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and physical behind her could hope to make that jump, and as she obviously intended to make it and he had no choice but to go along…
    In the corner of her vision, he caught sight of the two Imperial merchants and felt the memory of hair rising off the back of his neck. Although both merchants held heavy metal goblets, their expressions were anything but celebratory and when one of them, believing herself unobserved, glanced at Vree, she was scowling.
    In the Havakeen Empire, assassins were named the blades of Jür, the goddess of battles, and their terrifying, deadly skills were controlled by the army. The citizens of the Empire were constantly assured that assassins were not only rare but safely sheathed, killing only on order of their commanders. Trained from early childhood that the army was their only family, assassins never left… home.
    As an added reassurance to a nervous population, it was well known that if, in spite of incredible odds, they should desert, they would be targeted and quickly killed.
    But Vree had been trained with her brother and that attachment had been strong enough to break all the rest. She'd killed the man sent to kill her and had bought her freedom from His Imperial Majesty with the life of his youngest son.
    Gyhard, though born in Shkoder, had lived most of his hundred and thirty-six years—most of his lives— in the Empire and could understand the fear on the merchant's face. This assassin was not sheathed by the army and she'd just made her own decision to kill— without orders. If that were possible, how could anyone be safe?
    How indeed, Gyhard wondered. When the celebration was over, it would only take a couple of voices to turn the admiration to fear. " Listen to me, I come from the Empire, I know …" She was too fast. Too deadly. Too impossible to stop. And they had all seen what she was capable of. Assassinating both merchants before the warnings could start seemed a bit extreme even if he could convince Vree to do it.
    Besides, after the afternoon's exhibition of her abilities, the authorities wouldn't need a bard to discover who'd wielded the knife—Vree was deadly but hardly subtle.
    As Vree turned slightly to watch a sailor juggling three torches, an ax, and a dead chicken, Gyhard took a better look at the merchants. There was nothing obviously wrong with the male of the pair; young enough, reasonably good-looking.
    Suppose he could convince Vree to push him into the male merchant? Once there he could easily silence the rumors by arranging an accident… except that even should Vree prove willing—which she wouldn't—Gabris and Karlene had made it clear what the bards would do if he acquired a body by taking a life.
    " As we can neither remove you nor bring you to justice for the lives you've so callously ended as long as you remain in Vree's body, you have, for the moment, found sanctuary. You'd best not forget what you owe her for that ." Karlene's voice had made it a warning, not a reminder. " But this is where we draw the line. If anyone else dies because of you, anyone, the bards will see to it that your kigh goes back into the Circle so fast you won't know what hit you ."
    That Karlene and Gabris were a very long distance away in the Empire meant little when they both Sang air and distance meant nothing at all to the kigh.
    He felt Vree's foot tapping in time to the music as a battered squeeze-box, a fiddle, and a pair of pipes began to play. The army had gone to a great deal of trouble to present the assassins as weapons; perhaps it would help if Vree were seen as flesh and blood. *Why don't you dance?*
    To his surprise she shifted uncomfortably. *Don't you start.*
    *Start what?*
    *The whole time Bannon shared my body, he kept trying to push me into having sex with someone, anyone. You. Karlene. He didn't care just as long as he got to experience it from the other side.*
    *It's just a dance, Vree.*
    He could feel her tension as she chopped a hand at the leaping,