“What is your name?” the smiling Lord asks.

“Ettie,” I blurt out before she can answer.

She turns to me, her eyebrows raised in question.

“I’m sorry she disturbed you, Monseigneur,” I say, not looking at his face. Definitely not looking at the scars. “Come with me, Ettie. You’re needed in the kitchen.”

I reach out to her, but his hand clamps down tight on her shoulder again.

“Lord Kaplan! Are my daughters bothering you?”

I’ve never been so delighted to hear Thénardier’s voice. The customers watch with interest as he moves through the crowd toward us. It’s a promising spectacle so early in the evening. After all, someone might be about to die—and that someone isn’t them.

Kaplan, the Tiger, is a Guild Lord, and he dresses his huge frame in rough sailor’s garb: loose shirt, trousers, boots, and an old naval jacket he legendarily took from the back of an admiral at sea. He carries no weapons; he doesn’t have to.

Thénardier, in contrast, is only a Guild Master. He is a small man, thin and wiry. He can be recognized from afar by the purple-and-yellow-striped waistcoat he favors. He’s a distraction, like a peacock fanning its brilliant tail. Like many members of the Thieves Guild, he’s given to wearing fine jewelry. His right hand is heavy with rings of gold. I’ve felt the mark of them on my skin too many times to count.

“Eponine, take little Cosette outside.” Thénardier rubs his hands together, as he’s wont to do when bargaining, for he sees Kaplan’s interest; he knows there’s something to be gained here.

My stomach churns. I remember the night the Tiger came for Azelma.

Stay calm. It’s all going according to plan.

I step forward and take Ettie’s hand. Everyone is staring at her and she doesn’t know why.

She tries to pull away from Lord Kaplan. But he doesn’t let go.

“Your daughter too?” Kaplan’s yellow eyes flick to my face.

“Nina is my little Cat,” Thénardier says.

Like everyone we know, he says one thing and means another. He says I’m a Cat, but he means I’m a full member of the Thieves Guild, so touching me is making argument with the Thief Lord. Thénardier is saying back off in such a way it comes out dripping in sweetness. He smiles, his mouth full of gold teeth. He cut them from the gums of soldiers dying on the battlefield and paid a butcher to put them in for him when his own rotted away.

“Your Cat has claws.”

Kaplan releases his hold on Ettie. She sways into my arms.

I grab her and begin moving us toward the door, hoping the Tiger’s eyes will follow us. Hating that they do.

“And the blond one?”

“My ward.”

“I didn’t know you were in the habit of dispensing charity, Thénardier.”

“Her mother pays me for her keep.”

We’re almost at the door, and Ettie is protesting because I’m pulling her arm too hard, but I must, to get her out. Out of the room, out of sight, out of his presence.