The woman snorted. “Why don’t you explain that to Sir Knight?” She gestured toward a young knight who stood by the wagon overseeing the operation. The knight had dark hair, a high-bridged nose, and an aristocratic bearing. He was also surprisingly young, not much older than Kyra, and he said little as the soldiers carried out their duties. Kyra noticed that he avoided looking at the storekeeper. The coward nobleman couldn’t even face up to what he was doing. He’d go home tonight to the Palace and enjoy a hot meal while the storekeeper and his family scrounged their remaining coppers.

Kyra was working her way closer when someone grabbed her elbow and she fell against a well-muscled chest. Kyra looked back, opening her mouth to protest, when she found herself face-to-face with James. She snapped her mouth shut, tongue suddenly dry. James’s expression clearly said to be quiet, and his eyes flickered meaningfully toward the soldiers. She turned back to the store, pretending that nothing had happened.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself.” James’s voice was a breath on her ear, so soft even she could hardly hear it. “Wait, then follow.”

The crowd shifted behind her, and out of the corner of her eye she saw James disappear into a nearby tavern. Kyra couldn’t guess his intentions, but following him seemed wiser than continuing to gawk at the spectacle. She counted a few more breaths before going after him.

He was waiting in the entryway and acknowledged her with a quick nod, though he offered no response to her inquisitive glance. A large man, unsteady on his feet, laughed as they walked past. “Tastes running younger these days, James?” The look James shot him was pure ice. The drunk straightened and walked away. James took a seat facing the window and signaled for some ale.

“You’re too timid,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He jerked his head in the direction of the drunkard. “The way you react to fools like him. Like you’re fading into the wall.”

Had he taken her here just to insult her? “I in’t rolling over and showing my belly. I know the type. It’s less trouble to ignore them.”

“That’s the problem. You’re avoiding trouble from them, but they should be the ones afraid of you.”

“Right. I’m sure Rand quaked in his boots when he bruised my shoulder last week.”

“You’re getting better.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been watching.”

The simplicity of his words—and the way he looked straight into her eyes as he answered—made her fall silent. The serving girl arrived with the ale. James flipped her a coin and looked out the window toward the crowd.

“Why are we here?” asked Kyra.

“It’s quieter here,” he said simply. Kyra drummed her fingers on her ale mug until he finally spoke again. “I see you’ve been watching the rent collection.”