The passion of an icicle.
Those had been Robert’s exact words when I’d asked him why he’d gone off with Eithne. The fact that he had shared such intimate details with another left my face burning. Before Eithne could turn and escape to the street, my hand shot out, catching her wrist.
She glared at my hand, then brought her narrowed eyes to mine.
“You know what? I’ve thought about it.” My gaze dropped to her purse. “And I believe I will blackmail you.”
She tried pulling away. “W-what?”
“You heard me.” Using my free hand, I gestured to the purse. “How much are the details of your little affair worth to you?”
I left the alley with Eithne’s pink silk purse full of coins and a bounce to my step. Hopefully I’d taught her a lesson about the importance of faithfulness.
I strolled straight over to where the grogoch waited on the steps and dropped the entire purse into his cup, then turned and started for the carriage.
Standing up for myself felt invigorating. I’d have to do it more often.
The fortune teller sat behind her dilapidated wooden stall, milky white eyes fixed on me.
A coincidence.Everyone knew the woman was blind as a mole. I hopped over a puddle, and her head turned with me. When I stopped, she lifted her hand and crooked a gnarled finger.
Bloody hell. Shewaslooking at me.
Should I go over?
I had just blackmailed a woman.
If I wanted to speak to a fortune teller, I could.
According to the painted sign leaning against the wooden stall, fortunes cost five coppers. When I sat on the rickety stool in front of the woman, her chapped lips split into an uneven smile.
“I’ve been waiting fer ye,” she said in a voice more gravel than not, wrinkled hands twitching in her lap. Streaks of paint smeared theapron she wore over a gray cotton dress.
It was the sort of thing any “good” fortune teller would say to convince clients they actually had something worthwhile to share.
“And why is that?” I asked, drawing my cloak closed to keep out the sudden chill. It looked as though the break in the weather was about to end as dark clouds rolled in off the sea.
“Cuz ye have questions, and I have answers.”
“I have no questions.”
A gust of wind tore at my hood, whipping my hair across my eyes.
“His name is Rían,” she whispered.
Rían? I didn’t know any Ríans.
Her hand fell onto the uneven planks at the top of her stall, palm-up.
I dragged five coppers from my purse and set them in her palm.
“Ask yer questions. Best be quick.” She tucked the coins into her apron pocket.
“Who is Rían?” I asked, feeling foolish for falling into this woman’s obvious trap.
“The man yer lookin’ fer.”
Most female clients probably came looking for the name of the man they would fall desperately in love with. Not me. “I’m not looking for a man.”