Poison Dance (Midnight Thief #0.5)(6)

She glanced around the room, and her gaze settled on a group of men close enough to overhear them.

“Mayhap we can take a walk?” he asked, catching her meaning.

They headed to the door. She looked surprised when he held it open for her. James gave her a sardonic smile and waved her out. The air was brisk, just chilly enough to bring a cloak to mind.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Thalia.”

They walked down a ways, past the busier streets until no one was in sight. The roads were narrow and the night was dark. The upper floors of houses on each side jutted out overhead to block the moonlight. Nevertheless, Thalia followed him without hesitation, as if they were old friends instead of a maid and an assassin.

“You’re brave. Or very trusting,” he told her.

“Just determined.” Her shoulders were hunched as she walked, her jaw set.

“And what are you determined for?”

The sound from the crowds they’d left faded away completely, and the streets were quiet. They slowed to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Thalia clutched her elbows and faced him, angling her head up to look him in the eye.

“There’s a man. I want him dead.”

She’d said as much earlier. “Who?” he asked.

“A wallhugger.”

James laughed. The girl was either stupid or suicidal. “Not just enough to hire an assassin, is it? You want to kill a nobleman.”

She didn’t react to his derision. “Will you do it?”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“They’re men like anyone else.”

“Men with money and power, and scores of Red Shields at their beck and call. Folk who value their lives don’t meddle in wallhugger affairs. I owe you for your help, but this is too much.”

As he turned away, she called after him. “Wait!” For the first time, a hint of desperation crept into her voice. “If you won’t kill him for me, at least help me.”

So the girl wasn’t quite as cool and calm as she’d appeared. “How?” he asked.

Thalia swallowed. She was trying to compose herself again, with only partial success. “Show me how to kill him myself.”

“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.”