Amon’s expression promised death, for a start. “I should have let Gillen beat you to death,” he said. “What I get for being a bleeding—”

“Mercy is never unbecoming, mate,” Cuffs said. He pointed at the door with the tip of his knife. “Go on, girlie. Do as I said. We haven’t got all day.”

Raisa complied, pulling the door shut and locking it, her hands shaking so much she could scarcely fit the key into the keyhole. It was a stout wooden door to a windowless room built like a fortress. Behind the door, she could hear faint shouts and cries for help, followed by a muffled thud of bodies against wood.

Cuffs was right. It would slow them down for sure. The dedicates were fast asleep across the courtyard. It was unlikely anyone would hear them until morning filled the corridors again. A lot could happen before morning.

Cuffs gripped her wrist hard and tugged her down the corridor, toward the door.

“Leave…me…be!” she shouted, trying to set her heels on the stone floor, then collapsing into a heap.

Swearing under his breath, Cuffs stowed away his knife and slid his hands under her, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. He was surprisingly strong. “Now be quiet,” he muttered. “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

He obviously meant to take her someplace and torture her, as he had the others. Raisa groped at her waist, found the hilt of her knife, and yanked it free. Could she really stick it into him? Gripping the hilt with both hands, she aimed for the center of his back, closed her eyes, and went to drive it home.

Instead she found herself flat on her back on the floor, seeing stars from slamming her head on the slate. He’d unceremoniously dumped her. Cuffs seized her wrist and took the knife from her. “Next time you go to stab someone, do it quick,” he advised her. “Don’t study on it so long.”

He expertly patted her down, running his hands over her bodice, down her sides and back, and up and down her legs, even pulling off her lace cap, looking for other weapons. Although he was businesslike about it, the blood rushed to her face at the touch of the streetlord’s hands.

He was good at it, and very quick, his hands deft and sure. He found Elena’s ring, with its circling wolves, on the chain around her neck, but didn’t take it. And the little velvet purse, heavy with coins, she’d tucked into her bodice. He weighed the purse in his hand, then handed it back to her. She blinked at him, surprised.

He then hauled her to her feet, handed back her cap, dusted her off with mock chivalry, and finished with a rude pat to her behind.