She noticed everything—the way he yawned and stretched, arching his back like a cat, belatedly covering his mouth with his hand. The many colors in his hair—pale butter and cream, reddish gold and platinum. How he often repeated a question, as if to buy time to conjure up the answer. The way he always sat facing the door, perhaps a leftover from Ragmarket, and groped for his knife when startled. How he constantly slid his hand into his shirt, releasing power into his amulet.

He wasn’t proud or arrogant, but there was a self-confidence about him that said he knew what he wanted and he was going to get it, and you’d better not get in his way. It had probably served him well as streetlord of the Raggers.

How could she be noticing Han Alister when she was still brokenhearted over Amon Byrne? Did the destruction of one dream leave a vacuum that required filling with another?

Is a broken heart more vulnerable? she wondered. Am I fickle or self-destructive?

I am not going through this again.

But she’d come to look forward to their twice-weekly meetings more than she cared to admit.

Often they continued beyond the agreed-upon two hours. Raisa had tried to enforce the deadline at first, but gave up. Han Alister could always charm her into staying longer.

This evening, when she arrived, sandwiches and cider were set out on the table. Along with a beautifully enameled and jeweled music box.

“This is lovely,” she said, opening the lid and examining the intricate mechanism with her trader eye. It was clanwork, probably an antique. She looked up at him, puzzled. “What’s it for?”

“It’s for you,” he said, gesturing awkwardly. “A gift.”

“I can’t accept this,” she said, feeling the blood rush to her face. She tried to give it back to him, but he put his hands behind him, so she set it down on the table.

“I brought it for selfish reasons,” he said. “I want you to teach me to dance.”

Raisa looked up at him, startled. “What? Why?”

“There’s always the chance I’ll be invited to a party,” he said. “I want to be ready just in case.” The blue eyes were wide and innocent.

“There are so many other topics we haven’t covered yet,” Raisa protested. “Officers of the court, appropriate dress for social situations, protocols of the hunt, correspondence guidelines…”

“I hear lots of business is done at parties,” Han said, sticking out his chin. “I know some clan dances, but I need to know how to dance city-style.”

“What kind of dances do you want to learn?” Raisa asked, rolling her eyes.

“The kind where you hold your partner,” he said, winding up the music box. “What’s that one called?”

We call that trouble, Raisa thought as the music began.