“What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse, and he struggled to catch his breath.
Slowly, she came to her senses. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes uncertain. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He stepped away from her, putting space between them. “No more secrets, Thalia. What are you really trying to do?”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. For a long time, she stood there, caught between speaking and silence.
“Hamel is my mark,” she finally said. She watched him, her back straight, bracing herself for his reaction.
“Hamel?” For a moment, that was all that came out of his mouth. “You're mad,” he finally said. “You told me that your mark was not very powerful.”
Her chin lifted slightly. “You wouldn’t have helped me otherwise.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. He's likely been trained in combat from birth. He goes nowhere without his bodyguards. Even if you get a weapon past them, even if you kill him and escape, Hamel has so many connections, even in the city. If the Red Shields don’t get you, then the Guild will.” He stopped, remembering where she had just come from. “Wait, did you . . .”
She deflated at his question. “His bodyguards took my dagger before they left us alone. I told them I kept it to protect myself against drunk patrons, but they’re watching me now, and they’ll be searching me even more carefully in the future. There’s no way I can get a knife past them now.” She stared past James, eyes bleak. Then she resolutely shook her head. “It doesn't matter. I've come this far. I'll find another way. I have to.”
*
If Rand or Bacchus noticed that James and Thalia avoided talking that night, neither of them mentioned it. His two friends spent the evening pricing Minadan spices while James looked on. Thankfully, Hamel was nowhere to be seen, but James wasn’t na?ve enough to think that this respite would last long.
He left the tavern early and returned to his quarters. It was quiet—no noise from the blacksmith’s family through the walls. He allowed himself to light an oil lamp so he could mend a tear in his spare tunic and had just sat down on his bed when there was a knock on the door.
It was Thalia.
After a long moment, James stepped aside. Her face was downcast as she walked in, and she sat against his wall the same way as when she’d visited him the first time. Back then, she had been trying to keep him at a distance. Tonight, the act felt more like an apology. Neither of them said anything, and James returned to his mending.
After a while, she finally spoke. “Your father. Why did you kill him?”
That hadn’t been the question he’d expected. Though from the vulnerability in her eyes, he would have thought it was him questioning her rather than the other way around.
“It’s no big secret,” he said. “My Da didn’t handle his wine well. Took out his frustrations on me and my sister. One day he hit her too hard, and I fought back.”
The answer didn’t seem to surprise her. “What became of your sister?”
“She died.”
Thalia nodded slowly in understanding. “That’s why you wish you’d killed him sooner.”
James laid the tunic aside. The memory was an old one, numb like a wound calloused over. “I just make sure I don’t make the same mistake again.”
Thalia hooked a finger under her collar and drew out a thin gold necklace that James had never noticed before. She examined it, brows furrowed, tilting the links to the light. “I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t hesitate. That I’d do anything.”
“Why do you want to kill Hamel?” he asked.
She raised her eyes, doubt in her gaze.
“Alvie says you lost your sister. Was that Hamel’s doing?”
She was silent again, no longer staring at the chain in her hands but at a spot on the floor beyond it. James waited.
“Tess was four years my senior,” she finally said. There was a sad note to her voice, but a measure of relief too, as if she were delivering a long suppressed confession. “Our parents died before I learned to walk, so in many ways, she was a mother to me. She taught me to dance. . . .” Thalia trailed off with a wistful smile. “She was beautiful.”
After a moment, she continued. “We grew up with the caravans, but we were fascinated by life in the cities. Tess especially. When I was old enough to travel with the caravan myself, Tess came to live at Forge. It wasn’t supposed to be a long trip. She just wanted to see what it was like. She danced at the Silver Plough to pay for lodging, and I visited her when the caravan passed by.”