Page 9 of Fierce Highland Magic

"She was offered hospitality."

"And she declined it."

"She nearly accepted."

"But she did not." His voice stayed warm. "No words passed. No debt formed."

The old woman's gaze came to me.

I had the absurd impression that she could see the word I had almost spoken still caught behind my teeth.

"You interrupted her," she said.

"I improved her odds."

"You always did mistake interference for mercy."

"And you always did mistake honey for generosity."

The old woman's smile vanished.

The silver cup darkened in her hand.

For a second, the liquid inside it moved.

A thin, pale shape pressed against the inside of the cup, as if something small had been caught beneath the surface and wanted out.

I took a step backward.

The man released my wrist.

The loss of contact should have been a relief.

Instead, it left a faint, ridiculous cold along my skin.

The old woman watched me notice.

Then she tucked the cup beneath the counter.

"Go carefully, traveler," she said. "The market is kind to those who receive."

"I'll bear that in mind," I said.

The man beside me made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh.

The old woman's eyes flicked to him.

"You have already spent too much on strangers, Prince."

His smile did not move.

"Then you should be delighted I have found a more economical hobby."

For the first time, something in his expression went still.

But the market seemed to hear the word prince and lean closer.

The old woman gave a shallow little bow, mocking enough to qualify as an insult, then turned away to rearrange her bottles of smoke.