“He takes tea every morning that he mixes from dried herbs. I want you to sneak into his chambers, find the herbs, and pour clearberry juice over them. A small amount will do the trick. Palace healers will think his heart failed.”

Had James lost his mind? “You’re crazy.” She stared at him, trying to shake the feeling that she was in some incomprehensible dream. James gave no reaction, just regarded her calmly.

“How did your friends fare during the barbarian attack?” he finally asked.

“They’re fine.”

“There’s a lad you spend time with, in’t there? Flick? And of course the cook and the two lasses.”

She didn’t bother to answer. James now looked out the window, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. “They were lucky to get out of harm’s way. Not everyone is that lucky.”

“I see.” Kyra’s tongue was dry in her mouth, and she listened on with dread.

“The lasses, especially, have been fortunate considering where they came from. The streets of Forge are by no means safe. There are people, you know”—he trained his eyes back on Kyra—“who do things to children that make a pig in a slaughterhouse seem lucky.”

Kyra’s hands began to shake as James’s meaning sank in. “You said I wouldn’t have to kill anyone.”

“Plans change.”

It was the same tone of voice he’d used when talking of the nonexistent ruby, and Kyra suddenly understood. His insistence on fighting lessons. The way he’d humiliated her when she first joined the Guild. Her resulting determination to prove herself.

And prove herself she had.

“You wanted me as an assassin from the beginning.”

“You’re very skilled, with abilities I’ve never seen in anyone before, and you took to your training remarkably fast. Your first kill was clean and quick.” No shame crossed his face. Not a hint of guilt as he spoke of molding her into his personal weapon.

“The kill was an accident,” she whispered.

James directed the full force of his gaze at her. If there had ever been any warmth in their dealings together, it was gone. “What did you think would happen when you held your knife to his throat? What were you hoping for, Kyra? Don’t make this harder with delusions of moral superiority. You’re not some talesinger’s heroine. You’re a former gutter rat who steals for a living.”

That got her in the gut. Words of denial tangled at the base of her throat, threatening to close off her airways.