Page 51 of Fierce Highland Magic

Safe enough.

Every warning instinct I possessed lifted its head.

Rowan's attention flicked to the vendor. "You said clean passage."

"I said passage."

"You said it would carry two through."

"It will."

"That is not the same thing."

"No," said the fox-vendor pleasantly. "But it is what was purchased."

His gold scale folded itself shut. The vendor tucked it beneath one arm, bowed again, and stepped backward into the crowd.

A woman in a black velvet gown crossed in front of him. When she passed, the fox-vendor was gone.

Rowan stared at the place he had been.

Then he looked at me. Something close to relief moved across his face.

The expression made my stomach twist.

"There," he said. "A way through."

I looked at the faded line at his throat.

"You spent something."

"Nothing irreplaceable."

"That isn't an answer."

"You are becoming very attached to answers."

"I'm attached to facts."

"Dangerous habit in the market."

"You ignored me."

The relief left his face.

Around us, lanterns bobbed above the thoroughfare. The stalls had resumed their small, bright crimes. A vendor in a crown of pale feathers offered a girl three years of beauty in exchange for a single true apology. A man with copper hands stumbled past the edge of the crowd without looking at anyone.

Somewhere nearby, something laughed.

Rowan's expression had closed again. The easy charm returned. It never seemed to require him effort. It simply arrived when he needed it, polished and warm and irritatingly intact.

"You said not to do it," he replied.

"Yes."

"And I did it anyway."

"Yes."