His eyes widen slightly like he can’t believe what I’m saying. “You thought I wouldn’t be?”

“I hoped you would be,” I say.

He rubs his forehead. “How is it that sometimes you understand so much and other times you understand nothing?”

“Look,” I say, “if it doesn’t work and Aarya throws me out of the tree, then I’ll admit I was wrong and you can call the shots for the rest of the night. But you’re wasting time right now and we need to deliver that note.”

He folds the note up and looks at me like he wants to say something, but changes his mind and walks out of the room.

I’VE REVIEWED MY strategy over and over in my head, although it’s hard to plan for someone like Aarya. I glance at the door for the hundredth time. Ash should have been back by now.

On top of my anxiety over meeting Aarya and over the network of people clearly trying to kill me, my thoughts keep going back to my parents and everything I don’t know about them. What they were like when they were my age, whether they liked being Strategia, how many assassins they ultimately had to kill to protect themselves and me, where I factored into the decisions they made. It’s almost more than I can take.

My door opens and I jump up from my seat near the fireplace.

Ash wears the same worried expression he had when he left. “It’s done,” he says quietly as he latches the door behind him.

“And? Did she say anything or give any indication that she would show up?” I ask, searching his face for clues.

“No. But we’re talking about Aarya, and this is an opportunity to get you in a vulnerable position. I doubt she’ll miss it,” he says.

Ash removes his cloak and rolls up his sleeves. I give him a questioning look. He’s not getting ready to spar with me, is he?

I flip my braid over my shoulder, and just as I do, Ash aims a punch at my stomach. I block and immediately adjust my stance so that I’m not open to him. Well, I guess that answers that question.

“Mediocre defense,” he says, and takes a swing, this time at my face.

I dodge his fist.

“If I were Aarya, that punch would have hit you. You can’t be that slow,” he says. “And if she comes after you in the trees, it’s mostly going to be hand work. She might manage a kick if she’s able to brace herself, but otherwise you can expect that any attack will be aimed at your upper body.”

I jab at him, but he easily steps out of reach before I’m halfway there and grabs my wrist, yanking me off balance. I stumble forward. He hooks his arm around my neck in a loose choke hold, pulling me into his chest.