"Miguel. He told me you were adopted. He told me Immortals were sterile, that their children didn't survive. Whose daughter are you?"
"What is it to you?"
Kesley shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. You're quite lovely, you know."
She said nothing.
"You're supposed to thank people when they compliment you, milady. It's hardly polite to—"
"Quiet!" She crossed the room and faced him across a desk. At close range her faint perfume reached Kesley's nostrils; it was a delightful odor. The violet of her eyes, he saw, was flecked lightly with gold. "Why has Miguel promised me to you?"
"He wants me to carry out a job—an assassination. You're the price."
"Blunt, aren't you?"
"Would you rather have me lie?"
"No," she said, after a moment's thought. She threw back her shoulders and glared defiantly at him. "Well, do I pass your inspection? Am I fit for you?"