A cupbearer.

The position made her feel half a child again. It was a simple job, really, and one the apprentice had performed before (and performed well, if she could be so bold as to say it. She had never given Roose Bolton cause for complaint, anyway, and this time the work did not seem to involve any leeches as far as she could tell.) It was easier work than cooking and it gave her at least as much access to Atius Biro and his meals, which was the best thing she could have hoped for. It was as if the Many-Faced god had finally chosen to smile down upon the Cat and bless her with all the good fortune it was within his power to bestow.

Of course, being in such close contact with the wealthy man meant she had to spend much more time and effort designing creative ways to dodge his advances. She supposed she could just give in to them. It would certainly be easier, but there was something in the girl that recoiled strongly against this notion. She worried that if she attempted to employ the tactic, she would surely end up stabbing the wealthy man through his eye before she could stop herself. The Kindly Man was not like to thank her for that.

The idea of having a (supposedly) well-trained cook acting as a cupbearer was, of course, ridiculous, and the girl did not doubt that Lord Atius' wife and the other servants immediately saw through the ploy, especially once they got a good look at her face and realized how closely it resembled another face; one familiar to them; the face of a different well-loved (and well-hated, at least by some) servant. However, Mattine was at her most charming when giving the appearance of being innocent and naïve and so she drifted through the manse seemingly unaware of the wealthy man's desires. She managed to use her grief as a shield in those first few days serving her new master, calling up tears and whispering Hellind whenever it seemed that Lord Atius was close to suggesting something improper. The cupbearer needed to obtain the supplies that her brother was gathering for her from the waif's stores in order to let nature and the frailties of man substitute for the shield her grief now provided. She would need to initiate her plan soon, or she feared her new master would become too impatient and force his hand.

Then she really would have to stab him through his eye.

The other servants seemed to mostly avoid her and she really couldn't blame them. She supposed they had learned over time not to grow too fond of their lord's paramours for they were not like to be around long. And the Cat had learned over her life that people tended to revile the dying; it was an outward expression of the fear of their own mortality, she supposed. The indifference of the other servants actually made things easier for her, however. The Cat was an accomplished liar, but being relieved of the requirement to employ social graces and lie routinely to so many people was certainly less taxing. Those energies could be better spent elsewhere. For instance, in learning the patterns and habits of Lord Atius, his wife, and his children, as well as his household guards.

By mid-afternoon on the Cat's second day serving as cupbearer to Lord Atius, the girl could feel the wealthy man's gaze upon Mattine's form as she moved to fetch a pitcher of wine to refill her new master's glass. She had already feigned tears earlier that morning and it had put the man off of her for a bit, but all too soon, the dead man was lusting after the grieving sister once again. There was simply too much of Hellind in her figure and her face. Lord Atius did not seem capable of ignoring his desire for very long.

Honestly, he would have been better served praying for the death of his wife and keeping his servant with the way he's mooning over Mattine, the girl thought. The wealthy man was easier to read than even little Syrio. His regret at losing Hellind, his lust for Mattine, and his impatience to claim what he felt was his was written plainly across his face.

Disgusting pig, the apprentice thought as Biro's eyes predictably raked over her. She employed a gentle sway of her hips when she walked. This drew attention to Mattine's curves in the obscenely revealing gown she had been given to wear while serving the wealthy man. The thing was loose and flowing, and though it had a ribbon at the neck that could be tied in such a way as to draw the front up very high, it left her back completely bare and her arms exposed all the way from her shoulders to her fingers. It was scarcely more decent than a certain sleeping gown a Pentoshi widow had once worn, and even then, she'd at least had a robe to cover it!

"My dear, you are so like your sister," the dead man gasped, then quickly added, "may she be at peace in the Nightlands."

Mattine dipped her head demurely then lifted her large eyes to her new master, gazing at him from under her thick fringe of lashes as she replied with just a hint of sadness, "Thank you, my lord. I consider that a very great compliment. My sister was always admired for her beauty."

"Indeed!" Lord Atius agreed enthusiastically. "Indeed, she was!"

The girl drifted across the floor of her master's solar toward him, reaching him just as he pushed himself back in his chair to admire her movements. As she bent to pour his wine, the lusty lord leaned forward, causing her bare shoulder to just brush against the wealthy man's chest.

"Oh, excuse me, my lord!" the girl chirped, leaping back gracefully. "I beg your pardon."

"No, no," the man said and though his words were meant to dismiss her concerns, he sounded very hungry. "It was entirely my fault, my dear. Entirely." As he spoke, he inhaled deeply, visibly savoring her scent. The Cat had discovered which perfumed oils Hellind had used most often to scent her hair and had dabbed just a bit in Mattine's own curls. Enough to be reminiscent, but not enough to be overpowering. Lord Atius closed his eyes and slumped heavily against the high back of his chair.

"My lord," the cupbearer began hesitantly, awaiting the wealthy man's permission to continue speaking.

"What is it, my dear?"

"Well, my lord, I was just speaking with the cook…"

"Mattine, I really have no need of a another cook. As I have told you, it is a cupbearer I need. I must insist that you not try me any further in the matter."

