She’s panting, adrenaline sick in her veins, and she jerks her hand. Forward, first, then back when he does not let her stab him. But he doesn’t let her retreat, either. She should be frightened. She should be terrified, now that she’s played her hand, but instead she’s leaning closer, as if to kiss him.

She wonders if he’ll let her.

“Ser Leodegardis ordered all iron collected a little over a fortnight ago,” she tells him, voice barely above a breath. “The Priory had need. All our knives, all our tools, even the iron banding on the doors—all went to the nuns. Only the knights kept their armaments.”

She shifts her grip on the knife, just a little, just enough to draw his eye down. “And I kept this,” she purrs.

“Because you were afraid, or because you were hunting?” He’s smiling at her, still, and if anything, his cheeks are flushed with higher color now. His thumb strokes at her pulse. Yes, he would probably let her kiss him.

“Hunting,” she says.

He makes a pleased little noise that’s almost swallowed up in the conversation all around them. “It makes a little more sense now. That look you wore in the garden.”

Treila inhales sharply. “You were watching.”

“Of course. It’s not often I see such a beautiful mess of confusion. Gallant Ser Voyne was not acting as you expected, was she?”

“No,” she admits. Considers. “The last time she saw me, it unsettled her. Weakened her walls.”

“You wanted to bring them tumbling down, but instead found them transfigured.”

“Replaced.”

He hums. “Oh, you are a sharp little thing, aren’t you? Eager to cut, and drink deep. She missed it.”

“That’s intentional,” she murmurs. No, Voyne can’t know at all. But then she thinks a moment, realizes he means the Lady, and she goes still.

“Intentional to all the world,” he agrees. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Her.”

“Why not? Don’t you serve Her?”

“Sheathe your knife, and perhaps I can answer some of your questions.”

And he lets her go.

It would take just the slightest jerk forward to slide the knife between his ribs. But she doesn’t even hesitate. She pushes the knife back into its sheath and into the folds of her skirt.

She offers him her empty hands.

Perhaps augury is not the only way to get something useful out of him.

He takes her by the wrists, and climbs off the bench, leading her away. She follows, heart hammering, wondering if she’s making a terrible mistake. But this creature is a clever sort, and just like with Phosyne on the ground beneath her, she finds she likes being seen for what she is: a threat.