Asher slipped into the noisy tavern less than a minute after he watched his quarry disappear inside, but he saw no sign of her in the crowded common room. After a few minutes of squeezing between the tables and scanning faces, he grudgingly had to admit to himself that she’d given him the slip. He made his way to the bar and slid onto an empty stool, holding up a pair of silver pennies until a harried-looking serving girl stepped up to his stretch of bar.

"What’ll you have?" she asked, giving him a smile that was genuine despite being somewhat frazzled.

"How’s your wine?"

The girl’s smile broadened, and she giggled as if he had made some kind of joke. "Terrible, of course. We’ve just opened a cask of pear that’s particularly awful. Shall I get you some?"

"Well," Asher said, drawing out the word as he smiled back uncertainly. "No, I suppose not, but thanks for the warning. What would you recommend?"

The girl’s eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, you were being serious. I thought . . ." She shook her head, a flush of embarrassment coloring her olive cheeks. "Sorry, sorry. The wine is excellent, and you absolutely need to try it."

"But you just said it was terrible."

The girl laughed, shaking her head. "I thought you were joking! Golath’s wine is incredible; it’s what we’re known for. I thought that’s why you were here."

Asher found himself chuckling as well. "No, gods, I had no idea. I came in here looking for someone, but I seem to have lost them."

"Well," the girl said, reaching out to pluck the coins from his hand, her fingers warm where she brushed his, "perhaps I can help you find what you’re looking for."

She flashed him another grin before turning away, and it took Asher a moment to realize that he was staring after her. He tore his gaze away, his cheeks burning. Gods, as if he didn’t feel enough a fool already for failing to catch the woman from the street. In fact, he was beginning to feel foolish for following her at all. All it had taken was a glimpse from a darkened alleyway and he’d gone haring off after her across the city. Was he even all that certain it had been her?

"Don’t look so vexed, boy," said a gravelly and somewhat slurred voice to his left. "A lot of men have worked a lot harder than that for a smile from that girl, and gotten less for their troubles."

Asher turned to the man sitting next to him, a disheveled older man with dark skin and a shaggy grey mane of hair and a similarly shaggy beard.

"She probably thinks I’m a half-wit," Asher said, shaking his head in disgust. "I wager she’d laugh just as much for a babe that sicked on itself."

The older man chuckled as he raised his cup for another drink. "You might win that bet, but you’re a fool if you think she laughs like that for any man in this tavern."

He paused to take a long draught from his cup, and when he lowered it Asher could see dark dribbles of liquid disappearing into his craggy beard. "So, how long have you been away from the city?"

Asher looked at the old man sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What kind of question is that? What makes you think I’ve been away? In fact, what makes you think I’m from around here to begin with?"

The old man shrugged. "You have a Nelok’tan accent, and Golath has been the worst-kept secret since he set up shop a year ago. If you’d been here, you’d have heard about it."

Asher frowned. "What are you talking about? I don’t have an accent, I’m speaking the same language as you."

The old man choked on his drink, laughing and sputtering as he wiped at his now-sopping beard. "Sorry, lad, I just--you had an accent just now, when you said that. Oh, calm down," he added with a sigh as Asher began to protest. "Nobody thinks they have an accent--they just think everyone else has one. It’s easier for me to tell. As you might have guessed, I’m not from around here, either."

Asher, whose mouth was still working as he tried to think of an appropriate response, abruptly lost his train of thought at the old man’s last comment. He looked the old man over again, noting this time just how dark his skin was. His suspicions were confirmed when he glanced at the man’s ear and saw the glint of metal from underneath his shaggy hair.

"You’re Makibari," Asher breathed, his irritation giving way to surprise.

The old man smiled and took another drink without responding while Asher continued to gape. "But . . . but what are you doing here? Are you a trader?"

The Makibari man laughed into his cup again, shaking his head. "A trader. Oh, you are a funny one, boy. No, I am merely a connoisseur of fine drink. I travel from place to place, always looking for new delights, whether they be malted or fruited."

"What Grem here means," interjected the serving girl as she returned, setting a cup on the bar in front of Asher, "is that he’s a no-good drunk."

She wore a smirk as she spoke, and the old Makibari--Grem--put a hand to his heart in mock outrage. "You wound me, Dessa dearest. What a terrible thing to say of a beloved friend like me."

Dessa looked back at Asher and rolled her eyes. "Grem here likes to tell himself that he’s charming." She glanced down at the bar top, then back to Asher, one eyebrow raised, the smile still playing on her lips.