"No, my lord. I won't. It's just that I was telling the cook how much you liked my lamprey pie. At the inn…" she said by way of reminding him. "And she asked if she might have my recipe, so that she could make it for you, just the way you like it."

"Ah."

"Of course, I said she could, but there was one ingredient that she was unfamiliar with," the cupbearer explained. "It was something she said she had never used in lamprey pie before. Well, of course that's why Lord Atius prefers mine to yours, I told her."

"Yes, I see."

"Well, it's an ingredient whose quality must be assessed closely in the market. I'm very choosy with my ingredients, my lord," the girl told him, placing a hand at her hip, gathering the soft layers of the draping cloth of her gown and pressing them against her skin, defining the alluring curve of her waist.

"I'm sure you are, Mattine," the wealthy man replied, and he seemed a tiny bit breathless.

"A poor quality ingredient will simply ruin a dish!" the former cook declared. "Well, I thought perhaps I should accompany the cook to the market today, just to show her how to assess this ingredient for its suitability for this dish."

"You wish to go to the market today?"

"Yes, my lord," the girl said, dropping her gaze to the floor but then once again lifting her eyes and settling them on his face from beneath her lashes. He seemed to like that. It must have been something Hellind did a lot.

"Very well, my dear," Lord Atius allowed, succumbing to all of Mattine's subtle enticements, none of which had to do with his preference for her lamprey pie recipe. "You shall take my gondola. And my guard."

"Oh, my lord!" the girl gasped in delight, her laughter tinkling delicately throughout the room. "You are too kind."

"Owen!" the wealthy man bellowed as he grinned under the weight of the compliment of the young woman. Almost instantly, the Faceless guard threw open the door to the solar and stepped in.

"My lord?" he asked, not looking at the Cat.

"My cupbearer must go to the market today. Take the gondola and ferry her there."

"My lord… the cook?" the girl asked meekly.

The lord fished for his purse of silver, patting his pockets until he located it. He placed it in the girl's hands, holding them rather longer than was necessary for the simple passing of a purse but Mattine managed to blush prettily at his touch rather than vomit on him. That the blush was more of a flush called up out of her anger at Lord Atius' presumption was not immediately apparent, the Cat was gratified to note.

"Do not worry the cook, she is likely deep into her duties. Buy some high quality and low quality ingredient. You may teach her the difference in her kitchen, when she is free."

"Oh, my lord, you are wise as well as kind," the girl gushed and then turned to leave with Owen.

"Perhaps you would like to buy a small treat for yourself," the lord offered grandly, earning an adoring gaze and delighted smile from his new cupbearer before she left with his personal guard. The wealthy man felt very satisfied with himself as the girl nearly skipped away, certain that bringing her into his household had been one of his best ideas yet. She was so like Hellind, yet younger, and more innocent. Just delightful.

As the door to the solar closed behind them and the two assassins made their way through the corridors of the manse, the cupbearer's delightful smile melted away and her mouth settled into a grimace. Puffing up this vain and lascivious lord's ego was distasteful to the Cat though she understood that with the restrictions that were placed on her for this assignment, it was unfortunately necessary. She recalled one of the first conversations she had with Jaqen when he returned from Westeros. He had wanted to know if she had learned to flatter men and charm them out of their secrets.

I still find it much easier to learn a man's secrets by holding a blade to his throat than by charming him, she had told her master then. And though she had perhaps underestimated her own skill at manipulating men, it was still true that she preferred a more aggressive method of getting what she needed. At least in this situation, it would make her feel less... filthy. She had the sudden urge to scrub the shoulder the wealthy man had touched when she had poured his wine.

"You might be overdoing it a bit," the Faceless sellsword warned the apprentice cupbearer as they trekked through the garden, bound for Lord Atius' gondola.

"Overdone is this red and gold floating whorehouse we're taking to the market," the Cat spat, waving her hand in the direction of the moored vessel. "What I'm doing, he's eating up. He's like a bear with honey. It will never be too sweet for him."

"Yes, a bear. Just so," the master agreed. "And like a bear, he has giant paws between which he can crush your skull. Never forget that, little wolf."

"Honestly, Owen, do you and Jaqen just sit around in your spare time and dream up dire warnings to give me? How much of a fool do you think I am that you think I need to be warned about Atius Biro? I could slaughter that man in my sleep."

"Indeed, but sadly, your task is not to slaughter a wealthy man in your sleep. It is, rather, to give him a natural appearing death while at the same time ruining his reputation. Also, I am fairly certain your master commanded you to return to him unharmed."

The Cat rolled her eyes in a most disrespectful manner but the handsome man was not provoked. He seemed even less prone to temper than Jaqen, which was in itself an amazing feat. Of course, he hadn't spent nearly as much time with her as the Lorathi assassin had. Given time, he too might find the veneer of his calm wearing thin.

Soon, the cupbearer and the sellsword were underway in Lord Atius' barge, the crew moving in silence. Both of the Faceless assassins sat in the passengers' cabin, not looking at one another, but occasionally making comments under their breath.

"I would not recommend tempting Lord Atius too much, Mattine. A clever girl would know that he is a man of large appetites and does not require much enticement."

"I will take your warning under advisement," the girl replied softly and with obvious insincerity. "I am certain that as a guard in his employ for all of a few days, you must know exactly how much enticement this man requires."

