Truth was often encouraged at the point of a blade in Maloren. Since Blyth carried six, he was not often lied to. But there was the girl. He would have accepted her lies in a heartbeat. He had seen other men defeated by her. It was best to let her make the first move. He had first seen her in the tavern. She seemed like a goddess amongst mortals. Her graceful flowing locks were almost as enchanting as her wit. So vibrant and full of life. He felt hollow when watching her. He hungered for an encounter of the intimate nature with her.

He tried to banish all thoughts of women from his mind. Women were deadly. Too many assassins die of poison from a barmaid's hand. Even more died from the whores and riff-raff of the street that they encountered during their extensive travels. The mark of a good male assassin was simple. He no longer treated women as inferiors. And of all the assassins in Olencia, Blyth was one of the few supreme that looked at death as a business partner that would one day make a final trade. There was nothing to fear from death.

With time on his side, Blyth waited in the tavern. The bar emptied and the patrons left their money to their waitresses. No one made him leave. The later it got, the more he was nervous that he would be kicked out before he had a chance to speak with her. But, one by one, the waitstaff left. It was just him and her. She continued cleaning, but he knew that she realized he was there. He waited.