"Are you just going to sit there all night and look, then?"

Asher stared back at her for a moment, words failing him as his mind raced, and he quickly looked down at his cup. Cup. His cup of wine, the cup that she’d brought him, that she was probably waiting for him to try.

Right.

His ears burning, Asher picked up the wooden cup and took a long drink. And then another.

"You’ve tricked me," he said, raising the cup and holding it to the light of the candles behind the bar. "This isn’t wine at all. How did your barkeep learn to brew ambrosia?"

Grem and Dessa both laughed at that, and Asher grinned back, enjoying Dessa’s honey-smooth voice and Grem’s gravelly chuckle.

"I’ll pass your compliments on to Golath," Dessa said, her dark eyes dancing. "Be careful with that, though. I’ve known men that could walk straight after three pitchers anywhere else, and they all ended up under the table after one pitcher of Golath’s."

She opened her mouth to say something else, then hesitated and glanced down the length of the busy bar and sighed.

"It looks like it’s going to be a busy night, but I’ll stop by again if I can." She turned to go, then paused and looked back at him. "Earlier, you said you were looking for someone. If you tell me what they look like, I’d be happy to keep an eye out for them."

"Oh--thank you," Asher said, giving her a grateful smile. "I came here looking for a friend. She’s about your height, hair a little darker and straighter than yours, and her eyes are green, and she . . ."

He trailed off as he realized that Dessa was giving him an odd look. Her dark eyes shifted pointedly to his right, then back to him. He turned, confused, and let out a strangled noise when he found the woman he’d been describing sitting casually on the stool next to him, leaning an elbow on the bar with her chin cupped in her hand, gazing at him steadily.

"Would you like to guess how long I’ve been sitting here?" she asked with a bored expression. "Honestly, I expected better from you."

"Aliyah," Asher growled. "I knew it was you. What do you think you’re doing here?"

Aliyah arched one eyebrow at him. "Why, it’s a pleasure to see you too, darling."

"You--" Asher gaped at the impudent woman, who was now grinning lazily at his growing outrage. "What is wrong with you? Did you actually think I’d be happy to see you, or are you just--?"

"Oh, calm down," Aliyah interrupted, rolling her eyes and turning to face Dessa, who was still waiting uncertainly behind the bar. "Don’t mind him, he’s just being dramatic. I’ll have a beer."

Dessa glanced between between Asher and Aliyah, her flirtatious manner evaporating rapidly. "Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine? We have a cask of pear that--"

"Beer," Aliyah said again, and this time her smile looked decidedly less friendly. "And one for Ash, as well."

Dessa nodded, not looking at Asher this time, and hurried away. Asher half stood from his stool, calling after her to wait, but she didn’t look back. He sat back down and turned to glower at Aliyah.

"What was that about?" he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. "And why would you tell her to bring me beer? You know I don’t drink it."

"No?" Aliyah leaned toward him suddenly, the motion causing her dark hair to cascade from her shoulders, and Asher nearly knocked Grem from his stool as he jerked away from her. He watched her with narrowed eyes, ignoring Grem’s cursing, as she smirked at him.

"If you never drink it," she said softly, "then why can I smell it on your breath?"

She leaned back to sit straight on her stool, turning to the bar as a serving girl--not Dessa--passed by and left a pair of frothing mugs in front of her. Asher slowly straightened on his own stool as well, though he didn’t take his eyes off her. She didn’t turn to meet his gaze, but he saw the corner of her mouth quirk up into a smile.

"So," said Grem in a low voice, "that’s the friend you came in here looking for?"

Asher sighed and nodded, still hesitant to look away from Aliyah. Grem waited a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Are you certain that you wanted to find her?"

Asher started to respond, but Aliyah turned that cool green gaze on him, and he found the words dying in his throat. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

"I asked for a beer," she said, reaching out to take one of the mugs with slender fingers, "because that wine is tainted."

Asher stiffened, then looked down at the cup in his hand. "Poisoned?"

Aliyah gave a casual shrug. "I couldn’t say about that. I just happen to know that the proprietor of this fine establishment, Master Golath, isn’t the only person with a hand in making the stuff."

"So? Don’t most vintners have assistants?"

"Of course," Aliyah said, nodding agreeably. "But most vintner’s assistants aren’t on loan from the Magire family."

Asher felt his stomach roil, and he grimaced as he pushed his wine cup aside. "I see. That’s . . . Certainly interesting to hear."

Aliyah nodded, taking a sip from her beer and making an appreciative noise. "Any guesses what they might be doing to it?"

