Aina approached the counter. A bespectacled, balding man measuring a gem under a microscope looked up.

“Can I help you?”

“Just looking, mostly.” She shrugged, her eyes trailing over a set of emerald bracelets under the counter next to a sign that read RARE EMERALDS IMPORTED FROM KAIYAN’S DEEPEST JUNGLES! She might make more money if other gems, like emeralds, could be used with magic, but only diamonds worked. “The weather’s a bit rough today, so I’m trying to stay inside.”

There was the code: rough.

“I think I’ve got something you might like,” the jeweler said without missing a beat. He withdrew a box from under the counter.

“Those are nice.” She nodded at the unopened velvet box. From her pocket, she withdrew the pouch of diamonds and unhooked one side of the box he’d presented. It detached. She quickly slipped her diamonds inside before pocketing the newly detached side. There was a set price for a set weight of diamonds. Any more or less wouldn’t be accepted, and she could only sell to this jeweler once until his shop’s next rotation. Any wasted time or repeat visits would draw unwanted attention.

The box of coins jostled in her pocket while the jeweler disappeared to the back room to check the legitimacy of her diamonds. Her eyes flicked to the door attendant, who shifted her jacket aside to reveal the shiny handle of a gun—a clear message. If she tried to run while the jeweler was examining her diamonds, she’d be shot.

The jeweler returned and beckoned her closer, casting a nervous glance around his shop for any eavesdroppers. In a whisper, he said, “If you want real coin, you should bring me a black diamond next time. Very rare, very beautiful. I’ll pay you five times for that.”

Aina grimaced. Of course the Steels placed more value on the beauty of a diamond rather than its practical use as a tool of magic that their people had used for centuries. The value of diamonds had changed from a sign of faith to a sign of how many kors were in your pocket. She nodded, keeping his offer in mind, and left as quickly as possible without running.

In half an hour, she reached the Stacks with her pulse still pounding in her ears. She never got this nervous when taking out a target, but selling rough diamonds was different. She touched the box of coins and gave it a quick shake. Heavy. She had to return home to collect her pay for the baker’s kill, then wait until morning when the bank opened and she could deposit the money. She didn’t entirely trust banks, but she trusted them more than stuffing her money under a mattress and hoping that a house full of criminals wouldn’t find it.

More gangs heralded her, knives glinting at belts and tattoos decorating muscled limbs. They were the men and women who paid her boss to work near his manor, and they all knew her as his Blade—his killing hand. They had any number of names for her boss: the Blood King, the Durozvy Nightmare, and, after one occasion when Aina and his other grunts had watched him rip out a man’s eyes for spying on him, they started calling him the Surgeon. But she knew him better by his real name.