The handsome man was not deterred from offering his lecture to the girl despite her less than gracious attitude.

"I fear that if you press the matter, you will find yourself unable to resist his advances," the guard continued. "At least not without giving yourself away. Or violating the terms of the contract."

"I find it interesting that you would deign to care if I was able to resist his advances or not, as long as I accomplished my mission," the Cat remarked lightly as she stared through the sheer curtain over the porthole nearest to her. The sunlight created bright bits of dancing flame on the rolling waves that hurt her eyes if she looked at them too long.

"Me? Oh, child, I don't care. But my brother…"

"You have several brothers," the apprentice reminded the master as she turned her gaze onto a large mound of expensive pillows piled on the floor between the handsome man's feet and her own. "Which one do you mean?"

The sellsword smirked and turned his head away from her, making no answer.

"I thought you weren't supposed to help me with my task," the girl hissed, her comment pointed. I know what I'm doing.

"Just so," the man replied simply and grew silent once more.

As they approached the canal which ran alongside the market, the vessel slowed and the Faceless master asked the Cat why she really wanted to visit the market, since he knew it wasn't for some unusual ingredient for lamprey pie. It was then her turn to smirk and make no answer.

It was high tide and the risen waters of the canal pushed the barge up enough that it was nearly at the same elevation as the lane that ran along the canal, separating the waterway from the market. One of the crew tied the bow of the gondola to a post driven into the grassy bank and as the rest of the oarsmen worked to secure the boat, the cupbearer leapt from the vessel and onto the flat part of the bank. In two steps, her feet were on the cobblestones of the lane.

Not waiting for her Faceless nursemaid, the Cat flew along the lane with the nearly sheer layers of her cream colored skirts fluttering around her legs. She did not fool herself into thinking that she could actually lose her chaperone in the crowd, but neither did she have to make it easy for him to follow her. He was not to help her with her task for the order and so she did not feel obligated to help him with his task for Lord Atius. The task of keeping an eye on me so that Mattine remains untouched for a dead man, the apprentice thought with disgust.

Mattine tried to ignore the stares she was getting from the men and women passing her on the lane, looks that trumpeted a mix of disapproval and appreciation of her bared flesh. Instead, she concentrated on the feel of the warm sun on her exposed shoulders and back. It was a pleasant sensation and one she did not often experience.

They don't know me, she thought as she passed the gaping and interested faces of those walking to and from the market. They don't matter. Only the mission matters. Then, perhaps a bit arrogantly, Man cannot judge Death.

The Cat was bound for the place she had agreed to meet her brother; the stall of a certain fruit seller that specialized in candied figs. She hoped that the Bear had found everything she needed, elsewise she would need to feign an illness to escape the dead man's clutches soon. As she approached the candied fruit seller's stall, she saw a large figure leaning casually against one of the low stone walls that defined the boundaries of the stall and enclosed the seller's goods. When her brother saw her approaching, he grinned.

"I thought you were going to live in Atius Biro's manse, not a brothel," the boy laughed, raising the pack he had brought from the temple, filled with the items she required from the waif's workshop.

"Shut up, stupid. He makes me wear this," the Cat growled, taking the pack and lifting the flap to inspect the contents briefly. Finding it all in order, she closed it back up.

"Why don't you ever wear anything like that around the temple?" the Lyseni teased her, taking the pack from her so that she would not have the burden of carrying it as they strolled through the market together.

"Because the last time I tried to change my clothes in front of you, you nearly died of fright," she shot back. "What has you in such a jesting mood?"

"Oh, nothing," the boy sighed. "I'm just in love."

Jaqen found himself surprised by the arrogance of the Westerosi boy. It was an odd trait for an acolyte with so many years of training. Such a flaw should have been beaten out of the boy by now. The Lorathi was doing his best to follow the instructions of the principal elder and help the boy prepare for his upcoming trial but the Westerosi seemed resistant to everything the master tried to teach him. This was particularly frustrating for a man who would rather be searching for answers as to who within the temple walls was plotting against his own apprentice. As equally important as the principal elder insisted this acolyte was, Jaqen's time was also valuable and it vexed him to feel it was being wasted with someone who seemed to resent his instruction.

"Perhaps a boy would rather be training with a man's sister, honing his skills with poisons?" the Lorathi suggested in an irritated tone as he disarmed the boy once again. The training sword that Jaqen had easily knocked out of the boy's hand clattered noisily on the stones of the floor, setting the master assassin's teeth on edge. It was at least the tenth time it had happened and they had not been sparring that long. The Westerosi was being lazy with his defense and his rat-face wore a distinctly bored expression.

"I've been studying those same poisons since I was almost too young to understand what poison was. I really don't think more lessons would be very beneficial now," the acolyte nearly yawned, speaking in the common tongue.

"Languages, then?" the Lorathi returned in convincing Dothraki. It was not hard to imagine him horseback with an arakh at his narrow hip, riding alongside of some Khal, a dark, oiled braid swaying behind him, accompanied by the soft tinkling of bells.

"Who would pay a Faceless Man to assassinate some savage horselord?" the boy sneered, first attempting the rebuff in broken Dothraki but then switching to the common tongue to make his point. He did not have the same gift for languages as the Cat.