"Haven’t the faintest idea," Asher said carefully, all too aware of Grem listening with interest from his other side. "I’m not sure what the point would be of making a wine that’s delicious and gets people drunk more quickly."

He paused, considering that, then amended, "Unless, of course, the feeling of drunkenness isn’t caused by alcohol at all, and instead is some experimental new substance that’s substantially more addictive. That sounds right up Magire’s alley."

"Empress on her throne," muttered Grem from behind him, "would a noble family really do something like that?"

"They’re not a noble family," Asher snapped. "Not by blood or birthright, and certainly not by virtue or character."

He realized belatedly that his voice had risen sharply while he was speaking, and a glanced around to see several of the other patrons looking at him strangely. He lowered his voice again and finished, "There’s nothing noble about them."

"Well," said Grem after a moment of silence, "nobility or not, if they’re using their infernal powers to make drinks like these, I’m not going to complain about it."

Asher let out a mirthless laugh. "You don’t know them like I do."

Aliyah reached over and laid a hand gently on his arm, and this time he didn’t pull away. "You know I appreciate your zeal, darling, but I think right now might be a good time to retire."

"If I decide to retire," Asher said with a sigh, "it certainly wouldn’t be with you. Don’t think telling me about the wine somehow makes up for past transgressions."

Aliyah threw back her head and laughed. "What makes you think I want to make up for anything? Playing with you--"

"Humiliating me."

"--was the most fun I’ve had in years." She leaned toward him again, lowering her voice. "And, just between us, that’s saying something. But right now, I’m not interested in playing games. I’d like you to come with me to that table, right there, in the corner, and talk business."

Asher opened his mouth to reject her offer out of hand, but stopped himself. This was what he wanted when he followed Aliyah from the Tychaea mansion, wasn’t it? He needed to know what she was up to, needed to know if--rather, how--her schemes were going to make his life difficult.

"Alright," he said reluctantly, sliding down from his stool. "After you."

Asher followed Aliyah as she weaved her way through the common room to the table in the corner. At one point Asher saw Dessa depositing fresh cups at a nearby table and smiled at her, but she either didn’t see or . . . Well, she probably just didn’t see. His eyes on Dessa, he suddenly ran into Ali, who had stopped walking. They both stumbled, and he put a hand on her shoulder reflexively to steady her. For just a moment, her back was pressed up against his chest, and his nostrils filled with the clean, warm scent of her hair. He glanced down and found her looking up over her shoulder at him, her green eyes dancing.

"Well, hello there, handsome."

Asher glowered at her as he shuffled backwards, putting space between them again, and she chuckled. A path in the crowd opened again, and a moment later they were sitting down at the table.

"Alright," Asher said, putting his back to the wall and folding his arms. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I think the better question," Aliyah said, crossing her legs and lounging back in her chair, "is what you want to talk about."

Asher snorted. "You’re the one who said we needed to talk."

"You’re the one who followed me across town," Aliyah said, arching an eyebrow. "Poorly, I might add. I told you not to rely on your tricks so much. You’ve gotten sloppy, Asher."

Asher felt a flush rising on his cheeks, and he shot back, "I’m more than good enough to do my job."

Aliyah snorted, shaking her head. "If you say so. But be thankful that the average guard isn’t as observant as I am."

"The average guard," Asher said coldly, "never needed to watch his back as much as you do."

Aliyah’s smile faded at that, and she looked away. They sat in silence for a few moments, both of them watching the crowd of people in the common room. After some time had passed, Asher looked back to find Aliyah’s gaze on him. She wasn’t smiling now, just looking at him thoughtfully. Not for the first time, he wondered what was really going on behind those green eyes. Finally, she spoke.

"When I met you, I couldn’t believe you were as innocent as you seemed. I mean," she said, a smile touching her lips briefly, "I literally couldn’t believe it. I watched you for weeks, trying to figure out your angle. You see, people like you and me, we aren’t like them."

She gestured to the common room with one lazy hand. "These people--the ones getting drunk on Magire wine, the ones who are going home tonight to husbands and wives and children and hard beds where they’ll sleep fitfully before waking up at dawn to plant grain or dig up rocks in the quarry, just like they do every other day--do you know what makes them different from us?"

Asher sat back, frowning. This wasn’t a line of conversation he would have expected from Aliyah. She was always so flippant, so carefree. He looked out over the crowd, wondering what it was that she saw. The mood seemed genial, mostly, though a few men sat alone, staring into their cups. He did feel a sense of separation from them that, though he was loathe to admit, he didn’t feel with Aliyah. It was as if there were an invisible curtain drawn around their table. He couldn’t say that it was a particularly pleasant sensation.

