“That doesn’t make it irrelevant to the present.” She ran her thumb over the tips of her fingers, gauging the length of her nails. “Or the future.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said. “The future.”
“Whose future? Yours? Or mine?”
“Despite your questionable…” He paused, glancing around the dingy room and the bars on the windows. “…surroundings, I suspect your talents reach far beyond petty crimes.”
He had no idea. “What do my talents matter to you?”
“I’d like your help with something,” he said. “In exchange, I’ll pay you. Enough for you to leave the Ditch behind.”
She blinked.
“You’d be free.”
She stared at him, wondering if he knew what he was saying.Freedom was an illusion, a dream to send up to the stars before she closed her eyes at night.Ifshe closed her eyes at night.
Even if he gave her enough gadots to fill this entire room, she wouldn’t be free. She’d never be free. Still, the thought of all that money was tempting. Far more tempting than the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting in from beyond the door. She shook herself and forced the words from her lips. “I appreciate the offer, Cap—”
“Toran.”
“—tain.” She shot him a look. She’d call him whatever she damned well pleased. Especially if he resented it. “But I’m better off without your help. And you certainly don’t want mine.”
“At least let me tell—” He cut off suddenly, his nose crinkling. He cocked his head, lifting his face, a muddled frown set upon it. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in. “Do you”—his eyes found hers—“smell that?”
She sniffed subtly, her breath shallow compared to his, but…yes. The scent of the cookies had dissipated and now there was something else in the air. “Is it roses?”
Nes staggered as the full weight of the scent hit her. She flung a hand out, gripping the edge of the table so tightly she swore she heard wood splinter. It was roses, without a doubt. But something about the odor wasn’t right. It was too strong, too powerful. It made her head spin. Not even a dozen carts full of roses could produce such a—
She stilled. Her balance returned as the realization struck her. Lifting her gaze, she met Toran’s eyes.
He smiled ruefully at her. But his eyes couldn’t hide his true emotions. Surprise glowed behind his pupils, peppered with hope and a dash of excitement. He’d known exactly what he was doing, known what game she was playing and how to best her.
“Lieutenant Pram,” he called.
Another guard came into the room, dragging with him a man dressed in prison robes. The man’s hands weren’t shackled, and they shook like a cat in a storm.
She would have known without looking that the smell of roses was coming from the prisoner.
The other guard—Lieutenant Pram—shoved the man into a chair between Toran and Nes. His bottom hit wood, and roses burst from his open palms. They flowed like water, sprouting from every bit of exposed skin, even clawing their way out from under his fingernails. They piled up on the floor like some sort of perverted tribute. A minute passed before the roses stopped.
Magic.
Of course it was magic she smelled.
She dared meet Toran’s gaze. Her heart sank at the grim satisfaction she found waiting for her.
A trick. He’d tricked her into exposing her secret.
And she’d fallen for it.
10
Toran
Toran hadn’t found the Witch. But he’d found the next-best thing.
He didn’t know why he expected Nes to be afraid. Expected her to look at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. He should have known better. He’d read the prison records. He should have realized there was little this girl was afraid of.
