The next day dawns predictably: bright and hot.

I pass the morning by first making a quick stop at Harry's cart, quarrelling good-naturedly before ultimately compromising on the exchange of my silver candlestick for a couple of fresh loaves of bread and a handful of day-old rolls. I drift aimlessly for a while, eating slowly and carefully to savour my meal. The remainder of the food, I dole out to the young mothers and handless beggars hanging around the outskirts of the square.

With my stomach filled and my pockets lighter, I decide to head into the Court and see what business I can drum up.

Several blocks of polished stonework and swept streets make up the Court. The wide pathways arc uphill, drawing travellers past increasingly grandiose buildings and ending in the wooden gates and stone wall surrounding the City's grandest testament: the glass Palace. Here, people amble through town clad in rich clothes of vibrant silk, as unhurried and elegant as those from the Commons are rushed and crude.

Fashionable women clasp the arms of distinguished suitors, their genteel voices commenting on this gorgeous hat and those delightful pastries. Their concerns are so vapid, it makes me sick. Not one of them pays me notice and I feel myself a part of the landscape, no more conspicuous than a bench or flower box.

I size up the crowd as I walk, systematically noting the details of my potential targets. I spot two women giggling over a shared joke and wander closer, veering off a moment later when I realize that the quality of their gloves is not as fine as it could be. Most likely these ninnies receive only the barest of allowances.

A gentleman passes me by, his ornately carved walking stick clacking obnoxiously against the brushed stone. I tail him briefly but pretend to become distracted by a shop window when he stops to check his pocket watch and glances in my direction. From the corner of my eye I catch him lifting his lips into a sneer as he regards me. I briefly consider teaching him a lesson in rudeness by taking his watch anyway, but decide against it.

A flash of crimson startles my vision. A young woman exits the shop, pausing momentarily to unfurl her lace parasol before she strolls away.

I pause a few seconds before following, keeping a safe distance as I watch her peering into the windows of various shops. When she stops to consider a display of cakes, I slowly sidle up, waiting until she glances away before I purposefully knock my head against the open parasol, startling her.

"Ohh..." I groan, rubbing my head and bending over.

"Oh my goodness! I am so sorry—are you all right?" She steps closer, making to touch my shoulder before she notices my ragged clothes and pulls her hand back.

"It really hurts. I'm not bleeding, am I?" I tilt the top of my head toward her, my eyes completely focused on the pretty little purse dangling from her wrist.

She leans over me, her eyes searching my rats' nest of hair while I seamlessly unsheathe my dagger and cut the string binding the purse to her arm. I catch it soundlessly when it drops into my waiting palm.

"No... I don't see anything..." She moves back and tries to look at my face.

"It's fine, probably just a scratch."

My task complete, I now aim to put as much distance between us as possible. She stands dumbly as I slip back into the crowd and dart away, making several turns for good measure before taking refuge in a darkened alley.

I grin to myself, holding up the purse and examining it. Very finely made, the leather is bleached white and there appears to be some embossing along the hem. There's a promising amount of weight to it, too. I am about to pull the purse open when I am halted by a hand snaking out of the shadows and clamping down hard on my wrist.

"What the—?" I shout in surprise.

On reflex, I bring my elbow up, slamming it into the chin of my attacker. A lightning bolt of pain shoots through my arm but I barely register it, snatching my wrist free at the sound of a man cursing. Immediately, I sprint deeper into the alleyway, feinting left at the end but turning right and tearing down the next street.

I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me, gradually gaining. He is quick, I will give him that. I turn right, left, right again, heading back toward the main street, hoping to lose him in the crowd.

The sound of pounding feet recedes and for a moment I think I've lost him. I am relaxing into an easy jog when suddenly, a body appears from the pathway to my left and we collide full force, throwing me against the wall opposite and sending me crashing to the ground.

My head rings as I struggle to rise to my feet, dimly aware that my pursuer is already up and speaking to me.

"Relax, will you? I just want to talk!"