"I suppose," he said, after watching the crowd for a time, "that we’re different because neither of us could be satisfied living like that."

Aliyah rolled her eyes. "Don’t be simple, Ash. Nobody’s satisfied with mediocrity, not really. Those people just think that what they’re doing, the lives they’re living, is the best they can hope for. Besides, it’s comfortable enough."

She looked out at the common room again, and Asher thought he heard pity in her voice as she went on. "Comfortable people don’t make interesting decisions, Asher. They don’t need to, not when they have enough to get by. There are exceptions, of course, but mostly that’s just human nature."

"Are you saying that we’re the exceptions, then?"

Aliyah shook her head. "Not in the way you’re thinking. There are a few people who decide to change the world in spite of their comfort, but I don’t think either of us are that noble. No, you and I are different because someone, at some point, took our comfort away from us."

The image of the bloodstone wall leapt unbidden to Asher’s mind, and he tried not to let Aliyah see his involuntary shiver as she continued. "I haven’t met a lot of people in our line of work--for obvious reasons--but all of them, all of us, have that in common. Someone took away our blankets, and we realized just how cold the world could really be. We had our comfort taken away, and we had to find it a different way.”

Asher’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you think I do what I do? You think I’m trying to be comfortable?”

“No,” Aliyah said, raising a placating hand. “I just mean that you were, at some point, forcibly pushed out of the sheepish mindset that the rest of these people inhabit. Whatever the reasons you tell yourself now, you can’t deny that.”

Asher opened his mouth to argue—except that she wasn’t wrong, dammit. His teeth clicked shut, and he settled for turning away with a glower.

"Innocence,” Aliyah said softly after a moment. “That’s what I was talking about. No veteran thief is as trusting as you acted, and no amateur could do the work you were doing."

Asher turned back to her, incredulous. "So, instead of assuming I was an unusually unskilled amateur . . ."

"I assumed you were a veteran running a con," Aliyah finished. "Just like me. I thought I was giving you exactly what you deserved."

"And when you realized that you were wrong?" Asher asked, his voice growing harder with every word. "When you realized that I actually did trust you, and you had used me and left me tied up in your hideout for the guards to find? What did you think then?"

"That I was doing you a favor," Aliyah shot back, and there was no smile in her eyes now. "You needed to learn the lesson that every half-decent thief knows: that everyone in this business wants something from you, and the only way to survive is to figure out what they want and how to get the most out of them for it."

Asher’s eyes narrowed. "Is that what you tell yourself to get to sleep at night? That you were teaching me?"

Aliyah opened her mouth angrily, then stopped herself, shaking her head. "Gods, this was a mistake. Listen," she said, standing and resting one hand on the back of her chair as she looked at him, "I don’t feel bad for what happened, so don’t think this is some kind of . . . I don’t know, penance or something. And I know you don’t trust me, and you shouldn’t. But I also know why you’re here, and I think we might able to help each other."

Asher burst out laughing. “You can’t possibly be serious! Even if I needed help—which I don’t—you are, very literally, the last person I would ever come to for help.”

“Asher—”

“No!” Asher snapped, pushing himself to his feet as well and glowering across the table at Aliyah. “You’ve had your say, now I’ll have mine. You’re wrong about people, Aliyah. I know there are people worth trusting, because I’ve got one of the best at my back.”

He allowed himself a grim smile. “In fact, I have you to thank for that. As far as what you think you know about my business—stay out of it. I don’t need your help, and if you interfere with my work, you’ll regret it.”

At that, Aliyah let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t try to threaten me, Ash. I know you. I’ve followed all your exploits, all those Abilaran vaults you’ve robbed, and I know you’ve never laid a finger on a guard. You don’t hurt people.”

“For you,” Asher snarled, raising a hand as if to slide it under his tunic, “I’d make an exception.” It was a bluff, of course; he would never wear his harness in public, and none of his concoctions worked on people anyway. Aliyah bought it, though, taking an involuntary step backwards, and Asher felt a sense of grim satisfaction at the flash of fear that crossed her face. The feeling vanished almost instantly, though, leaving him feeling slightly sickened at the look in her eyes. He dropped his hand and sighed, shaking his head.

“Just stay out of my business, Aliyah. And stay out of my way.”

He turned away and left her there, standing by the table with troubled eyes.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: Stupid Man