“I have a better notion.” Malden kicked the basket over the side of the stone so it dropped to the cobbles at their feet. The clothesline tied to its handle had its other end in his hand. “Put the gold in there and I’ll raise it up. Then I’ll throw you your prize.”

“Out of reach of my sword, up there,” Bikker said. His face showed a kind of grudging admiration. “Of course, you can’t stay up there forever. Eventually you’ll have to come down, and I can wait a long time.”

Malden favored him with a grim smile. If it came to that, he knew he could leap to the wall of the nearest house and be over its roof before the swordsman could climb the Godstone. He didn’t say as much.

“Enough,” Cythera said, and placed her sack in the basket. Malden hauled it up quickly, before Bikker could grab at it. It was as heavy as he expected—there must be ten pounds of gold in the sack. His heart lurched at the prospect. Opening the sack, he was relieved to see it was not full of stones or bars of lead. Quickly, he counted the money. One and a hundred golden royals! The exact amount he needed. He tied the sack to his back underneath his cloak.

“Many thanks,” Malden said. “As for your prize—it’s at the bottom of a horse trough two streets to the west. I would have brought it with me, but I couldn’t bear its incessant babbling.”

“You—You blasted fool,” Bikker frothed. “What if some vagrant stumbled upon it and hawked it already to a pawner?”

Malden shifted his shoulders so the gold at his back clinked. “Not my problem anymore.”

Bikker cursed and dashed out of the square, shouting for Cythera to stay and watch Malden. When he was gone, Malden slipped easily down the side of the Godstone, using the carved runes as handholds, and bowed deeply before her.

“It’s not wise to anger him,” she said with a sigh.

“I don’t intend to meet him again.” Malden turned on his heel to dash away. Something stopped him. He should have known better, especially after meeting Croy, but he couldn’t help himself. What if there was a chance? “You, on the other hand—”

“Me? You’d wish to see me again?” she asked.

“I think I made that clear, when last we spoke. If you’re amenable.”

A strange look crossed her eyes. Her face was too opaque with tattoos for him to read it. “Then perhaps,” she said, “I have something you might like to hear. There’s another reward. From my master.”

“Hazoth?” Malden said, confused. “I want nothing else from him.”

“Then take it from me,” she said, her voice soft and low. She stepped toward him and smiled. “A kiss. Just one. Don’t you find me desirable?”