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to focus, I realize that his voice is stirring some vague memory. I slip my hand into my boot and discreetly withdraw my dagger, then hide the weapon behind my back before I glance up.

My heart pounds with warning while my brain pieces together the information. The close-cropped hair, the squared jaw: it's the strange courtier who confronted me in the library; the man who looked up. I fight to control the increasing panic shuddering through me. This isn't some do-gooder seeking to avenge a lady's honour and retrieve her stolen purse; this is infinitely more problematic. I broke into this man's house, stole his property and threatened his father. There is no doubt in my mind that he aims to see me arrested. Or worse.

The man approaches me slowly, gripping my elbow as he pulls me to my feet. My other hand still clutches the dagger behind my back, carefully rotating it into a precise angle.

"You're not hurt, are you?" His eyes appear concerned, but that could be my impending concussion.

I shake my head and buy myself a few moments by pretending to catch my breath. He retains his hold on my elbow but his grip loosens. I seize my opportunity, bringing the dagger down and raking it across his forearm. He yells in either surprise or pain and releases me, giving me the opening I need to kick out and sweep his feet out from under him. I don't bother to watch him fall and instead take off back toward the main street.

This time I don't take the time to listen for sounds of pursuit and simply throw myself blindly into the crowded intersection. Several people yell out in annoyance as I hurtle into the next alleyway; I turn once before chancing a glance over my shoulder.

I don't believe it. The crazy courtier is still chasing me.

Ignoring the tightness in my lungs, I turn again and sprint toward a wooden gate at the end of the street. Redoubling my speed, I jump at the wall beside it, kick off the bricks and sail over the gate. I land in a crouch and take off again, whipping around a corner and pausing to catch my breath. Surely, he can't make that jump.

I glance around the corner just in time to see him land seamlessly.

"What in the Burn?" I curse and start running again. Who is this guy? Is he really that desperate to get his ugly candlestick back?

I glance up the sides of the buildings as I run. Up. I need to go up.

But he knows to look up.

I shove the thought aside and careen around another corner, my lungs burning and my legs shaking. Desperately, I leap at the side of the next building, catching hold of a protruding brick. If I don't manage to get to the roof right now, then I won't have the energy to keep going.

No such luck. I barely make it a few feet up the wall before a hand clamps down on my weak leg and pulls me loose. I feel myself falling backward. I collide violently with his thick chest, crying out as my bad leg sends a spurt of pain up to my hip. Before I can grab my dagger again, he whips me around so that I am facing him, capturing both of my wrists in his hands and slamming my arms above my head back against the wall.

I struggle and kick out, but he easily sidesteps my attacks. We are both breathing heavily, his face so close to mine that I can see the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.

"Are... you... done?" he pants. His jaw is clenched in anger and his thick eyebrows are lowered menacingly.

I finally stop kicking, my chest rising and falling in frustration. I keep my mouth shut tight and glare at him, feeling my arms going numb from his grip.

This is it. He'll take me to the Palace and turn me over to the guards. I'll be tried and will have to consider myself lucky if they let me keep my life, as I'll most certainly lose my hands. Stupid, Kay. I should have cut his throat when I had the chance.

"I'm going to let you go now. I don't want to hurt you."

I blink up at him, confused.

"Just promise that you won't try and stab me again. I don't care about that purse or any of the things you took from my father's house. I just want to talk." He speaks slowly and carefully, clearly still furious.

I continue to stare uncomprehendingly.

"Well? Does that seem fair or not? Have you gone mute?"

"Yes... I mean no. Let me go. I won't stab you."

The corner of his mouth twitches grimly. "Not that I don't trust you..."

With one hand still pinning my wrists, he reaches around my back. I stiffen, glaring at him. His mouth turns up a little higher as he loosens my dagger from my belt and tosses it down the street.

"All right, Runner. Let's talk like civilized people now, shall we?"

He releases me and steps back, his eyes wary.

I drop my arms and wince when I place my weight back on my bad leg. For several moments, we stand on opposites sides of the shadowed alleyway, considering one another.

After what seems like an eternity, he extends a hand.

"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Will."