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Grace waved a hand toward her room. “Come in.”

Harmony shuffled inside and looked around the room curiously.

“You can sit by the desk,” Grace offered the only chair in the room as she walked toward the window. She propped her hips against the windowsill. “What is bothering you?”

Harmony lowered her eyes. “There’s talk. Rumors that there’s a price on each of our heads.”

“Yes, but we’ve already known that.” Grace had told them what she’d overheard while hiding inside the walls of her brothel.

Harmony grimaced. “It’s one thing to know someone wants us dead, it’s another thing when the entire town is talking about it. Anyone could give us up. All those aristocrats we’ve serviced, they know what we look like!”

“That is the reason we always paint our faces with rouge and powder; that is the reason why we wear wigs and have several names when we’re working, Harmony. Nobody would recognize you even if they saw you. And how would an aristocrat even wind up in this part of town?”

Harmony fidgeted with her fingers, unconvinced. “What about other brothel workers?”

“I trust all of them with my life, however, even they don’t know where we live. They’ve all scattered to their own safe places. It’s only the four of us who know where we live. But I agree, we are not completely safe. No one can be. So, we need to be even more careful, leave the house only when completely necessary, and never leave the house on our own.”

“Are we prisoners then?” Her lips pursed in a pout, Harmony’s voice was quiet.

“Not for long, I promise you,” Grace said evenly. “But as I said, the possibility of someone recognizing us is slim. As long as we act carefully and don’t say anything to strangers, we’ll be fine.”

Harmony’s brows drew together into a frown. “Are you certain?”

“Quite.” Grace nodded, a lie easily slipping off her tongue.

She wasn’t completely certain. She couldn’t be. There was always a chance they could be recognized. Despite her thorough methods of picking out the workers of the brothel, she had employed criminals. And they were not exactly known for their loyalty.

Her only saving grace was that nobody knew where her house was situated. She had spent most of her nights in her brothel apartments. There was a chance no one even knew she had a house. Meeting someone randomly in this area was highly unlikely, although not improbable.

“What about your friend, the thief-taker?”

Grace raised her head sharply, meeting Harmony’s worried gaze. “He is not my friend.”

“And yet he’s been to this house. Is he also after the money or is he the one offering it for our heads?”

Grace licked her lips. Neither. Both? She wasn’t quite certain. On the one hand, he aimed to profit from apprehending the true murderer, earning acclaim and potential rewards. But if he uncovered Grace’s secret identity as a brothel owner, who was to say he wouldn’t be tempted to betray her and give her up to the authorities? “He isn’t looking for you,” she finally said. “The King is only offering a bounty on my head.”

“And yet you’re the one who spends so much time with him.”

“I want to solve the murder and point the arrow somewhere else, Harmony. And I have to take risks to do so. Perhaps, when the murder is solved, the Brotherhood will give up the pursuit of us, as well. We can trust the thief-taker to protect us from the Brotherhood in the meantime. However, I would not trust him with much else. It is better to assume we have no friends in this world, dear. Easier way to live.”

Harmony pursed her lips thoughtfully, then she nodded, her features resolute. “I shall be certain to remember that. Good night.”

Chapter 15

Days had passed with no word from Triss. Ford was keeping himself as busy as he could, catching a petty thief here and there, roaming the streets of St. Giles in search of more leads concerning the murder of the aristocrats. Nothing seemed to bring him peace of mind.

He was constantly restless. Triss hadn’t contacted him since the night of the Porter’s dinner party, which was over a fortnight ago. He hadn’t returned the part of her logbook she was so precious about, and he had expected her to reach out soon. The fact that she hadn’t bothered him on more than one level.

As more days passed, his worry only intensified. At first, he came up with excuses for why she hadn’t reached out yet. Perhaps she didn’t want to see him after what she’d had to do in order to get them out of Porter’s house. She was a harlot, and he had assumed she wouldn’t have issues with it, but what if she had?

What if she’d noticed his deeply disturbing infatuation with her and decided to give them some distance? Perhaps she was watching him and knew that there was no news of the murderer and didn’t want to risk herself by appearing on his doorstep. The Brotherhood of the Crimson Fist had declared a bounty on all the harlots’ heads, after all.

And another possibility kept him up at night.

What if the Brotherhood had found her? What if they had ambushed and abducted her? He wouldn’t even know!

He’d given her plenty of time to show herself.