Chapter 15
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance again,” Rune Erickson says to me. “Regrettably, I have not yet learned your name.”
“Cyn. Maybe if you weren’t so busy gloating to me at Norwynhald, you would’ve remembered to ask for it.”
He laughs. “It’s always a pleasure to be in the company of women who don’t pull punches. Anyway, Cyn, Nog has informed me that you’re here to assist with the tomb raid. I trust you have no foul intentions toward the guild?”
“I—”
“She swore a vow with me,” Desmond interrupts. He stands beside me and angles his body toward mine. It’s a stance I’m familiar with, from guarding Evie during childhood when the village bullies confronted us.
I take a half-step forward. I don’t need his protection.
Rune’s posture remains relaxed. He doesn’t reach for a weapon. In fact, he doesn’t have any on him. Yet the way the two men glower at each other reminds me of rams squaring up to fight.
“I much prefer old-fashioned trust,” Rune says. “A partnership built on lethal vows. . . Well, that’s hardly a partnership, is it?”
“Like ‘they who betray shall be hanged’?” I say. Sounds like hypocrisy to me.
Surprise flashes in Rune’s eyes, but then he insouciantly waves. “We can’t let those who betray our trust get away unpunished, can we? This is the finest thieves’ guild in all of Avedor, and you are more than welcome here.” He has the gall to wink.
Another door in the hall thuds open, and Maeve runs over, soil under her nails. “Guildmaster!” she exclaims. “I didn’t know you were back. How did the auction go?”
“It was a bust,” Rune replies. “Lord Snow-Shod outbid me threefold.”
Desmond’s eyes narrow. “You said the guild’s funds were unparalleled.”
Rune shakes his head. “Unparalleled doesn’t mean I’m willing to empty our coffers for a map.
You did tell me that its importance to your mission is only a hunch.
Besides, Finnian and Brandur are well-equipped to proceed with Plan B.
We’re thieves, after all, not proxies. Has Brandur been in contact, Maeve? ”
“Not in a week.” She wrings her hands. “He gets distracted when he’s deep in a job. I can send a courier pigeon?”
“No need. I’ll take care of it.” The light in his eyes sharpens like the glint of a knife. “But I would like you to find Nikolai. Someone’s been sniffing around our wards.”
Maeve nods. “Right away.” She flashes me a tight smile, then takes off down the hall.
Rune sighs, turning to me. “My apologies, Cyn. I presume Desmond has made you feel at home here?”
“More or less.” I glance at Desmond, expecting to feel something through our link. Yet the bond is just as silent as he is.
Rune nods at me, waiting.
“My room is beautiful,” I add, hoping a compliment is what he’s after.
His resulting smile is answer enough. “What’s your Gift? It must be a true treasure for you to be recruited to the team.”
“I can move objects with my mind.”
“That’s auspicious magic for a thief!”
“The only thievery Cyn has done is from the dead,” Desmond says. He flips something between his fingers—that statuette of Danu I traded with him. Has he been carrying it around with him since yesterday?
“Tomb raiding doesn’t make me a thief. I did it to survive!” I argue, then wince. That sounded defensive.
Desmond raises a brow. “Then why do they call it tomb raiding?”
I stare at him, failing to think of a rebuttal. He smirks, and my cheeks heat.
Luckily, Rune changes the subject. “This is the first time we’ve dirtied our hands in raiding,” he says. “It’s in the code not to do anything that upsets our dear old god of death. Yet the reward for this job. . .” He grins at Desmond. “How could I refuse?”
Desmond pockets the statuette, then leans against the wall like he owns the room. “You’re a simple man to please.”
Rune smiles, either unaffected or pretending to be. “I’ll ask Nog to serve the good wine tonight for our guest. Do try robbing the living, Cyn. Perhaps you’ll get a taste for it and join us. We aren’t common thieves; we’re disciplined.”
“You pickpocket poor peasant girls, and you employ an assassin,” I point out.
“Who only handles marks befitting such a fate,” Rune counters. “Traffickers, dealers, serial murderers. People with resources, charisma, or influence that cause constables to overlook them. Surely you can agree the world is better for not having these reprobates run about.”
There isn’t a way to dispute what he’s said without sounding callous. I’m not even sure what there is to dispute, besides that he seems to have no qualms with profiting off of it. He’s no selfless vigilante. Yet what I can’t believe is that Rune sends a lynx after such deplorable targets.
He reads the skepticism on my face and leans toward me like we’re sharing a joke. “Believe me, Min is far more formidable than she appears.”
Desmond remarks, “Perhaps the only truth you’ve said so far.”
A beat of awkward silence follows.
Then Rune bursts into hearty laughter. “Let it never be said that fae don’t have a sense of humor.” He buries his broad hands into his pockets, and he strolls into the hallway. “Until our next time together, Cyn.” He opens a door, revealing a lavish office.
“Cyn, take a break,” Desmond says. “I’ll find you when it’s time to train again.” Then he follows Rune inside without invitation and closes the door behind them.
Hours have passed since Rune Erickson arrived. I’m leaden both in mind and body as I trudge into my room.
I had a second round of training with Desmond after lunch. He’s relentless, pushing me past limits I’ve never dared to test. Failure doesn’t deter him, and success doesn’t diminish his drive.
My muscles were so sore it hurt to sit through supper. I had powered through the pain, because how could I turn down a meal so decadent? Nog had prepared roasted stag, butter-soft goat cheese on rye, and baked squash. It took serious restraint not to stuff myself sick.
