Page 55 of The Hood and his Thief

“That’s new,” Rhosyn admitted, kicking one foot against the ground.

“Seducing your would-be kidnapper…I must say I’m impressed.” Kristoff elbowed Rhosyn playfully in the ribs.

She blushed and shoved him away. “That’s hardly new for us. Didn’t Contessa do the same thing?”

“Nate did not kidnap her. He married her.”

“That’s not how she saw it at the time,” Rhosyn pointed out.

Kristoff chuckled. “Well, you don’t seem to need my help getting Ansel on your side. But if you need my help with the other part, you know where to find me. You know I never like to miss out on a party.”

“And by party, you mean all out brawl.” Rhosyn’s tone was dry.

“You know me too well.” Kristoff smiled, but then his face smoothed into a rare serious expression. “Be careful, alright?”

“I will,” Rhosyn promised. “And you be careful too.”

“Never am,” Kristoff quipped, making for the exit. With a jaunty wave, he stepped back out into the now bright sun of the spring morning.

Before the flap could flutter closed, Ansel ducked his head inside, eyes darting around the space before landing on her. He paused, his expression equal parts relieved and surprised.

“You stayed,” he said, his tone unreadable.

A smile toyed at the edge of Rhosyn’s lips. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Well…” He seemed at a loss, but he smiled back at her, nonetheless. “I guess we better find you some breakfast.”

Chapter eleven

Rhosyn wouldn’t have thought she would grow used to sharing a bed with another body in just a couple of nights. When she woke to late afternoon sun beaming in through gaps in the tent panels, though, her body instinctively stretched towards a form that wasn’t there. As her fingers brushed against scratchy blankets, Rhosyn wrinkled her nose, scrunching her eyes shut.

She supposed privacy was an improvement on grinding herself sleepily on Ansel’s thigh, but her body disagreed. After all, she had admitted she was staying, giving up an opportunity to leave Ansel and the Foxes behind, a sly voice in her mind reminded her. If she was already breaking the rules, what was the point in refusing to break this one? Especially when this transgression was so particularly enticing.

With a jerk, Rhosyn sat up. There was no point dwelling on things that might have been. She had slept alone, and it was likely to remain that way given that she was no longer a flight risk in Ansel’s eyes.

Now, she needed to turn her attention to more important things, like the apparent army of Talented Mr. Gower had hired as household staff. The startling discovery was why she had sent Kristoff on his way, and she needed to focus on unraveling that mystery. It was how she would serve this city, even if she was betraying the Royal Police.

Rhosyn’s boots lay where she had taken them off, haphazardly kicked aside as she collapsed face first onto the borrowed cot. With a groan, she shoved her feet back into them and began lacing them up with practiced fingers. Once they were on, she stood. Tilting her head side to side rewarded her with loud cracks, and she twisted her spine, adding a series of pops to the symphony as her vertebrae unlocked. Two days of forced rest had done her more good than she cared to admit, but her body still protested the previous long night. It had gotten a taste of a good night’s sleep and now seemed to crave more. However, there was work to do right now.

Rhosyn poked her head out of the tent flap. The straw-strewn paths that had been relatively unpopulated this morning now carried a steady stream of people between tents, some bearing bundles, others chatting with each other easily. They seemed to be getting ready for another night of merriment and entertainment.

None paid her any attention as she stepped out fully onto the path. After Ansel had handed her off to a gruff man, who apparently ran the roasted nut stall, he had disappeared to get some sleep himself. Rhosyn had no idea where he might be or who to ask.

Instead of imposing herself on the busy performers, she meandered towards the largest tent again, where she and Ansel had sat this morning. It seemed like as good a place as any to start, and if he wasn’t there, perhaps one of the Merry Men would recognize her and point her in the right direction.

The buzz of life in the city of tents bolstered her, adding more of a bounce to her previous trudge as she walked. Nobody shot her wary glances as she walked, and she felt light without the weight of a baton at her hip. To the tide of performers and staff, she could be anybody—certainly not an officer of the Royal Police or a notorious Lion. Just a woman, going to talk to a man. A man who had a tendency to tie her insides in knots.

The shade of the large central tent fell over her face as she approached, dulling the bright afternoon sun and cooling her skin. Rhosyn slipped her fingers into the gap in the closed tent flaps, which would be tied back to leave a wide entrance when the circus was open for business.

Pulling it open a few inches, she glanced inside for any signs of an occupant. A sudden whoosh almost had Rhosyn jerking back, before her eyes registered the blur whizzing through her vision.

Ansel swung from the trapeze over the stage, momentum slowing as his arc reached its peak. At the height of his swing, he let go, flipping easily in midair and twisting before catching the bar right as it started to descend again.

Rhosyn found herself unconsciously slipping into the tent, letting the flap close behind her. She stood transfixed with her back against the canvas, wide eyes following Ansel’s dizzying dance. This next time he released the bar, he arched, head coming towards his feet as he flipped backwards, body making a perfect “c” shape in the air. The breath whooshed from Rhosyn’s lungs as the trapeze swung away from him, out of his grasp. He was going to fall.

Instead, he caught an adjacent bar, weight landing on the tips of his fingers with little effort. Watching him, Rhosyn internally hit herself for ever thinking one of the Merry Men might have been the Hood. As skilled as they were, none of them held a candle to Ansel’s ability…his Talent.

Now that she saw it, she didn’t know how it hadn’t been obvious to her from the first time she saw him flipping across lower city rooftops. Then again, many people thought Rhosyn’s lockpicking and Kristoff’s sharpshooting were Talents, when they were actually born of years of practice, interspersed with countless failures.