Page 24 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

He tossed her one of the coins. “That right there makes me the best damn customer of the week.”

She grinned, revealing a surprisingly sweet smile despite her several missing teeth. “So you are. How can I help you, dove?”

“Oh, so it’s dove now? What happened to ‘foul-mouthed shite’?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t press my luck if I were you.”

Ronan found himself oddly fond of the cranky bitch. She reminded him of his mother, what little he remembered of her. “Do you have a name, harpy?”

“Glinta the Good.”

“Good? At what, exactly?” He asked the question because, with a title like that, he knew it was expected.

She didn’t disappoint him.

Tossing him a saucy wink, she purred, “I wasn’t always old, dove. I still know my way around a meat pole, if you catch my drift.”

He wheezed from the effort of swallowing down the roar of laughter threatening to escape. He barely managed to let out a choked, “Noted.”

Her brows slashed down in a deep scowl. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m not about to waste my breath or my voice calling for a healer to save you, you miserable cur.”

“I thought I was your dove?”

“Best start talking or I’m as liable to stab you as I am answer your questions.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty bitch, aren’t you?”

“Smart of you to remember that when you get the itch to piss me off.”

Ronan couldn’t help but smile. It felt as if he’d discovered a kindred spirit. How refreshing. “I’m looking for a woman.”

“Of course you are.” She eyed him up and down. “A big fella like you shouldn’t have trouble in that regard, but I guess once you open your mouth, the appeal is lost.” She waved a hand. “No matter. For the right price, you can have any lady you want. Surely you noticed there’s pleasure dens aplenty.”

“No, not that kind of woman. This one has the same fondness for a blade as you. Goes by the name Reyna.”

Glinta frowned. “Can’t recall hearing of a woman who goes by such a name. And many in these parts know how to weld a knife. You have anything else for me to go by?”

“She’s tall, comes to about here”—he held a hand up to his sternum—“with hair the color of an oil slick, falls nearly all the way down her back. Green eyes, but not regular green, multihued, a bit like staring up into a tree while the sun shines through its branches.”

“Right poet, aren’t you?” she asked with a smirk.

Ronan scowled. “Have you seen her or not?”

“No, dove. Sorry. A woman like that would stand out.”

Yeah. She sure as shit did.

Frustration churned in his gut, chasing away any lingering amusement he’d experienced while on the receiving end of Glinta’s callous tongue. Reyna was one in a million. It’s why he hadn’t been able to let her go. After nothing but false leads for years, it had been a relief to set aside the despair he’d worn like a mantle after Effie gave him her promise. But running into the same dead ends here brought it all roaring back. His next breath didn’t come as easy as the last.

Don’t give up now. She’s here somewhere. Try another tactic. Effie wouldn’t lead you astray.

“You mentioned women here were skilled with blades. Is there one who stands out amongst the rest? Perhaps one who’s made a name for herself because of it?”

Glinta chewed on her lower lip. “There’s a few. Blood sports aren’t just a man’s game these days. Women can get in and out where they cannot, you feel me?”

Ronan nodded. Sex workers made excellent assassins for that reason. No one ever suspected their lover. Especially not the one they paid. One day people would start realizing money couldn’t buy loyalty.

“Who holds the number one spot?”

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