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“Tell me, do you threaten everyone on principle?”
She widened her eyes in feigned innocence while her heart raced, her brain scrambling to figure out if he’d seen her that night on the ledge and had somehow followed her here. “Threaten?”
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “If that smile wasn’t a warning, I don’t know what is.”
She ignored the obvious invitation to banter. “Why have you been staring at me? I don’t know you.” The statement was a challenge, daring him to tell her that he knew her. That he’d seen her that night, knew she knew what he looked like under this facade he wore, and he was here to ensure the knowledge went no further than her.
“You’ll have to forgive me.” He gave her a smile that invited confidence and trust, a little bashful, his tone repentant. “I saw your performance the other night and it was…” He looked off into the distance, as if remembering. As if her music had actually meant something. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
She snorted and leaned back in her chair. She might know he’d been there, but if she hadn’t recognized him, she’d have said it unlikely. “And you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe anyone from Veralna’s Hightown had cause to find themselves in a Midtown inn three days prior.”
He put a hand to his heart. “Why, Miss Brighton, are you prejudiced against the wealthy and bored?”
“To an extent you could never comprehend.”
His gaze took on a hard edge. “Oh, I might comprehend more than you think.”
“And yet, here we both are.”
The hardness left his eyes as if it had never been there, and he grinned again. “And yet, here we are,” he agreed.
“You have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He shrugged. “You told everyone your name. Half of Midtown knows it by now.”
She stared him down and didn’t respond. It was a stare that had, quite literally, driven men to madness. The one across from her didn’t even blink.
“You can call me Taius,” he said finally.
“That isn’t your name.” She didn’t know why she bothered pointing out the obvious. It didn’t matter what she called him. She wouldn’t be calling him anything for long. As soon as she confirmed he had no idea she knew his secret—and she was more and more certain by the second that he didn’t know—her interactions with him could cease.
“Maybe not. Is Clare Brighton really yours?”
“It is.”
Chapter Nine
You’re Staring Again
Numair rolled the name over and over in his head. “I didn’t find a Clare Brighton registered with the Musicians Guild.” He hadn’t found her registered with the Mages Guild either, but the latter hadn’t surprised him.
She leaned back in her chair and offered him another smile, one slightly less feral than the one she’d tendered to the cafe’s security staff. A stupid man might take that smile for an invitation, but Numair had a wealth of experience telling him that flirting was the last thing on this woman’s mind. If he had to guess what was on her mind, he would wager it was murder-adjacent.
“You asked after me. Should I be flattered or concerned?”
He shrugged. “Dealer’s choice, I suppose. Your performance left an impression.”
“I see.” She sat unnaturally still. Most people, if faced with someone they didn’t know, especially someone who appeared to be of a higher status than them and had unclear motives, tended to fidget. To shift in their seat or tap their foot or wring their hands under the table where they thought no one would notice.
She did none of it. She was like an immovable rock the sea could batter but never break, could swallow but never consume. In that moment, he was struck with the certainty that she could bring all of Veralna to its knees, and he wanted to watch her do it.
“You’re staring again,” she said.
“I never stopped staring.”
“You never stopped looking,” she argued. “There’s a difference. So why are you staring again?”
She was unsettlingly direct and he…liked it. Because it allowed him to be the same. “I’m wondering if you’re a woman or a hurricane, and what I have to give you to bring this city to its knees.”
