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absentmindedly between her fingertips. James stepped closer and took it between his fingers. It was made of delicate gold, with links in the shape of leaves. James could tell it was valuable, far beyond the means of a girl like her.
    Thalia opened her eyes. “This was hers,” Thalia said. “A family heirloom. Our father gave it to her before he died.”
    “It’s beautiful.” He held the necklace one last time to the lamplight before letting it drop. “Are you sure it was Lord Hamel who killed her?”
    She nodded, her voice quivering with fury. “He boasted of it afterwards. About how he’d taught the uppity dancing girl a lesson.”
    “And now you want to take your revenge.”
    “It’s all I’ve lived for since she died.” Thalia looked to her hands, and with effort, composed herself. “I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’ve told you everything now. If you’re still willing to help me . . .” She was pleading with him. Begging, really, her desperation naked on her face.
    James turned away from her. It had been a foolish venture from the beginning. Even with the promise of trade with the caravans, the idea of training a girl to bring down a nobleman was preposterous. Thalia had misled him about her mark, and James had no way of knowing if she was lying now. But he didn’t think she was lying. . . . He hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say.
    “You can still get to Hamel,” he said.
    A cautious hope lit up in her eyes. “I can?”
    “You say his bodyguards took your blade. Did they take anything else? Your hairpins? Jewelry?”
    She shook her head.
    “It’s harder to deliver venom without a blade, but any sharpened object will do. I can teach you.”
    “Thank you.” She was tentative, as if she were afraid he’d take it back.
    “It won’t be easy,” he said.
    “I know.”
    There wasn’t much more to say after that. James finished his stitching and folded his tunic while she stayed silent, lost in her thoughts. After a while, he noticed that her breathing had steadied. Thalia was asleep, her head leaned back against the wall. The obstinacy was gone from her face when she slept. He moved to wake her up, but stopped when he saw the circles under her eyes. Instead, he gathered her up and lifted her off the floor. She stirred and looked at him with a mixture of befuddlement and alarm.
    “It’s all right,” he said. “Get some rest.”
    He laid her onto his cot, and she turned onto her side, watching him. “Do you think of her, when you see me?” she asked softly.
    “What?”
    “Do I remind you of your sister?”
    He took a long look at her. Moira had been thin like Thalia. Younger, of course, with all the angles and bones but none of the roundness of womanhood to fill her out. She and Thalia shared the same large eyes, though Moira’s had been blue.
    “If she had been more like you, she might still be alive,” he said.
    He turned away and rolled his cloak out on the floor. When he looked at Thalia again, her eyes were closed, and her breathing had regained its steady rhythm. Her hands were curled up by her cheeks, and he once again noticed how fragile her frame was.
    James wrapped himself in his cloak and blew out the lantern.
         
    *     *     *

    She started spending her nights in James’s quarters. They didn’t necessarily speak much when she came, but she seemed to find comfort in his company, and James found himself waiting for her arrival every night. Sometimes, she would show up after her work was done at the Tavern. Other nights, she appeared much later, disheveled and still wearing her face paint. They never mentioned where she’d been. What was the point? Hamel had taken a liking to her, and she encouraged his advances even as she counted the days until Alvie’s return.
    More than once, James wondered why he never turned her away, and why he watched her give herself to the nobleman night after night while he