0 gods, is that me? Am I like this, this ain’t me, outside, this is Haught’s
doing and She’s got Haught by now. She has. Maybe She’s outright killed him,
taken him into Her bed and thrown him in the river an’ all-like She’ll throw me,
all these damn’ beggars to come on me in the night and cut my throat- 0 gods,
look at my face. I’m prettier’n Her, She must’ve seen that-
A step sounded in the hall. A face appeared in the mirror beside her own. She
turned, dropping her hands as a curl tumbled loose, her breast heaved-she
suddenly knew what effect she projected, natural as breathing and dangerous as a
spider.
She saw adoration glowing in Tasfalen’s face, and the terrified pounding of her
heart and the constriction of the laces brought on that raininess again.
“What secret?” she asked. And Tasfalen came and seized up her hand in his, in
one move closer to her than she had planned to let him get. He smelled of spices
and roses.
Like a flower seller. Or a funeral.
“That I want you,” Tasfalen said, “and that you’re in deadly danger.”
“What-danger?”
He let go her hand and took her by both shoulders, staring closely into her
eyes. “Gossip. Rumors. You’ve become known in town and someone has slandered
you-incredible slander. I won’t repeat all of it. Say that you’ve been accused
of- trafficking with terrorists. Of being catspaw for-Is that part true? That
woman, that dark woman-I know her name, dear lady. My sources are highly placed.
And they mention your name-” His eyes rolled toward the uptown height, toward