The young woman smiled up at the guard, holding the wine jug out.

"Your master said that he would want something in the evening," She said, demurely lowering her eyes.

She waited silently as he looked her over. She had prepared carefully, and she let him drink in all the implications – the loosely tied robes in the blue and gold that were the inn's own colours; the jug, heavy with ruby-coloured wine; her dark hair loose and straight, falling below her shoulders; the scents of roses and cinnamon floating over the heavier scent of the wine; her speech, aping the upper classes save for the occasional lumpen, city vowel.

The guard snorted in derision, but his eyes were bright with interest. He looked for a moment as though he would speak with her, but instead he stepped away from the door. The woman dipped her head obligingly, then, balancing the heavy jug carefully, she slid the door open.

The young man sat cross-legged on the floor, his tousled hair golden in the firelight. His trousers and tunic were dark brown and plainly styled, but the woman was reasonably certain they were cotton, and therefore expensive. He looked up from his book as she closed the door.

"I didn't order anything," he said.

"I've just brought you a drink, my lord."

She walked towards him quickly, the wine sloshing in the jug.

He snapped the book shut, standing.

"I said I didn't order anything," he repeated, his voice louder now.

"If you don't want the wine, my lord," she bent and placed the jug on the mantle, the smiled at him, innocent and beguiling. "Perhaps you would like something else?"

She reached out her right hand and laid it on his cheek. She watched as his eyes – sea green and wide with surprise – swiveled to the side, a vain attempt to see the unexpected hand. She smiled at him, trying to radiate warmth, as her left hand dipped below the neckline of her robe.

The dagger in her left hand moved like lightening as she brought it up towards his throat. She did not immediately understand how he managed to move faster.

She found herself a crumpled heap against the wall, the dagger gone. He was still standing, panting as if he had run up a hill, his shoulders heaving, his pale face pink with exertion. His right foot was on the dagger, but he hardly seemed conscious of this advantage.

The woman struggled to her feet, and he took a defensive position. His palms were open, facing her, and she suddenly understood.

"They didn't tell me you were Able, my lord" she said, her voice now resentful instead of sweet. She stepped forward, eyes on the dagger.

This time the force emanated from him like a gust of wind, spinning her sideways. She stumbled, falling on her stomach. The force ceased, but it was too late; he was straddling her, his weight imprisoning her, driving her cheek into the gritty floorboard. He wrenched her arms back and she whimpered.

"Oh, come now," he protested, his voice weary but contemptuous. His diction was too academic for his foppish reputation. "You tried to kill me. I'm only trying to tie you up." He began to tug at the silk belt that kept her blue and gold robe closed.

She tried to buck him off of her back at that, but despite his apparent weariness, he was stronger than her. He forced her wrists together before tying them with the soft band of fabric. Then he sat back on his heels, some distance away from the woman, and surveyed his handiwork.

She glared at him, trying to lift her head as far as she could, tossing it to try to get the long strands of dark hair out of her face, away from her eyes. She stopped when she realised that the now-unconfined robe was coming open – she had never actually wanted that sort of attention. Meanwhile, one of his toes had brushed against the dagger, and he reached a hand behind, still not taking his eyes from her. His fingers closed around the dagger, and he brought it forward.

Her eyes broke contact with his for a moment, watching the blade, and the young man looked down to examine it as well. Still panting, he turned the dagger over in his hands, admiring the wooden handle incised with neat, geometric lines in which a green dye had been rubbed.

"This is – this is Hidden Village workmanship, isn't it? I've never seen a Hidden Village dagger before." The woman ignored him, but he dipped his head lower, trying to look into her eyes. "I've never seen a Hidden Villager before, either."

The woman looked away, avoiding his gaze. There was a long moment of curious silence as he inspected her. Then, he admitted, "I'm not entirely sure what to do with you."

"You have the dagger," The woman said.