"Perhaps a boy should tell a man what skills he wishes to practice since his time grows so short," Jaqen said quietly, and the undertone of a threat was present in his voice. The boy did not heed it and continued to answer in his flippant and disrespectful way. The Westerosi perhaps did not realize how close to danger he was dancing, having not spent much time with the Lorathi before. In fact, it was just this truth that he chose to harp on next, in his grating way.

"I don't know why you are suddenly so interested in me anyway. It seems you have been too busy with my sister of late to care much about anything else," the boy said with an insolence that was hard to ignore. The way he said sister, though, made it seem as if the word tasted foul in his mouth.

Jaqen dropped his thumb and hooked it into his swordbelt. He then raised his eyebrows, giving the impression of mere casual interest in the boy's words.

"Just so," the Lorathi admitted. "A man has spent much time training his apprentice, and as trying as she can sometimes be, she always appreciates the time and effort spent on teaching these lessons."

"Oh, I'm sure she appreciates it very much," the boy muttered, "when she takes the time to get off of her back and out of your bed."

Jaqen struck with all the quickness of an angry viper. The Westerosi boy found himself flat on his back, his skull bouncing painfully off the stone floor of the training room. The Lorathi assassin loomed over the insolent acolyte, standing as he straddled the thin boy's torso, looking down at him with an impassive expression. In those bronze eyes, though, the simmering hostility was unmistakable for anyone who dared to make a study of them.

"A boy should keep a civil tongue in his head, and his wits about him. Failure to do either can have..." here, the Lorathi paused to consider the proper terminology then finished with, "unpleasant consequences."

Jaqen had spoken evenly, almost quietly, but his meaning was clear. He offered a hand to the rat-faced boy and pulled him to stand. The boy was lean and tall, but not as tall as the master standing before him, so he had to look up slightly to meet the Lorathi's eyes. When he did so, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. He might have been better served by holding his tongue, but that had never been the acolyte's way.

"I have trouble understanding what it is about Arya Stark that everyone in this place seems to find so bloody special."

A small smile fought to show itself and ruin the effect of the Lorathi's mild expression. He cocked his head and looked at the acolyte for a moment before saying, "There is no Arya Stark. Arya Stark is dead."

"Humph," the boy responded, walking to the racks on the wall to replace his tourney sword. He had obviously decided that his sparring session with the Faceless master was over. The Westerosi's voice was faint as he skulked across the room, yet Jaqen still heard his damning utterance.

"Arya Stark is not dead, but she should be."

The Lorathi assassin's relaxed posture instantly tensed and he felt for all the world as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Several thoughts came at him in a rush, slamming together in his head and causing the truth to crystallize and harden into its sudden and definable form. All at once, Jaqen understood and he pushed a slow breath out through his lips and closed his eyes for a small moment as he let the realization seep through him.

He had just discovered the first of the four conspirators in the plot against his lovely girl.

In three long strides, the assassin had closed the gap between himself and the surprised Westerosi boy, pushing him against the cool stone of the wall next to the weapons rack in which the boy had only just replaced his blunted sword. The acolyte's head once again made a satisfying cracking sound as it met yet another hard surface and he expelled a pained grunting noise as it did.

There was an elegance to the Lorathi's quiet intimidation; a reserve in his malice that seemed to hint at the much larger store of danger that lurked just below his placid surface. Had his apprentice been there to witness it (rather than trading barbs with her love-struck brother in the Braavosi marketplace just then), she would have reveled in every nuance and detail of her master's actions and expression and tone. She would have studied his manner and his movements with an attention that bordered on hunger while at the same time admiring his understated ruthlessness. She would have tucked the lesson away to use later, for she surely would have need of it in the future. She would have placed it with the other things she kept safe and secure in her mind, locked away in the special little box she used to hold all of the things that fit into the category of how to be more like Jaqen.

The long fingers of Jaqen's right hand curved almost gently around the boy's scrawny neck as the fingers of his left hand tapped slowly against the silver hilt of the dagger he wore in his belt. He stared into the boy's dark, beady eyes for a few moments, letting the acolyte's fear slowly awaken as his mind cleared itself of the fog that had risen when his head struck the floor and then the wall. When the master saw a change in the boy's eyes, the slight widening accompanied by a dilation of his pupils, he put the question to the boy that he most wanted answered just then.

"Whose orders?" the Lorathi asked softly. His face remained impassive, his tone almost unconcerned, but those bronze eyes... The anger contained in them had gone from simmering hostility to bubbling rage with the rat-faced boy's words about Arya Stark. When the acolyte made no answer, Jaqen tightened his grip on the boy's throat ever so slightly and spoke again in his cold, quiet voice. "Do not test a man on this, boy."

The Westerosi apprentice's breath hitched just a bit before he set his face with grim determination. After a moment, the boy's hard mouth curled itself into a new expression and he gave the master an ugly grin, saying, "If you don't already know the answer, then you're not so clever after all."

"I'm no expert," the Cat was saying as she strolled at a leisurely pace with her brother through the market, "but I don't think you can be in love after spending a few hours with someone."

