had worked too well. “A thief stole it from me. Ironic, isn’t it? Some call her the best thief in all the realms.”
“What’s her name?”
“No one knows.”
“Where can I find her?”
He lifted a shoulder.
That wasn’t helpful. She shook him by the sides of his shirt. “Where do you think the sword is now? Would she have traded it? Sold it?”
“Oh, I know where the sword is.”
Isla stopped shaking him. “You do?”
He nodded as much as he could manage. “The thief has a favorite hiding place.”
“Where?”
“Here, on Nightshade.”
Hope bloomed. “Close by?”
He shook his head. “No, no. Far.”