“True talent?” he said with scorn, his deep, quiet rumble brushing softly over her ears. “You are originally from the East, Krellis, perhaps? You eventually moved to Umbrell where you began an apprenticeship with a seamstress.” Rezkin had recognized the slight nuances in her speech. The tiny lilt at the end of some of her words spoke of an eastern origin, while the slight clip was particular to the river town farther south. Her long fingers were crisscrossed and dotted with tiny white lines where she had been repeatedly nicked with sheers and needles, more so than was typical for a woman who was not employed in such a profession.

The woman’s eyes widened further in surprise. “How—” she started but was cut off by the Raven’s tight grip.

He tilted her head to the side and then back and said, “You found yourself in disgrace, hiding away in a brothel. You eventually ended up here, in Kaibain, where you began looking for an easy mark.” He leaned forward, closing the distance between their faces. Hilith could not mistake his closeness for one of desire. It was completely hostile and domineering. She shivered under his control.

“Do not mistake a lonely man’s willingness to overlook your flaws for a sign of talent. You are easy to read, Hilith,” the Raven said. Of course, he knew her name was not Hilith. Hilith was a fictional character, a ruse.

The woman blinked several times, holding back unshed tears. The Raven’s tight grip dug painfully into her jaw, but it was his words that truly stung. “You are wrong,” she whispered.

Rezkin was momentarily taken aback. The last part of his assessment had been mostly conjecture based on her current profession and the manner in which she comported herself. It was entirely possible that he was wrong, but he doubted it. He loosened his grip slightly to allow the woman to speak. The proximity, the dominance, the taking of liberties in touching her, was all strategy, a form of psychological manipulation. Based on his calculated profile, he felt this tactic would be the most effective.

When the Raven’s fingers loosened, Hilith took it as a sign that she was permitted to speak. She inhaled deeply and said, “It is never a disgrace to bear a child.” The woman’s eyes glistened as she spoke, revealing a hidden inner turmoil.

Rezkin searched deeply in her eyes and made another quick assessment, solely based on instinct. He released her jaw and stepped back, his knife vanishing as though it had never been. She failed to hide the briefest spark of triumph, but it was too late. He had already judged her. “You do not fool me, Hilith. Any child you might have borne was scraped from your womb long before it could take breath.”