Truth be told, the girl was dubious about the actual existence of love anyway, at least as it related to the feelings that existed between men and women. She believed her parents had loved her and she knew that she loved them as well. She loved her brothers (and even Sansa, though her sister had not made it easy for Arya to love her), but that was a different sort of love than what the Bear was talking about. At least, when she thought of how she loved her family, she never sighed or grinned like a fool or turned four shades of red as he had just done. Every account of romantic love that she had witnessed or knew of seemed to end in tragedy. This, to her, provided ample proof of how unnatural a state it was—even fate conspired against lovers. Indulging in love seemed only to lead to destruction. To hear tell of her eldest brother's murder, it was his love of his Westerling wife that was at the heart of the quarrel that led Walder Frey to engage in his nefarious plot. Her mother and father had appeared to love one another greatly but their love had not saved them and they both met their ends horribly, violently, and before their due time. Sansa had thought she loved that odious worm, Joffrey but from the few tales Arya had managed to pull out of the Hound before he expired, that love had morphed into an ugly and tortuous thing. Lyanna and Rhaegar's love not only led to their own ruin, but also to great losses for the Stark family, the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty, and, one could even argue, the destruction of the realm.

The acolyte disguised as Mattine sighed, thinking that even here in Braavos, love seemed to be a thing of danger and ruin. She considered that Atius Biro might have believed himself in love with his paramours, the mothers of his bastards, yet each time it had ended in grief or tragedy for them. Love was a weakness that an assassin (or a clever girl) could ill afford because weakness led to death. But even if love did exist as more than just a pernicious and degenerative force, she was certain that her Lyseni brother could not be in love with Olive. It defied logic. What did he even know about the wench that would justify such a declaration of feeling?

And what did he know about the feeling itself?

"Don't be jealous, Cat," the boy laughed as he noted her sour look. "If you save that gown and wear it after you're done with your assignment, I'm certain that you'll quickly find ten men to fall in love with you."

The girl rolled her large, brown eyes at him and punched his uninjured arm with her balled up fist. This caused him to snicker.

"You're an idiot," the girl growled. "I'd rather wear a burlap sack than put this gown on again once I'm done with my task. I plan to throw this thing in the fire as soon as it's prudent."

"For what? A sacrifice to the Red god?" the Lyseni chuckled. "Tsk, sister, the principal elder will not be pleased if you reject the faith which has sheltered you the long years."

The Cat rolled her eyes at his jape but he was not deterred in the least from further comment.

"Well, then, perhaps a damp linen wrap?" her brother teased. "You could certainly draw a man's eye in that as well. In fact, that might be even better."

"Unlike you, I don't have my head filled with stupid notions that will distract me from my duties," the Cat responded haughtily. "Unlike you, I'm more worried about fulfilling the will of the Many-Faced god and the orders of Kindly Man than rolling in the sheets with some pretty thing."

"Yes, I know how obedient you are when it comes to the orders of the Kindly Man," the Bear shot back sarcastically. "Your adherence to the creed of the order is legendary."

The girl scowled at her companion, causing him to smirk as he continued his quest to rankle her.

"As for the charge of rolling in the sheets with a pretty thing, I'll have you know that Olive and I just talked last night. It was all very innocent. Nothing improper happened. However, I have heard a rumor about some sheets you rolled in very recently."

Cold realization gripped the Cat. Her brother had heard of her creeping from her master's chamber wearing his shirt. He must have also heard the story about the rumpled, blood-stained sheets. She was caught between murderous anger and stifling embarrassment. Stupid, gossiping servants! Did everyone in the temple know of this ridiculous rumor?

"I don't know if you could properly call the Lorathi master a pretty thing," the Bear continued to his sister's chagrin, "but to hear the laundresses and the cook tell it, a certain beautiful acolyte has been lately more worried about slipping out of her master's cell unseen than bothering with fulfilling the orders of the principal elder."

"A complete misunderstanding," the girl was muttering as her brother laughed. "Stop laughing! It happens to be the truth."

"I just wish I could have been there to see it!" the boy snorted, unable to completely contain his amusement despite his sister's glares. "The Cat, caught in the act! And by the two people most likely to spread the news across Braavos as if their very lives depended on it!"

"There was no act to be caught in!" she insisted. "I only went to his chamber after..."

The Cat paused, not sure if she should say more. Jaqen had wanted her placed out of the temple to keep her safe from the plotters whose identities and motives were still unknown. She didn't really believe the Bear would be part of the conspiracy, but he was a possible suspect, just by virtue of not being one of the two people who could not have been involved: Jaqen and herself. And someone had hoisted her over his shoulder. The Bear was certainly strong enough for that task. But then, if her brother was involved in the plot, what harm could speaking of it to him do? And if he wasn't, again, what harm? Either way, she might learn something useful.

"After what?" the large acolyte probed, his face appearing genuinely interested. She decided to reveal the incident to him and watch him carefully for his reaction.

"After I climbed out of the canal and hiked back to the temple."

The boy frowned at her, his expression marked by confusion as he asked, "What are you talking about? What were you doing in the canal? You know you can't swim in those waters, Cat. There are too many eels, especially by the temple."

He's not that good of a liar, the girl thought. He must be innocent.

