“Uh.” Alright, he wasn’t prepared for that. “Yes?”

  Now she looked at him, her expression serious. “When I first saw you, they called you ‘Blake.’ Which one is the false name?”

  His eyebrows shot up. Not just that she’d remembered it but that she’d heard the conversation at all. It had happened in an empty alley. Had she been that close to them? Where was she hiding before rescuing him? He’d gone back to the alley later, as a way to retrace their steps and find the house they’d sheltered at.

  There were a few crates and other garbage in that alley, but nowhere someone could obviously hide. At least, not an adult-sized someone.

  That left a possibility that instantly made him nervous.

  Had she been one of the thugs? Unheard and unseen as he was dragged out and supposedly executed? But that didn’t seem likely, since the raid went smoothly.

  But, then again, he and Jacques both thought that it went too smoothly.

  In his frantic review of the information, he took too long to answer, and his companion frowned at him.

  “Eblin?”

  “Sorry, sorry. You just surprised me.” Better to go with some form of truth when he gives himself away. He took a gulp of his beer to give himself time to think, then put it down, flashing a cheeky grin. “You caught me. My job requires more than one name, so I hope you don’t mind if I don’t answer that.”

  She tilted her head to one side, her eyes looking away as she thought. Then she shrugged and picked up her cup again. Not sipping it, just holding it as she stared at the tabletop and said, “I guess I understand that.”

  Now what did that mean?

  His eyes brightened as he watched her fiddle with the cup, nearly sipping it twice but not quite making it. Did it mean she also had an alias? Was Zanie the alias then? That would make sense, since he couldn’t find any trace of her anywhere.

  His mind returned to the idea that she might’ve been one of the unseen thugs.

  If that was what she was, he needed to find out.

  Before he could find some casual way to attempt it, however, she continued her own line of inquiry. And she did it was a frank little frown between her eyebrows and her lips pursed, which was, in a word, cute. But he needed to get her to relax more if he was going to dig into her loyalties.

  “And you’re a mage, right?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you make any lights in the shed that night?”

  Eblin raised an eyebrow and slightly tilted back his chin as he grinned. “You want the truth?”

  She leveled a flat look on him.

  “If you say you were hoping no certificate would be mentioned, I’ll give you a good punch and leave.”

  He threw back his head in a roar of laughter. When he looked back at her, her grip had tightened on the mug, and her stare had slipped into bemusement.

  “Okay, okay, that was a poor joke at the time.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. Then he dropped them and leaned forward, eyes crinkled. “The truth is, by the time you came around, my bowl was almost dry and I used the last of it on the fiend. If I’d had an hour or two to recover, then I would’ve been able to do it.”

  “You did have an hour or two to recover,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged and leaned back. “As another moment of pure honesty, by the time I could’ve created a light, I simply didn’t think of it. Besides that, do you know how hard it is to create a light without a suitable anchor?” He grimaced dramatically. “It’s like meditating with someone whispering in your ear, ‘Don’t think of pink trolls.’”

  Zanie’s expression finally relaxed as she snorted, shoulders shaking.

  Good. Now, to distract her so he could ask other questions.

  “If you’re done,” he said casually, standing up and stretching, “why don’t we take a walk in the park today?”

  Her expression immediately shifted from amusement to a frown, but she let go of her cup to take his offered hand. “Too many people,” she reminded him.

  He was giving her abandoned and nearly full cup a regretful look. The money spent on it would be worth it if he could find out more about her, but his coin pouch was mourning as he reluctantly left it.

  “Do you want to walk the shopping district again?”

  She shook her head but didn’t offer an alternative, eyes constantly moving and taking in their surroundings as they stepped onto the street.

  “There’s an old shrine a mile or so that way,” he offered.

  “A shrine?”

  “They say it’s to give homage to the old gods, who have abandoned us to the whims of magical development,” he said seriously. Then winked. “Mostly they sell world origin storybooks and talismans, things you can decorate your home with.”

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  “I’ve never been to a shrine,” she admitted, looking away shyly.

  That was another thing.

  How many times had she admitted to never doing or seeing something on their last outing? What kind of background was that? Was she pretending to be endearing? Or was it real?

  Gallantly, he offered her an arm. “To the shrine, then.”

  The building leaned closer to elven design than to any imperial style he knew. The roof sloped gently instead of rising sharp and formal, its edges curling outward beneath narrow gutters. A wide porch opened like a gazebo, drawing visitors straight into a single open room rather than funneling them through doors and corridors.

  Wooden pillars supported the roof and rafters, each one carved into trees thick with ivy. Small animals were worked along the bark, frozen mid-scurry, detailed enough that his eye kept catching on them.

  He glanced at the carvings twice before realizing he’d slowed to keep pace with her.

  A moment later, Zanie stopped walking altogether, right next to the first tree-pillar. Any suspicions that she might be lying about what she’d seen or hadn’t seen to draw him in were immediately gone as he watched the wonder dawn on her expression.

  She reached out to trace a squirrel on the end of a sawn-off branch, her slender fingers feeling the grooves of the wood. He heard her little release of air that wasn’t quite a chuckle and watched the way her lips rose, eyes brightening in delight.

  It was a stunning view and he was momentarily taken off guard.

