“That’s not what I said, is it?” Anya snapped, ruffled at the insinuation she was less than perfectly suited for the job.
But he’d admitted it was what he was after. Perhaps if she could get him to realize how dangerous it was, he would give up on his own.
And perhaps, if he didn’t, she could use him.
“Tell me,” she prodded, remembering Mira’s suspicions, curious who, exactly, she was dealing with, “why are you looking for it?”
“You know I am looking for it,” he clarified, “but not why. I mentioned none of this in my two-bit paragraph. You must be quite clever.”
Anya faltered. Prickly, this one. She’d underestimated him.
There was no reason to admit her true reason for seeking him, nor the acquaintance which had led to it. His magic could not break her curse and she could not afford it even if he could. More likely, he’d wield the knowledge against hersomehow, blackmail her into helping him for free. The more he knew, the more power he had over her. Best to keep things vague, except where it would draw suspicion.
“I live in the Lichtenwald. On its edge,” she provided. That should suffice for the truth; she thought up lies as she spoke. “I found the paper in a tavern, scanning the ads for jobs. When I read yours, I knew it could only be one beast you’re after. It eludes me why you’d want it.”
“Does it?” He blew smoke in her direction. “A beautiful, singular creature that cannot ever die? A jewel among birds, a ruby with wings? Why, the feathers alone must be worth a fortune. Who wouldn’t want such a pet?”
She looked around his small apartment pointedly. “Suppose you’re going to keep it in your wardrobe, are you?”
A corner of his mouth quirked; not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “I’m more of a cat person.”
“You’re catching it for someone else.”
“The king is offering a prize. I want the prize. It’s that simple.”
“So the king wants the bird, then?” She realized she still held out some hope that Mira had been mistaken; that this was all a grand mistake, something to be reasoned away. It seemed possible, in the gaslight, surrounded by brick walls and overturned books.
“In a sense. He wants something only magic can provide and is willing to pay quite handsomely for it. I believe I can provide it.”
Mira had been right, then. Her heart sank. “And you need the phoenix.”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure.” She studied him carefully; by the draw of his brow, he seemed earnest. “I believe so. But if someone else gets hold of it first, I’ll never know.”
“Your magic,” she said, shaking her head. While they lived, her parents had enough visits from the spellscribes to give her an idea of the limits of the academy’s magic. Sculpted chins and reshaped eyebrows. Patching up her scraped knees, smoothing her rock-and-stick scarred hands, remaking their wild daughter into a pretty little doll to show off at their parties. Promising, as a gift, to remake her entire face before putting her on the marriage market.
Anya folded her hands, now forest-scarred, over her hatchet. “It’s nothing to the forest. Like holding a parasol against an avalanche.”
This didn’t seem to impress him, but then, since he’d first laid eyes on her, he had kept his face carefully neutral. She could see he was used to hiding his expressions behind this look of bland formality. It was too practiced, too at odds with his sly maneuvering. It was a nice face: long, elegant, thoughtful, with an aquiline nose and a pointed chin. The tips of his loose, sand blond hair grazed just below his jaw – an unusual style for a man. Becoming.
“Be that as it may, I have need of the bird, and I need to leave as soon as possible. If you’re only here to talk me out of it, I see no need for further negotiation. I’ll find someone else.”
That was not a suitable option. No one was better than her, but they’d certainly have an advantage with a spellscribe on their side. An advantage she couldn’t afford to lose. “Who’s to say I won’t takemybusiness to someone else?”
At her sudden turn, he pressed his lips together. “I’m willing to split the prize money with you,” he offered. “Down the middle.”
There was a hunger in his eyes, one even his careful blandness couldn’t mask. Though neither of them would see a cent of it, regardless of any bargain they agreed upon, her curiosity got the better of her. “How much?”
“Fifty-thousand gold sovereigns.”
Stunned, her jaw dropped briefly before she clamped her mouth shut again. Twenty-five thousand sovereigns and she wouldn’t need to worry about patching her roof; she could buy a new one. A wood one, with shingles. A newhouse. Maybe a new pedestal for Goose.
But the phoenix could not leave the forest. That kind of money must remain a dream, for her and him both.
And one look athim, she knew the Lichtenwald would claim him in less than a day. He was arrogant, or mad; a bit of both, she suspected. “Is your life worth twenty-five thousand sovereigns?”
His eyebrows twitched. “I’m well aware of the dangers, and my own ill-suitedness for the venture. You may have ascertained that is why I’m hiring a hunter to see me through.”
“You’ve never been hunting. You’ve never been outside the city.” A guess, but by the offended flick of his cigarette, a correct one. “You’ve never even slept outside a night in your life.”