The two stopped at the stall of a root seller and Mattine purchased some ginger and licorice root. The Lyseni boy remained quiet as she completed her purchase, pulling a coin from the purse given to her by the wealthy man. She was handed some smaller coins back and then the two acolytes of the House of Black and White continued their stroll. The Bear resumed the conversation in hushed tones.

"Well?"

"I didn't just decide to jump into the canal for a swim," the girl told him. "I was thrown in."

The boy looked at her skeptically, saying, "Who would throw a girl into a canal infested with giant eels? Was it a gang of thieves? Were you being robbed in the street? Honestly, Cat, what good are all your fighting skills if you can't defend yourself against common thieves?"

"It wasn't thieves," she whispered through her clenched teeth. "Shut up and listen."

She recounted her story to the Bear in detail. His cell was in the same corridor as hers and she knew it was possible that her brother had seen or heard something suspicious. Or, he might have even overheard a conversation between conspirators in the temple that had made no sense to him at the time but with the details of her story, might become clear. She was hoping some part of her tale might cause him to remember an important detail that would provide her with a clue to follow. She finished her account by explaining briefly that she had suspected her master because of the wound she could see on the neck of one of the attackers and so she had gone to his cell to confront him and he had not allowed her to leave until morning because he feared for her safety.

"See? A misunderstanding," the Cat reiterated.

"But... how did you even get into his chamber? I thought all of the masters used spelled bolts on their doors."

"They do... but his door wasn't bolted that night," the girl explained.

"Yes, but why not? I mean, don't you find that strange?"

"Find what strange?"

The boy's brow furrowed and he seemed to be puzzling something out for himself. He looked at his sister and she found that his expression was... concerned.

"Cat, you were attacked and left to your fate. At the same time, your master was supposedly sleeping in an unbolted chamber. There was a man among the attackers that looked like the Lorathi..."

"His wounds looked like Jaqen's but I didn't see his face," she clarified. "Jaqen didn't do this thing. He told me."

"An accomplished liar and elite assassin told you he was innocent?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And you're not sleeping with him?"

"No, I'm not."

"And so the reason you believe him and know he isn't lying to you is..." The Bear's voice trailed off, leaving the question open.

The Cat bit Mattine's lip, realizing how all this sounded. Her brother was only drawing logical conclusions, she knew, and she couldn't fault him for that. If ten reasonable men were presented with the facts, they would all likely think the same thing the Bear was thinking, but she knew the truth, despite how unlikely it appeared. She just did.

The pair approached a spicer's stall and the girl absentmindedly chose jars of ground cinnamon and turmeric which the seller wrapped in narrow strips of linen and then put in a small, rough spun sack for her. The boy, who the Cat had believed was not paying much attention to her purchases, smirked at her as she accepted her package.

"I thought you said you weren't the cook of Lord Atius' household," he murmured as they left the spice stall.

"I'm not, but anyone may brew tea. It's fortunate that I know how to brew a special tea that relieves belly discomforts. It's a bit of knowledge my mother brought from Myr and the only thing she left me when she died," the girl replied in a sincere and almost sad voice.

"Is someone in the manse having belly discomfort?" the Bear asked in surprise.

"Not yet."

And then she gave the boy Mattine's most dazzling smile. He found that it disturbed him, but he supposed that was because he knew that behind that smile was some sort of diabolical plan that would end in a man's death. Who knew death could look so sweet? He marveled that even through Mattine's face, his sister's Cat-ness was evident, if only one knew where to look for it. It was in her eyes, even through the lens of her false ones. There was a shrewdness and a malice, if you looked deep enough.

"What night did all this happen?" the boy asked suddenly.

"What? All of what?"

"The attack," the Bear clarified. "When you were tossed in to swim with the eels. When was this?"

She counted back in her head and answered, "It had to have been... just over a week ago? Maybe ten days? It was the night before I left for the inn."

Her brother seemed to be thinking back, calling up his memory of a the time period the Cat had indicated. He looked down at his sister's false face and said, "The Rat and I share a cell."

"I know."

"He wasn't there when I went to sleep that night. I don't know where he was."

"No..." she responded, shaking her head in disbelief. "Surely he wouldn't dare. After the throwing knives? How could he be so bold?" Though she did not voice it, there was a part of her that did not want to accept the rat-faced boy's involvement in the plot because she could not believe that he possessed the necessary skill and wit to best her. That she had been attacked in her own cell, trussed up and drug through the temple and then tossed into the canal was hard enough to stomach. That the feat had been carried out by the brother she disdained most, though... She found it very difficult to credit the Westerosi acolyte with such prowess.

"Maybe it was because of the throwing knives," the Lyseni suggested.

"But..." she started to protest but then thought about it some more. "Maybe..."

"He seems to... rather, he doesn't..."

"He has no love for me," the Cat finished for him. "But this seems beyond his usual pranks and follies."

"Yes, I agree. But maybe it wasn't his idea. You said there were four men."

"True. Four. And the other three are more like to be masters or priests.."

"Yes, masters," the Bear stated in a tone that made him sound like a maester teaching a particularly dull child his letters. His look was pointed.

"Jaqen didn't do this!" the Cat insisted.