  “This is… beautiful,” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth and closed it, momentarily flustered as he looked away. “Yes,” he said, not hearing his own sudden stiffness. “It is.”

  “Are you here to admire the works of the gods?”

  Eblin had seen the proprietor coming, but evidently his usually alert companion had not. She half drew her knife before she registered who the intruder was, freezing like someone seeing a troll for the first time. Meanwhile, Eblin had acted as soon as he saw her hand move, smoothly half stepping in front of her while gently grabbing her wrist with his thumb and middle finger.

  He smiled disarmingly at the proprietor, who hadn’t noticed Zanie’s startled movements.

  “We heard how beautiful this place is,” he gushed, stealing Zanie’s description. “It’s even better than I thought! Could you tell us about it?”

  The proprietor, an old woman with wrinkles deep enough to hide food in, was all too happy to oblige.

  They were treated to a grand tour, consisting of telling them the names of the elven carpenters, the works of art, and details about the gods themselves. The shrine boasted to be the home and sanctuary of fourteen different gods, each of which had apparently their own grand following during some century or other. Except for one, each had a nook in the wall, surrounded by the symbols and artwork of their sects.

  Zanie didn’t pull her wrist out of his gentle hold until they’d been following along for five minutes. When he glanced at her, he could see that she’d been shaken by the incident and didn’t push her to interact. Instead, he distracted the old woman and the other people who trickled in to listen to the tour.

  It ended, of course, with a grand reveal of an inner room as big as the first. And at its center was the depiction of one final god.

  Unlike the first room, which had only four grand pillars, this one had five. The fourteenth god was carved into the central pillar; the other four stood as divine sentinels, positioned like guardians around him.

  And between them were tables and display cases full of merchandise. Talismans, imitations of elven style clothing, cheap jewelry, a smattering of books, and little wooden toys. The proprietor proudly shooed everyone to look around.

  As Zanie leaned over various little trinkets, Eblin mentally calculated what he could reasonably spend. When he was a boy, he’d freely bought gifts for all his female friends and dates. Now there were days he’d avoid Roryce just so he didn’t have to figure out how to pay him.

  It was a long fall from grace indeed.

  “Chl— My friend would love this,” Zanie said, flipping through a book.

  Eblin inwardly winced. Books were expensive, well beyond what would be ‘reasonable.’ He was about to attempt a distraction when, to his horror, the woman turned to the attending salesman.

  “How much?”

  “Fourteen bronze.”

  “Miss Zanie,” he tried to interject, sweating. “Maybe your friend would like a bracelet instead?”

  She didn’t even look up as she opened her own hip pouch and pulled out a coin purse. “No, she doesn’t wear anything but her feathers,” she said absently. Then she opened the pouch.

  Eblin’s eyebrows shot up, but Zanie didn’t even notice, taking out a silver coin.

  The glimpse he got told him that nearly every coin in there was silver. Mentally, he had to change his estimate of her. Not really poor. So why the single dress?

  Unaware of his sudden fascination, Zanie paid for the book, got her change, and continued browsing. Unfortunately, the first exchange of silver turned her into prime bait. He could see the other salespeople tuning to them, and he silently cursed that the room hadn’t been more crowded.

  After that, he spent the rest of the visit trying to keep them from approaching too many at a time so she could peacefully and obliviously browse without anyone pushing her. A lot of glares, stepping in the way, talking, anything he could think of. Eblin didn’t usually have trouble with managing a crowd, but this one had tasted treasure and they were hungry.

  Managing the salespeople meant he couldn’t help her much with the actual sales process, and he was dismayed to find that she didn’t have even basic haggling skills. She would’ve paid every price they asked if he didn’t step in once in a while.

  In the end, she left with a small bag of books and trinkets, and he left exhausted.

  Oh, and one roll of fabric in an unusual shade of dark purple. She held it against her chest like a child with a new toy.

  “I’ve only ever bought food before,” she said cheerfully, turning to him with bright eyes. “Is that what shopping’s supposed to be like?”

  He smiled weakly. If he ever took her shopping again, it would be in a crowded market where the shopkeepers couldn’t devote so much attention to her. And he’d teach her to haggle. She probably spent three times as much as she should’ve.

  “Sometimes.”

  As he was answering, she suddenly shifted the skein of material around so she could dig into the new bag. It was more colorful than anything he’d yet seen her wear or carry, which had surprised him and left him with more questions. Was it for her or the friend she mentioned? If for her, and if she had enough money to carry around like a small bank, why didn’t she own anything else like it?

  “This is for you,” she announced suddenly, pulling something out of the bag.

  He stared blankly at the little fox figurine she put into his palm. When he looked up, she was beaming with childlike enthusiasm.

  Once again, his breath was stolen.

  “It reminded me of your stories, about the baby foxes.”

  “Kits,” he corrected dazedly.

  Still beaming, she nodded. “Kits. I have to get home soon, but do you want something to eat? I’ll buy this time.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Sure. Why not?”

  Miss Zanie had once again left him pleasantly bewildered. And if she was a thug, well, she was also a tears-blasted good actor, too. One capable of making him completely forget his objectives.

  Next time, he’ll be more focused.

  Maybe.