“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, eyes forward.
“Why is that?”
“If I figured out who you are, someone else will, too. And most people in here want to see what happens if you die.”
“And you?” She held her breath. “What do you want?”
He stood. “I don’t care either way.” Throwing a threadbare satchel over one shoulder, he strode away.
She closed her eyes.
In a city full of people who feared or plotted against her, ambivalence might be the best she could hope for.
He knew how to defend himself, so he could defend her, too. Maybe not out of loyalty or devotion, but everyone had a price.
Alessa tossed a few more coins on the counter and abandoned her barely touched glass. The barkeeper would probably pour it back in the bottle as soon as she left, but that wasn’t her problem.
He was already halfway down the street, thumbs hooked on his belt, when she made it outside.
The door slammed behind her, plunging the alley into silence. Without looking back, he pulled his hands free. Moonlight glinted off wicked blades held lightly, a warning to anyone who might think to follow him.
“I’d like to hire you,” she called out from a safe distance behind him.
He sheathed his knives. “No.”
“But I need your help.”
“Sorry.” His low refusal was just loud enough to carry back to her as he started walking again.
“You don’t seem sorry.” She tried to catch up to him.
“Fine. I’m not sorry. Not interested, either.”
“I’m trying to save Saverio.”
“Saverio can fall into the sea for all I care.”
Her gut twisted. Because he’d sneered at a street preacher, she’d decided he was on her side. Assumed he’d care whether she lived or died because he defended a little girl. She was so naive.
She shook it off. “I need protection until I have my next—my final—Fonte.” She wracked her brain for something, anything, to get him to stop walking. “I’ll pay. And provide lodging and food.”
He didn’t even break his stride. “I’m good.”
Alessa gaped. “Good? You’re good? Fighting for scraps and drinking watered-down whiskey instead of food, shelter, money, and safety?”
“I don’t want safety.”
She jogged after him, too indignant to be cautious. “Everyone wants to be safe.”
“Not me.”
“If people are wrong and I’m killed, everyone will die.”
“Quit wandering around here, then.” He sounded entirely unconcerned.
Alessa’s steps faltered, and the distance between them grew as he neared the end of the alley, taking her last shred of hope with him.
“Please,” she said, her voice cracking.
He stopped and shook his head like he was annoyed at himself.
Alessa pushed her hood back, tugging the neckline down and lifting her chin. By now, her bruises had turned a sick greenish purple. “I need your help.”
He turned, and his gaze dropped to her throat, lingering.
“You have an army. You can—” He glanced around the quiet streets and strode toward her, lowering his voice to a rough growl. “You can kill with a touch. You don’t need me.”
“But I do.” It was easy to let fear and helplessness well into her throat, to let her voice go thick with unshed tears. “A man tried to kill me last night, and my guard helped him escape.”
In for a bite, in for a meal.
She clasped her hands below her chin and let hot tears rolls down her cheeks. They were an indulgence she couldn’t afford in the Cittadella, but if wolves had a weakness for damsels in distress, she wasn’t above playing the part.
If it even was a part.
“I don’t know who to trust or who’s working for whom anymore. I need someone who works for me. To watch my back. Temporarily. Just until I choose my next Fonte. I know I can do this,” she lied, “but not if I’m dead.
The moonlight cast blue glints in his hair as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Temporary?”
“We may all be dead in a few weeks. Everything’s temporary.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Sorry. Gallows humor is all I have left. If you help me, I’ll get you a spot in the Fortezza.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose
“Please?”
He cast an exasperated look at the sky, and she knew she’d caught him.
Ten
Bella in vista, dentro è trista.
Fair face, foul heart.