Her brother looked doubtful but said, "If you say so, sister."

How could she explain what she knew in her very bones? How could her brother even accept such a thing?

"There has to be some other explanation for what I saw," the girl said. "I know those wounds weren't Jaqen's..."

The boy answered her quietly, reminding her that sometimes, the simplest explanation really was the solution. She shook her head, adamant that he was wrong. She knew what she knew. And now, she knew something else, too; she knew that her rat-faced brother had been involved with the plot to murder her. Or test her. Or something. Her mood became grim as they wandered through the market and she wondered when she would have time to ask the other Westerosi just what he had meant by tossing her to the eels. Perhaps asking wasn't exactly what she intended to do, though...

"You really should warn your brother about his questionable activities," the girl said lightly to the Bear. "He should know what cats do with rats..."

"He's your brother too, don't forget," the Lyseni boy said quickly. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, Bear. I'll not harm your friend. Much."

"Cat..."

"I need to know who was behind this plot. I need to know what the intention was. If the mastermind intended to kill me, then it won't be safe for me to return to the temple. It may not even be safe for me to be in Braavos."

"You don't think it was some sort of prank?"

The girl pursed her lips and looked at her brother with a hint of scorn crossing Mattine's face.

"I know..." he began, hooking his arm through hers and pulling her closer into him, seeking to calm her and perhaps convince her not to murder the Rat. "It was taken a bit far for a prank... but there are other acolytes, you know. You're not exactly friendly with any of them except that little Myrish boy."

"And you."

"And me," her brother agreed, smiling almost involuntarily. "But that is a recent development."

"It's because you respect skill, and I beat you mercilessly with skill alone in the training room."

"It's because I respect skill," he agreed, "and I thought you were going to kiss me in the training room."

"What?"

"Yes. Your lips were so close to my ear when you whispered for me to yield, your breath actually tickled me. What is a rational man to think in such a circumstance? Why else would you put your mouth so close to my skin, if not to kiss it?" Her brother's eyebrows were raised as he asked the question and his grin was wide.

"Don't be such a giddy maiden," the girl scoffed. "My master puts his lips near my skin all the time!"

"Does he now?" the Bear asked in a playful tone. "And... you still insist that you're not sleeping with him? That is what you would like for me to believe?"

"Ugh! You are nearly impossible to talk to!"

"I'm only trying to help you, sister. I would hate to see you fall victim to your own naiveté. I'm not sure what it means when girls do it, but when a man puts his lips near your ear and whispers seductively, he's thinking about seduction. We're simple creatures, really."

"I know you're a simple creature," the girl sniffed, "but I would hardly place Jaqen in the same category as you."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're in love with him."

"You have love on the brain," the Cat accused, sounding almost disgusted by the idea. "One good night with Olive and you see it everywhere you look. I assure you, brother, there is nothing going on between my master and me."

"I didn't say that there was anything going on between you two. I said that you were in love with him."

"Don't be stupid," she scoffed.

"Don't be dense, " he countered.

"I don't even believe in love!" the girl shouted and then felt a blush creep up her neck as the people milling around the market near them stopped and stared at her. She quickened her step, leaving their amused looks and snickering behind. The Bear kept pace with her easily, his long stride barely needing to quicken to match her jog.

"Cat," the Lyseni called, grasping her arm to slow her down and prevent her fleeing once they had reached the end of the market. "I'm not trying to upset you. I just think perhaps you should examine your reasons for dismissing the possibility of the Lorathi's culpability in your attack. I'd hate for you to get hurt because... because you weren't being smart."

"Why does it seem like everyone is warning me against trusting my master?" the girl huffed.

"Who is everyone?"

"Well, you," the girl stated. "And... the Kindly Man."

"The principal elder warned you not to trust the Lorathi?" the boy said, stunned.

"That's what it seemed like," his sister replied. "He said something like I had to be careful not to spend my faith on the wrong people."

"Cat..." the boy began tentatively. "If the principal elder said..."

"I know, but it's insane," she declared, interrupting him. "He's not involved. I can't explain to you how I know, but I know. I just do. Please, let's just stop wasting our time talking about it."

"Alright," her brother acquiesced. "I just..."

The boy stopped when he saw the Cat's warning looking. He sighed and told her, "Just please be careful."

"Always," his sister answered, causing him to snort.

"Never!" he insisted. "I never met anyone so prone to... to... to wanton recklessness!"

The Cat rolled her eyes at her brother, showing him how unfounded she felt his concerns were. Still, it was nice that he cared, she supposed. She was satisfied enough of his good intentions that she didn't clout him when he reached over to take her arm again, leading her back through the market. Trying to guarantee that he not slip back into his paternal attitude of worrying for her, the girl asked the Lyseni what it was about Olive that had him convinced he was in love. At the mention of the buxom wench's name, the boy's face lit up and he grinned like a fool. He told his sister that he intended to sup at the inn that night, after he left the Cat to her attendant for the ride back to the manse.

"My attendant?"

"The one who has been following us the entire time we've been walking in the market," the Bear explained. "Atius Biro's guard."

"Ah, him. Yes. He's a Faceless Man."

"Is he? I wondered. He just has that feel about him, doesn't he?"

