He shook his head at that last part. He’d said that for Marissia’s benefit. He made a fist and mimed hitting her stomach. Knock the wind out of her if she screams, he meant.

Why he hadn’t just gagged her, Teia didn’t know, but she didn’t ask. She’d learned not to push the mercurial assassin. Sometimes he had deeper plans. Sometimes he didn’t think of the obvious. But he never liked being questioned, and there was no upside to Teia appearing too smart.

Sharp scooped all the papers off the table and into a sack. He opened drawers and grabbed every paper with writing on it, and thumbed through all the blank pages to make sure nothing was hidden from him.

Then he was off, searching the rest of the room.

Marissia gave two sharp little tugs on the rope in Teia’s hand.

“Shhh,” Teia said.

Marissia waited a few moments and tugged again. She wanted to say something.

What was Teia going to tell her? She hadn’t known Marissia outside of their work, but she’d felt a kinship and deep respect for the woman. They had both been slaves. Both were spies, and Marissia had risen as high as any slave or spy could.

Marissia had once told Teia that the Order would make her do something terrible. ‘Let it be on my head—but do it,’ she’d said.

But there was no way she could have guessed that the something terrible would be her own kidnapping and likely murder.

Another tug. Master Sharp had ducked into the slave’s closet off the main room, out of sight and earshot. “He’s gone. Only for a moment,” Teia whispered.

“Third drawer, left side,” Marissia whispered. “Halfway back, straight up. Push hard. Quick!”

Master Sharp had left the drawer open, so Teia had only to take one step and stoop. The surface felt flat, but as Teia pushed hard on it, she felt something snap with a slight chalky scent of broken blue luxin, and a tiny section of the wood sank in. A folded piece of parchment dropped into her hand.

Teia stepped back into place, stashing the parchment in a pocket. “Got it,” she whispered.

“Tug when you need me—”

Master Sharp stepped back in. “What’s she saying?”

“Um? What?” Teia said. For one terrifying moment, her mind went blank. “Oh, she’s trying to bribe me.” Teia said it like she was bored.

Staring at her hard, Master Sharp ran a freakishly long pink tongue over those horrid wide teeth. “I took a bribe…” He smacked his lips. “Once. Had no plan to let the man go, of course, and killed him as soon as I got the coin.” Sharp tucked a package of documents tied with red or green ribbon into his sack. Teia was color-blind, so she could tell only that it was one or the other. “No harm, right? The Old Man… disagreed. Emphatically.”

He smiled, too broadly. Something about those teeth twisted Teia’s stomach more than when he’d worn a full set of wolves’ fangs.

“How much did she offer?” he asked.

Teia froze. There was a hook in that question. Marissia the Prism’s room slave might have squirreled away a small fortune. Marissia the spy would have saved a lot more, and with her life on the line, would she not offer a large bribe? But maybe not too large, a spymistress would be smart enough to start small—

Too long, T, don’t take too long!

Teia said, “She hadn’t mentioned any figures. And I wasn’t listening, anyway. I’m not in this for coin.” Change the subject, change the subject.

“Why are you, then?” Master Sharp asked.

“Are we really going to have this conversation in front of her?” Teia asked. “Now? You said we needed to—”

“We don’t need to worry about her.” His voice lowered dangerously. “And don’t question me.”

Orholam have mercy. That cemented it. If you were in the Order of the Broken Eye, there was only one reason you didn’t worry when someone learned your secrets: Marissia was going to die. Teia said, “I’m here for revenge.”

“Revenge? On who?”

Teia cocked her head as if it were an odd question. “On all of ’em.”

He grinned, this time for real. “You’ll get plenty of that. And you’ll come to the Crimson Path eventually.” The true friendliness should have made him less scary, but any comfort she might have felt was ground to paste between those inhumanly wide teeth.

He walked over to Marissia, still on her knees. “How much would you give us?”

Tremulously, she said, “As much as you want, I swear. I can get access to the Prism’s account if we act fast. Please, sir, please.” She broke off as if terrified. It twisted Teia’s guts because she couldn’t tell which was real: Marissia’s earlier bravery or her current terror. Maybe both.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Master Sharp said. “If she yells, kill her.” Had he forgotten he’d already threatened that?

Or did he actually mean it this time?

Marissia collapsed, sobbing quietly.

“Hmm,” Sharp said, standing so close to Teia his sweet breath washed over her face. “How have I never noticed…” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pushed her lower lip down with a finger. “You have a beautiful lower left dogtooth.” He pushed her lip right and left, examining her teeth as if she were a mare. “No, just the one. Good color on the rest, but boring.” He shrugged, smelled his finger, licked off her saliva like a chef tasting soup. “Better. You listened to me about the parsley, didn’t you? Add mint, fresh leaves when you can. Tuck them in the gums. Don’t chew or you’ll get bits in your teeth. Unsightly.”

He turned away, and she hoped he didn’t notice her tremble.

He said, “I need to check the White’s room and make a distraction. Be ready to go quick. If I’m not back in five, untie her, throw her off the balcony as if she suicided, and make your way out the same way we got in.” He threw his hood over his head and pulled the laces through the grommets quickly, cinching the mask tight over his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes clear, and those shadowed under the hood. He turned and began shimmering.

On the back of his gray cloak, the image of a tufted gray owl appeared with its wings spread and talons extended to strike. The image shimmered out of phase with the rest of the cloak, and disappeared last.

The door opened, showing a hallway marked with smoke and pools of blood and scratches and divots in the stone walls from arrows and bullets from the Mighty’s battle with the Lightguards earlier. That felt like a lifetime ago. Then the door shut quietly.