“A simple one, once it’s mastered. Mostly it is a matter of misdirection. Of moving when no one is looking.” She pushed open a wide set of doors and brought him into the villa’s dining room. Its walls were of carved oak, and the table could seat sixteen in spacious comfort. The chairs were pushed up against the walls—they were carved of some glossy wood in intricate patterns and looked far too delicate to support the weight of a human being. The table itself was a slab of marble three inches thick. Something about it demanded Malden’s attention. When he looked closer, he saw it had no legs. The slab simply floated in the air, perfectly motionless. He couldn’t resist the urge to push down on one edge, but the table easily resisted any force he put on it. Cythera sighed in frustration and pointed toward the door. “Leave that be, Malden. You must go now, and quickly, before he changes his mind. He is known to be capricious.”

“Oh? You think he’ll take his book back?” Malden asked.

“He has decided to let you live for today. I’m worried he’ll rethink that choice.”

At the back of the dining room was a small preparatory, where food brought in from the kitchens could be arranged on platters before going to table. The preparatory had a single high window that was open to catch the breeze. It didn’t look like it could be locked.

“You’re concerned for me,” Malden said as she opened the doors to the garden. “I’m touched.” He blinked in the sudden rush of sunlight when she led him out onto a gravel path.

She turned to face him, her face an impassive mask. “I don’t like to see people hurt. It gives me no pleasure. In that way, I am different from him. But don’t count on that fellow feeling for too much.”

He sketched a simple bow as they hurried along, and made a show of stumbling so that his foot kicked a spray of gravel against the side of the villa with an annoying rattle. They were passing the kitchens, which were housed in their own outbuilding. That way if they caught fire they would not burn the main house.

“Do you find me handsome?” he asked, with a grin on his face.

“I find you brazen. If you think I’m going to swoon over your looks, or give you my kerchief to tie around your lance, you’re fishing in the wrong pond.”

“Ah—but you smile when you see me. You admire my courage. You like me, I can tell. Well, working for that sort, I can understand why you’d turn your affections toward gutter trash. We’re easier on the heart.”

She stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face him directly.