Page 22 of The Hood and his Thief

“Call a target,” Ansel instructed, gesturing to the empty backstage.

Rhosyn’s eyes swept over the cluttered area and landed on the stairs up to the box she had occupied before her ill-fated exploration.

She pointed. “The steps. Fourth one up, dead center.”

Without windup or preamble, Ansel’s arm whipped past Rhosyn’s face, wrist snapping forward a moment before the knife embedded itself in the wooden stair with a solid thwack—exactly where Rhosyn had specified.

She blinked in surprise, but quickly schooled her features.

“Psh. That’s hardly worth selling tickets to see. I could do that.”

On a good day, with a healthy amount of practice, she amended in her head. She had once been proficient with throwing knives, but they hadn’t been in her repertoire for a while now.

“You’re a tough sell.” Ansel reached for Rhosyn’s hand and pulled the second knife out of the sheath, which dangled forgotten at her side. “How about something a little tougher then.”

He bent and rustled through the packs at their feet, making no effort to leave them looking undisturbed, as Rhosyn had. He emerged with an apple and handed it to Rhosyn.

“I’m not really in the mood for a snack,” she commented drily.

Ansel fixed her with an impatient look. “Go on. Throw it.”

Rhosyn gave him a look of question. When his expression remained sincere, she shrugged and gave the fruit a solid toss. It arced through the air away from them.

At the zenith of its flight, Ansel threw the second knife. It embedded itself in the far wall a moment before the apple fell to the ground, split neatly in two.

Now, Rhosyn didn’t hide her surprise. Comparing knife tricks was a classic pastime among the gangs, but she had never seen somebody perform such a feat.

“I’ll admit, I don’t have any tricks quite that good.”

“Come now, I’m sure we could find a place for you in the circus if you got tired of police work. Maybe some sleight of hand?”

Rhosyn sighed dramatically. “Well, I do know one trick.” She turned to face Ansel and stepped close. He blinked at her sudden proximity. Rhosyn took advantage of the moment, leaning in and widening her eyes at him pleadingly. “It’s silly though, so you have to promise not to laugh.”

Ansel swallowed thickly and nodded, clearly so thrown by her sudden invasion of his space that he paid little attention to anything besides her face, inches from his. It was far closer than people tended to get in proper society, but she wasn’t above using her lack of her propriety to her advantage.

A smile split Rhosyn’s face and she stepped back. As Ansel frowned, Rhosyn lifted her hand, which had subtly slid into his pocket as he was distracted.

“I’m quite a good pickpocket. Let’s see what we have here.”

Ansel lunged forward as if to steal her prize from her grasp, but Rhosyn danced back to examine what had felt like a slip of paper. Perhaps it was a secret note or an embarrassing letter.

To her confusion, upon examination, it seemed to be a single playing card. She turned it over in her fingers, wondering why he might be carrying such a thing in his pocket. The three of spades stared up at her and her eyebrows knit together.

An image flashed in her head—the Hood, hunching over her and picking up a fallen playing card from the ground as she gasped for air. He had tucked it into his jacket before slipping away into the poisoned smoke.

Rhosyn had swapped this card for the queen of hearts in her hand the night of the Gower’s party.

Her head snapped up to stare at Ansel, but he had already realized his mistake by the time her mind fit the pieces together.

His fist flew towards her face, but she had just enough time to turn away. The blow brushed past her nose by the breadth of a hair.

Rhosyn let the momentum of her dodge carry her into a full spin. As she came back around, she threw her elbow out. It caught Ansel square in the chest and he stumbled back. With him on the back foot, she advanced.

She lashed out with fists and feet, her standard issue police baton remaining forgotten at her belt. Sure, she was attempting to apprehend a criminal, but the Hood’s crimes remained in the back of her mind.

This brawl was personal.

Ansel had flirted with her and tricked her—he had been right under her nose the whole time, smiling and dancing. He would answer to her fists. Rhosyn was a daughter of the Lions, after all.