A/N: This is set before Bloodhound, but it does have two minor tidbits of information in it about Beka's sexual history from Bloodhound. Won't ruin the book for you though.

Disclaimer: All rights to Tamora Pierce.

Cornered

Rosto had Beka cornered. With his smooth conversation.

Beka swore she could hear him smiling.

"What, didn't you like it?" he asked.

"Well enough."

"Well enough…"

She could tell he was having fun because he was repeating everything she said, only different than she said it. More slowly than she said it.

"I've got other things…" Beka continued.

"Other things…" Rosto pressed wickedly.

"I liked it well enough but I'll not waste time on it."

Rosto found this so amusing he had to turn his smile toward the wall. She could see the side of his face mouthing 'waste time'. He rubbed his upper lip with one hand.

When Aniki left, they'd been talking about the weather, because it'd been raining for days and Aniki had gone out in the rain. Rosto didn't like getting wet. Somehow, over the course of their conversation, Beka had been softened, kneaded by Rosto's talk, subtle-like, to go into subjects she'd rather not. They were talking about Kora and Ersken, and then next thing…

"A waste of time?" Rosto had turned from the wall back to her.

Beka chose to say nothing at all. Instead, she made her face go flat, eyes icy, and cut another slice of bread. Realizing she wouldn't answer him, Rosto leaned back on his elbows. He looked long and lean and smug. Beka broke off a bit of cheese to go with the bread. Then she broke some more off for Pounce.

Rosto was not finished. "So, what kind of cove was he?"

He was ignored.

"I want to know what kind of cove you'd go with."

Silence. Glare.

"Not a rusher, of course."

Beka stayed still, trying to figure out how to leave the room without humiliating herself.

"Not a rusher, 'course," he repeated.

"Not a rusher," she conceded gruffly.

"'Course."

From there, Beka lost ground quickly, though she wouldn't say what the cove did for a living, or where he worked, or how old he was. Neither would she say what letter his first name started with, nor what his last name started with, though in truth she didn't actually know his last name. After the last barrage of questions, she stood up and started to gather the dishes together on the sideboard.

Beka started at Rosto's palm on her back. He moved far too quiet. She'd have to watch out. "Tall?" he asked. Beka continued to stack the bowls according to size. She scrutinized two that looked nearly the same. Rosto started to stroke her back. "Short?" Maybe the blue one was slightly bigger. "Middle sized?" Yes, the blue was definitely bigger. "Tall, then." He had stretched himself to his full height. His hand was still stroking her back.

Beka angrily shook him off. "It wasn't just one, you know." Rosto tilted his chin at her, expression inscrutable. "There was more than one cove," she said. She started to walk down the hall to the stairs. He took a moment to follow her, and didn't mention it again for a few days after.

Again, at breakfast four days later, when Aniki had gone (had he told her to go?) and they were alone, Rosto turned the conversation to Beka's history. He had a way of doing it so that she didn't notice until it was on top of her. Beka made a note to herself to either learn how to outtalk him or just shut up like a clam. Rosto wheedled out of her that there had been two coves. He got her to tell him that one had been a childhood friend; the other one she met at a festival.

Rosto lay back on his elbows again and looked down the length of his body at her. Beka tore the crust off a fruit roll, still not quite able to believe how much information he'd gotten from her. What kind of Dog was she, anyway?

"What colour hair?" He was at it again.

Beka threw the roll at him. It glanced off his shoulder.

"Blond?" Rosto wiggled his white eyebrows at her. Beka was determined not give anything else away. But he was persistent. "You like blonds? Hair like… cornsilk?"

Beka looked up, nettled. "I like black hair! Black as your boot!"

Rosto's lips curved between amusement and distaste. "Black," he said, running his hand over his white-blond head. "Well, I've a black heart, at least."

Beka scoffed and looked for her roll. Oh yes, she'd thrown it at him. Now what was she going to eat?

"You know, Beka, what I notice about those two coves? The friend, and the festival boy?" He was treading on dangerous ground, now, he must know. He kept his body carefully relaxed. "You know what they have in common?"

Beka looked him right in the eye, daring him to continue.

He did. "Convenience."

Beka's hands fisted.

"I guess that's what's wrong with a well-meaning, friendly cove like myself, isn't it, Beka?"

She didn't want him to finish. She could hear Aniki on the stairs hollering to Mistress Trout, so close. If only she'd come up the rest of the way, open the door and interrupt.

"I'm inconvenient," said Rosto.

Then Aniki did finally come in, and nothing more was said on the subject. Rosto did not bring it up again. Though maybe his smiles were a bit more knowing, or so Beka thought they were.

The End.

R&R!