Now alone, I shut my bedroom door and finally let my body relax.
Then I strip for an overdue and well-deserved bath.
As I start to wrap a towel around my torso, the sight of my smooth skin stills my hands.
My breath locks in my throat as I remember the scar gnarling Evie’s stomach.
A mark of my failure, etched into her instead of me.
I should’ve been faster. I should’ve taken the arrow.
Gods, I would’ve traded places with her without a second thought.
A healer, I remind myself. I’ll hire the greatest healer on the continent for her. I just have to survive.
Bound to that resolve, I tuck the towel and step into the hall. During training, Desmond had told me that the tub in each bedroom isn’t the only place to wash up.
There are two doors at the end of the hallway, one marked with a drawing of a laboratory, the other with a ripple. Training didn’t leave me with time to explore, so I haven’t been into the latter room yet.
I open the door, and a waft of steam warms me. ‘Wait till you see the washroom,’ Desmond had said when we first arrived, as if the only option was the tub and a pail.
“Ass,” I mutter.
Stone steps descend into a steaming hot spring. Wispy strands curl around my legs, then ascend to the narrow skylight above. Sconces bathe the small cave with a warm, pulsing gold.
Yet I’m not alone. A goblin sits shoulder-deep in the water and looks up at me. Her long, silky black hair floats atop the water like bleeding ink. “Hello,” she calls out. “I do not mind if you come in.”
I know that I haven’t met all the thieves yet, but it’s odd that no one mentioned her arrival.
She turns away as I shed the towel and descend into the pool. The hot water prickles my skin, and the heat unwinds my tensed muscles. “Thank you,” I tell her, leaning back against the stone cavern wall.
“You fight with vigor. It is nice to see that in a woman.” She falls quiet, then says, “Bad things can happen to women who do not fight. Sometimes, even if they do fight.”
Vigor. That’s a rare compliment. But how could she know? “You weren’t there when Desmond tested me.”
Her solid black eyes, like beads of jet, blink at me.
“I am Min.” She holds out her arm, and I gawk as fur grows out of her grayish skin.
Her already stubby fingers shorten as her nails lengthen.
Then the fur retreats, and her fingers reverse their metamorphosis.
Shifting must be her Gift, and it’s a rare one, too.
Min’s attention doesn’t leave me, like a cat watching a bird. It’s either flattering or unsettling. Maybe both.
“So you’re an acolyte?” I ask her.
“Many are surprised, thinking of a goblin pursuing religious endeavors.”
I can’t refute that. Aedrosian acolytes are the antithesis of all the goblins I’ve met.
To humans, goblins seem fiercely collectivist. None dare violate Torok’s complex system of laws.
. . in plain sight. There are grave penalties, and for other races, learning and comprehending those nuances requires years of study.
Goblins are clever, more intelligent than humans, and perhaps that’s why they lack the empathy that we value.
The idea of a goblin pledging themself to the god of compassion is a bit absurd. Aedrosians own nothing. Their purpose in life is benevolent servitude of the unfortunate and devout prayer. But something stands out to me even more.
“You’re an Aedrosian, but you’re an assassin. And you’re helping fae break into a tomb. That doesn’t strike me as fitting into their doctrine.”
Min blinks like she can’t comprehend the disconnect.
Finally, she says, “I would not fit in at an abbey. My brother and I took refuge at one after we escaped from traffickers. There, I fell in love with Aedros. Yet my soul is too stained to belong there.” She catches my horrified stare and adds, “Aedrosians do not believe that the virtue of one can be stained by the vileness of another. I am stained because I killed the traffickers and did not repent, nor did I stop killing. Those whom I hunt, I believe to deserve their fate. I defend those who cannot defend themselves.”
The only sound is the soft lapping of water around us as the weight of our conversation hangs like millstones around our necks.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “For what happened to you.”
Min floats on her back, the brazen exposure of her breasts be damned.
She stares up at the small gap in the cavern ceiling, where a sliver of moonlight trickles in.
“If you blow the torches out, the water mirrors the sky. You can float amongst the stars. I pretend to be adrift in them, sometimes. Do you dream of the stars?”
“Of new stars,” I answer. “Of a sky I haven’t stared up at every single day of my life.”
She muses, “You would have to travel far for that. It is not only about the treasure, then.”
“No,” I admit, but it would be unwise to say more.
We both fall silent. The torches sputter, and scents of smoke and sulfur linger in the air.
Min stands, water dripping off her short frame and wide hips. Her hair hangs around her like a dark curtain. “I hope you survive the mission with all your appendages intact.” She wiggles her fingers. “From what I have overheard, those in the guild are lucky not to lose a knuckle.”
With that wishful remark, she opens the door and transforms into a lynx. Her tail sways as she pads away, the door clicking behind her.
“Surely she’s not always naked,” I murmur, sinking further into the water.
“Your clothes, human.”
I start, water invading my nostrils. Nog places my spare outfit with meticulous care on my folded towel. She shoots me a glare like she doesn’t expect me to care.
My expression softens. “I appreciate it.”
Nog scowls at me like I’m still despicable, and then scurries out.
I tip my head back, letting the water cradle me as I stare up at the thin slice of stars. I don’t know what waits for me in that tomb—fortune, failure, or something worse—but for the first time, I feel like I’m finally swimming toward the life I want, not just drifting.