“Bah, a dragon won’t help. A dragon would light the cat on fire. And don’t anyone guess a tiger this time,” another boy chimed in before giving him a shove. Soon all were murmuring and arguing over possibilities, probably like they did inside with the rabbis. Though most likely with quite a bit more enthusiasm.
“So no one knows?” Aaron’s voice rose through the thrum, clear and confident, but with a hint of mischief that was just magnetic.
“No. Tell us,” they cried, drawing up on their knees.
“I think we might have another player in our game.” Aaron lifted his chin, his dark eyes meeting hers, and he broke into a smile that could heat a thousand rooms.
Her heart sped as all the little faces turned to stare at her.
“Do you know?” Aaron gave her that crooked grin that did odd things to her knees and made it very hard to breathe.
But breathe she did, as she would not be bested. Especially as she did indeed know the answer.
“A mouse,” she told them as she picked her way into the circle, squatting as gracefully as she could so she was on their level, petticoats and skirts be damned. “The cat asked the ogre to transform into a mouse.”
Aaron’s smile widened, and he gave her a respectful nod that made her feel, well, almost as good as when she handed David Berab a perfectly negotiated and secure contract. “And there you have it, boys. The ogre turned into the mouse, and our hero ate him. A fair and just result. Though you’d never eat a non-murderous ogre mouse, would you, Sir Sleeps-a-Lot?” He snuggled the cat to him, which, well, did rather funny, tingling things to her stomach.
Isabelle wet her lips and rocked forward on her toes, probably creasing her leather shoes, until there was a tug on her sleeve. She turned to find the boy with the spectacles staring at her.
“Are you a princess?” he asked, blinking up at her.
“No,” she told him, shaking her head. “I am nothing of the sort.”
“Oh.” And his little face fell. She glanced up at Aaron, who shrugged, but the cat most certainly gave her a look of disapproval. Which she couldn’t let stand.
She turned back to the child. “I’m something better,” she told him, sticking her nose in the air. “I’m a Surety Empress.”
“What’s that?” another child called out.
And in moments, all of them were asking questions at the same time.
“It means she could buy, sell, and assess the risk of all of us,” Aaron told them, cupping his hands to speak over the fray. “Which also means she knows as well as I do that it is time for all of you to go back inside and study, before you get scoldings.” He indicated the door. They groaned but rose and shuffled toward the building.
“Though, you know, the best way to avoid a scolding is to answer every question with a question. The scolder will get so frustrated and distracted that they will eventually give up and you will win,” she called to them as she waved goodbye.
“Really?” one asked.
“Why don’t you find out?” Aaron suggested, rising himself.
Rolling their eyes with more grumbles, they each gave him a small salute before disappearing into the synagogue, leaving them alone, save the cat, who, after being released from Aaron’s lap, had ambled to the sunniest spot and was now lying on his side.
“That was interesting advice.” Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled around to stand in front of her.
“It has always worked for me.” She swung her hips a little. “That, and puffing out my lower lip,” she added, giving him a rather exaggerated demonstration of the expression that had always worked so well on her father and Pena.
“I can see how that might be effective,” he murmured, gazing down at her with an expression that could only be described as hungry.
Which shouldn’t thrill her as much as it did.
“So . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, his shirt stretching tight across his long, lanky, and for some reason, oh so attractive frame. And her breath caught in her throat once more.
He coughed into his hand. “Look, I know the festival is four days away, but I haven’t found you any additional information that might help in your final negotiations and—”
“It’s all right.” She threaded her hands together. “I mean, I’d welcome help, but today I was just . . . I was riding past and I thought I’d say hello.” And the words were jumbled and fast and nothing like her usual competent, confident, practiced speech.
But he smiled again and stepped closer. “Hello,” he whispered. He reached out and she closed her eyes and—a large feline yawn echoed against the walls. And the touch never came.
“So, Sir Sleeps-a-Lot?” she asked, opening her eyes again, a touch disappointed.
