Inside that room is a boy …

He is at the far end of the room, asleep in a mountain of a bed.

I ignore all the ornaments, the fine furniture, the baubles shining eerily in the moonlight that gently filters into the room. The curtains around the bed are not drawn. I wonder why a boy like this would want to look out into the darkness at all.

Breath catching in my throat, I pad toward him, movements fluid, forcing the panic down. I wonder who he is. Surely he’s a noble of importance, his room being the size of Father’s whole inn.

Around his neck is something you must take …

A collared nightshirt betrays an inch of pale skin. But I see nothing around his neck.

Although Father sends me up walls and down chimneys to grab whatever he instructs, I have never stolen anything from someone who was actually present for the theft. The rule is always to hide until they are gone. But that is not the rule tonight.

I rub my hands together to warm them and lean over the boy. He has long eyelashes and dark wavy hair. He looks peaceful, and by the sliver of moonlight I imagine that he is quite handsome, like a boy from one of Azelma’s stories.

I lower gentle fingers to his shirt—it’s best to move neither too slowly nor too quickly. I keep to the shirt fabric, trying to avoid his skin. There it is! A chain, long and heavy, which is why it wasn’t high about his neck. The length and weight also mean it’s loose, easy to tease out. The end of the necklace slips from under the covers, and I pause for a mere second as it glimmers in the moonlight. It’s the largest stone I’ve ever seen, a sapphire set in a gold casing thick with smaller pearls and jewels. It sits heavily against his chest. He will surely wake if I lift it, or if not then, when I try to get it over his head.

You’re small and you’re quick, and those, too, are weapons.

I count to three and then I move. As smooth as water, the necklace is whipped off, and there’s only a whisper of a second when the metal chain brushes his skin. When he opens his eyes, he’s looking right into mine.

You’re clever, Nina, and that is a weapon.

If he shouts for help, he will rob me of important seconds I need to escape. I might make it to the balcony, but not beyond.

This is the art of thieving … Femi’s words echo in my ears. Deaf are the distracted, and blind are the surprised. Those mesmerized by a face do not notice where the hands may creep.

I need to distract him, keep him surprised—or at least, more surprised than he currently is. His mouth opens, so I do the first thing that comes into my head: I kiss him, pressing my lips to his in a style that I’ve seen played out too many times in dark corners of Father’s inn. He tastes like chocolate. And that’s the last thought in my mind as I push away from him and start to run, leaping for the balcony.