Chapter 11 #3
“You’re an alchemist,” I realize, remembering Desmond’s warning about the fungi.
She nods. “And one of the best poisoners around. But the cake isn’t poisoned. The color is from the blackberries.”
Poisoner? Why would Desmond need one for a tomb raid?
I shove the question down in favor of imagining a blackberry cake, tart and dusted with sugar.
My family doesn’t pick them often because there’s a variety that’s known to drive mortals mad.
An old story says a fae enchanted them after a spat with a human who picked from the fae’s favorite bush.
You can usually tell them apart in direct sunlight; the enchanted ones have an odd sheen to them.
It’s so hard not to devour Evie’s tarts when they’re fresh from the oven. The memory hits me in the chest with homesickness.
“Rune’s going to be pissed that you didn’t consult him before bringing her here, Desmond,” Maeve says.
Desmond leans against the counter and insouciantly shrugs, but his brow furrows. “The tomb raid isn’t Rune’s mission.”
“You’re not in charge?” I ask. That surprises me.
“Rune runs the guild,” Desmond answers. “My associate, Aurielle, and I aren’t members. We’re contracting the guild’s services for this mission.”
“Desmond and Auri arrived here about a month ago to start planning everything out,” Finnian says, “but I’ve known both of them since we were wee.”
“So Desmond is your customer, like how people hire the adventurers’ guild to go on quests for them,” I clarify.
Finnian nods.
“You’re the first tomb-raiding guild I’ve ever heard of.
” I smile at both Finnian and Maeve, glad to be with people I can finally relate to.
Even if they have an ominous warning in their foyer, they’ve shown me nothing but amiability so far.
“I’m assuming you don’t advertise your services since raiding is considered sacrilege, but don’t worry. Raiding doesn’t bother me.”
No one smiles back. Maeve’s next bite is as loud as thunder in the quietness of the room.
I wince. “So. . . You’re not a tomb-raiding guild?” Anything but a creepy cult, please.
“We’re something even better.” Finnian claps me on the back, his grin returning in full force. “We’re a band of thieves. Seekers of fun and fortune!”
My jaw drops open. I quickly close it, but it’s far too late to mask my shock. When I left home, I knew I’d be risking my neck each step of the way to Olin’s tomb. But for a moment, I had dared to hope that I’d found people I belonged with.
Instead, I’ve strolled into a proverbial den of snakes with no warning, no preparation, and no weapons on my person.
Thieves are one of the greatest threats to people like me.
Every item my family has purchased in the last few years has been for necessity, albeit a rare birthday present.
If anything were stolen, no matter if it were a tool or a jar of pickled fish, the theft would cost us more than the marks to buy another. It would cost us time.
Our few heirlooms are treasured like a pitiable dragon’s hoard. Dad saved up for years for Mom’s thin gold wedding band. She keeps it hidden under a loose floorboard in fear of losing it while farming and in fear of the very people I’m now standing with.
Maeve chuckles, watching me like my apprehension is better amusement than a court jester. She chucks the apple core into a rubbish bin and licks the juice off her fingers, but her gaze stays on me.
Desmond strides away, calling back, “Let’s start your evaluation.”
“Now?” I chase after him, but not without glancing back at the others as they follow, too. “Wait, you can’t be Erickson’s thieves’ guild?” Not the irritatingly handsome man who pickpocketed Evie, the one who warned me about Desmond during the festival. It can’t be him.
“Uh huh,” Maeve replies. “Rune Erickson, thief of hearts and gold alike.”
The comment makes me want to roll my eyes and gag. I can’t imagine any of Rune’s ‘theft of hearts’ ending well for the poor women involved.
Desmond huffs a laugh. “I assumed you already knew him. Isn’t that why he approached you at Norwynhald?
” He opens a door, revealing a large room doubling as an armory and sparring area.
Patches dapple the floor mat. The wooden targets are riddled with chips and gouges from the axes and arrows stored nearby.
Finnian follows us in with Maeve behind him.
“All I knew about him was his lack of remorse for pickpocketing,” I reply. I hoped that Norwynhald would be the last I’d see of him. It figures that I’m not so lucky.
“At least you won’t be strangers,” Finnian adds, like Rune Erickson pickpocketing Evie was a courteous first introduction.
There is one fundamental piece to this puzzle that I don’t understand.
If my reward is the treasure, what is Rune getting?
The bedtime stories Dad used to tell me were passed on through generations, quite literally tales as old as time.
And they’ve taught me that all creatures desire one of three things: Love, wealth, or power.
The most terrifying want all three.