She looked at him. If he was false, then once she said the words, she was a dead woman. But Tyler was in a hurry, and she had, for her sins, volunteered. It seemed stupid now.

“We kill the queen and her babe,” she said. “Towbray becomes king, and we’re all pardoned. An’ we weren’t born yesterday; we get guarantees so that we don’t find ourselves dancing in halters at your friend’s coronation.”

The man flushed. “Treason,” he said.

“Your friend’s hobby,” she mocked.

“Fuck you, witch,” he said. But he didn’t come at her. She sat, and was afraid, despite her mouth, which usually ran away with her. And how did he know she had Power?

“You aren’t a whore,” he said. “You’re not even a peasant.”

“Right now I’m a fucking beggar,” she said.

“You’re the only beggar in Harndon who pronounces all the letters in fucking,” he said. He took a long pull on his bitter. “Noble?”

“Not your business,” she said.

“Actually it is,” he said. He leaned back, as if he wanted her to feel unthreatened. “It is because if you are gently born, I’m more likely to trust you, frankly. I don’t love Jacks, and neither does my friend.”

“We don’t love you, either,” Lessa said.

“East Brogat?” he asked.

“I’m not a lord. I’m a Jack,” she said with pride. “Who I was and what crimes I committed are no man’s business, nor woman’s.”

He met her eyes, and his were steady. “I’d hate to think you were some well-born runaway,” he said. “A little adventure, a little fun, and then you run home and sell us all to the hangman.” He smiled. “Maybe a boy you want rid of?”

“Fuck. You.” She had no trouble meeting his eye.

He shrugged. “Let’s do it,” he said suddenly. He drained his beer and stood up. “Next time, in the Oar House in East Cheaping by the docks. It’s rough; send a man, or dress like a real whore. Wear a scarlet hood and carry a black handkerchief; no one but a madman troubles a chit with the plague.”

She wanted to bridle, but his words made sense. “When?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. He tugged at his beard. “Day after tomorrow, same time,” he said. He opened the door slightly, tugged at his sword and used his left thumb to crack it out of the scabbard, looked both ways in the empty hall. He looked back at her and winked and tossed his cloak on the bed; a fine wool cloak with fur in the hood. “Room’s yours for the night,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t linger,” and he was gone out the door and down the steps.