Arryn checked the glamour she’d cast over herself. She wore a hooded jacket over her hair, but she kept her eyes hidden. She wasn’t the best at glamours—that was more Lark’s specialty—but now that the Still Shadow had seen her face, she had to be careful. She was stupid not to glamour herself when she met him during the parley but, in fairness, he hadn’t tried to hide his face either.

He’d surprised her a little. She expected him to be older, but he was closer to her age. Up close, he was big; broad-shouldered and muscled under his jacket. Easily taller than both Lark and Sylvan.

She hadn’t met many Halflings in her life, but it was still strange to see eyes that weren’t solid. The Still Shadow’s were blue like the southern waters, bright and glinting in the candlelight illuminating the shop, his left iris broken by a patch of darkness.

There was something about the bastard that intrigued her. The magic flowing through her veins had tripped in his presence, like it was reaching for something without her permission. Like it was testing something. She’d had to rein it in like an unruly horse before it found something in the depths of his dark soul she didn’t like.

She’d spent these few days after the parley roaming the streets of Ennore, picking the pockets of city guard officers and courtiers. She hadn’t expected a response from the Still Shadow concerning the trade, nor did she get one.

Suddenly an arrow sliced across her bicep and cracked into the packed dirt street next to her foot. The few passersby on the street screamed and scattered. Arryn whirled with a snarl, one sickle already drawn. She let the glamour on her eyes fade like fog burned away by the sun; no use for it now.

She caught the tall, dark silhouette of the Still Shadow on a rooftop. He stood with his bow arm raised, already nocking another arrow on its string.

When he fired again, she was ready. She raised a hand, her magic deflecting the arrow and sending it flying. She threw her hood back from her head and her white braid swung free down her back.

The Still Shadow leapt down from the rooftop, rappelling down using the windowsills of the dilapidated building beneath. He rushed after her, swapping his bow for a sword and dirk. He threw the latter, and she danced out of its way. It stuck into the dirt where its target should have been. He scooped it up as he chased her along the street.

Arryn could have stopped him. She could have thrown up a wall of magic or stolen the air from his lungs, but instead she stopped and turned, taking out her second sickle and twirling it in her hand. Magic would have been easier, but then again, it wasn’t as fun as gutting the bastard.

She gave him a toothy grin as he lunged at her with his sword. “Come and get me, you giant shit,” she said, and blocked his blow. Their blades collided with enough force to make her teeth rattle. She ducked and swept her blade under him, but he jumped back and out of the reach of her blade.

She slashed at him with her sickles, and he staggered backward. She threw up a barrier of magic between them, and the Still Shadow was knocked back. She immediately turned and ran, sprinting along the street and kicking dirt up behind her.

Arryn vaulted up a pile of rubble and onto a worn roof. The tiles wobbled under her feet, chipping and falling down to the street. She grinned, hearing the Still Shadow’s footsteps as he followed her onto the roof.

Her magic struck the roof tiles under his feet like a bolt of lightning, and he tripped, almost losing his footing on the sloped surface. As he stumbled, she whirled and slashed at him, and he crossed his blades in front of him to block her strike.

They traded blows back and forth, slashing and stabbing and blocking. Her hair whipped across her face as she spun in and out of his reach. She felt the whip of air as his blades swiped inches away from her skin.

She stepped backward as she blocked his strikes; she was tall, but he still towered over her, steadily pushing her along the roofline.

Her heel came to the edge of a partially collapsed roof—she felt the wood of the rafters groan under her feet. She teetered, thrown off balance, and the Still Shadow slashed with his sword. He knocked one of her sickles aside, then the other. They clattered down the roof tiles, falling out of reach.

She raised her hands, but the Still Shadow had grabbed her, setting his dirk to her throat. The silver drained her well of magic, and for the first time in a long time, her gut fluttered with nerves.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. He wore a scowl that formed deep creases between his dark brows. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and she met his mismatched eyes.

His hand went around her slender throat, squeezing the breath from her. Her fingers scrabbled at his hand, leaving nail marks on his skin. His free hand dug into her pocket and took the Solis.

Arryn struggled against his grip. “Let go of me, you—you fucking bastard!” she choked.

The Still Shadow stared down at her, his gaze cold and blue as ice, as he took his dirk and drove it under her ribcage and into her flesh