Poison Dance (Midnight Thief #0.5)(8)

Thalia seemed to remember herself. She disengaged her wrist and backed away.

“What makes a lass like you into a killer?” he asked.

She shot him an annoyed look, and the tension left the room. “I didn’t hire you to delve into my past.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? It changes you, you know, your first kill.”

A smile touched her lips, a hint of a challenge. “You’re quite determined to have me think this over. Do you regret your first kill?”

It was an interesting question, and he gave it some thought. “No,” he finally said. “I regret not having done it sooner.”

“Who was it?” She tilted her head in anticipation of a tale. “Some Red Shield?”

“My father.” He smiled when her eyes widened. “I’ll make you a deal. You can keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”

“Fair enough.” In another moment, she was all business again. “So if I want to cut his throat, I have to get in close to him.”

“It’s the only way. You can’t beat him in a fair fight.”

She turned away. “I know I’m not as strong as a man.”

He shrugged. “And you never will be. But I killed grown men before I came of age. If you can’t rely on strength, you rely on stealth. Surprise is your strongest asset, so make sure the first time kills.” He paused. “If you kill him while he’s alone, you might be able to escape. If there are others with him, you won’t. Either way, you’re just as likely to die from this venture as your mark. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

Her voice was level, but he thought he caught a flash of despair in her eyes. What secrets was she holding that would drive her to do this? But that was her business.

Thalia sheathed the blade and laid it across the palm of her hand, feeling its weight. “What about poison?” she asked.

“Poison? What of it?”

“Then I could make sure I kill him the first time.”

He waved her suggestion away and turned toward the window. “You’ve been listening to too many talesingers. Poisons are a thing of the past.” On the street below, a raven-haired boy pushed a cart of fruit. Strange to think that most folk might go their whole lives without plotting someone’s death. When James turned back to Thalia, she was gazing calmly up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

“Poison is cheating. A blade is all you need.”

His dismissal had no visible effect on her. “Do you really think it’s cheating, or is it because you don’t have the means? The Guild isn’t exactly what it used to be.”

She was more right than he wanted to admit. A hundred years ago, when the Guild’s influence had ranged from the slums to the Palace, assassins had used poisons to great effect. There had still been talk of venoms during James’s early days at the Guild. The older assassins had told stories—exaggerated, no doubt, but detailed enough to ring true. These days, they barely had the coin to keep their crew fed, let alone maintain the funds and connections to acquire exotic substances. James felt a surge of irritation. “Do you want my help or not? You can pursue your poisons if that’s what you wish. But don’t bother me about it.”

“What if I were to tell you that I know a trader who sells lizard skin venom?”

He froze. “You lie.”

“It would cost you of course. But it’s there.”

James wondered when the girl would stop surprising him. “Lizard skin is a blade poison. You’d still need to draw blood. If you were in the Guild, I’d tell you not to use it lest your knife skills grow weak. But in your case, it could be useful.”





Chapter Four





THALIA arranged for James to be introduced to the caravaners at their campsite. James met her at the city gates so Thalia could show him the way. Her hair was pulled back in a scarf, and she’d traded her dress for rugged trousers that accentuated the lines of her legs. Thalia traveled the forest paths with the same grace she lent to her dancing.

“These friends of yours. How well do you know them?” asked James.

“They’re not my home caravan, but I’ve known Alvie since I was small enough to sit on his knee. He’s trustworthy.”

They broke through a clearing where seven covered wagons were circled around a firepit. A handful of men and women went about their business, weaving between the wagons and occasionally ducking into them. James had seen caravaners before when they traded in the city, but he’d had little interaction with them. They were a close-knit bunch and mostly kept to themselves, though James had heard that they were protective and fiercely loyal, both to their own caravans and to others that they formed alliances with.

“How often are they here?” asked James.

“Once a fortnight, perhaps,” said Thalia.

The back flap of a wagon opened, and a bald, stocky man stepped out. He had a face resembling a walrus, with a curled mustache in place of tusks. “Thalia!” he said.

Thalia responded with the first genuine smile James had seen from her.

Alvie pulled the dancing girl into an embrace. “Still here then, on your mad quest?”

“Until it’s done.” She spoke quietly, but something about her tone suggested that she was holding her ground in a long disagreement between the two of them.