"Well, to you. Because you're Faceless, too."

"Not yet," the boy corrected her. "But soon."

"Soon," his sister echoed, with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"She's just so... so wonderful," the boy sighed.

"Olive? I told you that she was perfect for you."

"It's too bad that those in the order can't marry," the boy lamented.

"What? Why is that too bad? Who wants to marry?" she asked, eyeing the boy suspiciously. "Seven bloody hells, brother... You barely know the woman!"

"Sometimes a man just knows, Cat."

"Ugh," the girl groaned in an irritated tone. "Honestly, Bear, am I going to regret introducing you to a stupid tavern wench?"

"Olive is not stupid. In fact, she seems quite clever," the boy defended.

Yes. Too clever by half, the girl thought.

"I didn't mean that she was stupid, Bear," the Cat sighed. "I just meant... I thought perhaps a bit of distraction before the trial... I just never thought you would get so caught up. And so quickly! It's ridiculous. You can't marry her, Bear."

"I know that, sister. I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am. I just meant..."

"I know what you meant, brother. But you need to put it out of your mind."

The Lyseni nodded his agreement with his sister's wisdom and laughed off her concern, but the girl still wondered if she had made a mistake in introducing them. She also wasn't convinced by her brother's supposed acceptance of what she had told him. Olive hadn't seemed the type to take any man's advances too seriously herself and it had not occurred to the Cat that her brother might think himself in love, especially after just having met the serving girl. After a few moments of considering the situation, though, she allowed herself to feel at ease. She knew that the trial would soon occur and then, her brother was like to be sent far away from Braavos. He would forget Olive soon enough. She hoped Olive was not too upset by this, but knowing the wench, she would easily move on to the next handsome conquest.

The pair found themselves near the stall of a seller of frivolous, pretty things. There was a table of folded stacks of cloth in various shades and it seemed to draw the Bear's eye. The boy smiled with delight as he brushed past the table to a small rack that was piled with long, narrow scarves.

"This one," the Bear said, pulling out a fine, silken thing in a shade of blue so dark, it looked almost black until the light hit it. There was a silvery pattern embroidered into it and upon closer inspection, the girl could see that the silver things were tiny cats with curling tails. They were scattered across the scarf.

"Terrible," she declared. "That won't suit Olive's coloring at all."

"It's not for Olive, you little fool, it's for you," the boy laughed. "I told you I would replace your ruined scarf, and with one that suited you better."

"My coloring is the same as hers, though," the Cat protested, holding up her bare, olive arms as evidence.

"Not really, though," he said in a whisper. "Maybe Mattine's coloring is the same as Olive's, but not your true face. This one is perfect for you. And the cats... It's as if it was made for you."

"How do you know so much about girls' coloring and what shades best suit them?"

The boy shrugged, saying, "I just watch a lot of girls, I suppose."

"Well, you needn't bother replacing that stupid scarf," the Cat told him. "I don't suppose we'll be dueling in Bravo disguises anytime soon. With your injury and my assignment, I'll not have a reason to wear such a thing anytime soon, anyway."

"I think I'll still buy it," he told her as he chose another scarf he thought Olive would like; one that was less subdued. "I'll just save it for you until you come home."

Home. What a strange thought. Was the House of Black and White really home? She supposed it was; at least, as much of a home as she was ever like to have.

The girl didn't know what to say. It was a sweet gesture but she had never been really good at gracious acceptance. She thought back to the last gift she had received. Two desiccated hearts. This was an altogether different sort of gift. But still, the Bear was being strangely thoughtful. She knew she ought to say something appreciative and was just searching for the right words when she felt a hand grasping her elbow and then the Faceless guard who had been trailing her all afternoon leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"It's time to get back now, little wolf. Have you completed your business here?"

The apprentice nodded at the handsome man and then told her brother that she had to go back to Lord Atius' manse before he began to wonder what was keeping her. The Lyseni handed over the pack he had been carrying and bade her good luck with her task.

"Tell all of them at the inn that... well, just say hello for me," the girl requested. "And tell little Syrio to remember what I said." Her brother said that he would and they parted.

The tide was going out and the boat sat much lower in the canal. The Faceless guard leapt gracefully from the bank down into the boat. The Cat made to follow but the guard gave her a warning look and instead, she allowed herself to be helped into the vessel like some useless lady. She supposed it wouldn't do for the crew to see her dropping quietly from above like a ghost. She was meant to be a cupbearer and a pretty young girl and the plaything of a powerful lord. Behaving like a Faceless assassin was better left for the dark of night when there were no witnesses to suspect her. After a flurry of activity from the crew, they were underway once again, headed back to the manse, the two servants of the Many-Faced god once again seated on the rich cushions of the long bench in the passengers' cabin.

"I trust you were able to find what you needed in the market?" the guard asked as he peered through the porthole at the sinking sun.

"Oh, yes," Mattine answered mildly. "I found a great many things." She would now be more than prepared to help the wealthy man through his impending discomfort. And if his blood was made a bit too thin by her specially brewed tea, well, that was an adverse effect that was not like to be noted.

Not until it was too late, anyway...

Headlines—Drake

My Way—Limp Bizkit

Pennyroyal Tea—Nirvana