Chapter 24 #2
“Garoth’s tits,” Brandur swears. “If the map isn’t here, it must be in the master bedroom.”
Finnian drags his hand down his face. “Or he’s gifted it away to curry favor.”
Brandur scowls, his sharp lower canines bared. “My intel disagrees.” He points at me, then the floor. “Stay.”
I want to argue that they might need me again, but I hold my tongue and nod. They leave me in the study, and I watch them creep upstairs to the bedrooms.
Each passing second is torturously long.
The cabinet’s silverware is right there.
Surely the Snow-Shods won’t notice if a single set goes missing, and if the lord can afford to outbid Rune Erickson threefold on a map, he can afford another.
If I brought even four spoons home, Mom’s eyes would light up like the stars.
Follow orders. Follow orders.
A deep breath swells my chest, and I creep into the hallway.
At the end is a single door. Someone coughs on the other side.
The housecarl’s bedroom—she’s still awake.
A low bark follows. My steps are feather-light as I creep into the dining room.
Slowly, I open the cabinet. My fingers hover over a silver spoon, the handle adorned with delicate filigree.
The dog barks again, and the housecarl’s door swings open.
Shit! I crouch underneath the table, holding my breath as the housecarl moves into the kitchen. She yawns.
From my hiding place, I peer into her room.
Framed above the bed is a yellowed map, the corners adorned with inked illustrations of the Divine Five. The cursive calligraphy is difficult to read in the dim light, but I recognize the curve of the triangular peaks and the label beneath them—Torok.
That’s the map! Excitement flutters in my chest. Who would’ve thought that the lord would gift it to his illicit lover?
Cabinets creak open as the housecarl rummages through the kitchen. “Will you quiet down if I feed you?” she hisses, then retrieves a chunk of raw meat from an icebox. She throws it to the dog. It catches it and swallows it whole, turns my way, and stills.
Panic squeezes me. This is no normal dog. It’s twice the size of any I’ve seen, its head as tall as the housecarl’s stomach. Uncanny amber eyes stare at me as the lips of its giant maw pull back in a snarl. This dog is half wolf.
I have to distract it. My magic lashes out, grasping everything within sight. I hone in on the cellar door and swing it until it creaks.
The wolfdog’s ears perk as it swivels, and the housecarl turns to look. “The cat again?” she mumbles.
I should wait for Finnian and Brandur to come downstairs. They told me to stay put. But the plan’s already gone to hell. The map was supposed to be in the vault that I opened, not the housecarl’s bedroom. She’s outside of it now, and I’m the only one here to nab it before she goes back in.
As long as I’m careful, no one will get hurt.
The housecarl investigates the hallway as I sneak into her cramped bedroom. The bedsheets are ruffled and carry a whiff of cologne. A fur-covered brush lies on the sole wooden chair, and a weapons rack holds an axe lovingly polished.
Unlike the vault, the map has no shimmer to suggest it’s warded. Makes sense, when no one would look here for it. I carefully untether the frame from the wall, then free the backing.
The two pieces scrape. I wince at the jarring sound. Quickly, I roll the map and tuck it under my arm. Then I hang the frame, hoping it’ll delay the housecarl from realizing the map is gone.
As I lunge for the doorway, I see a silver chain necklace with a sapphire pendant on her dresser.
The housecarl’s footsteps echo from the kitchen as I bite my lip in debate.
If the tomb raid fails, I’ll have nothing to bring home to my family except for broken promises.
That sapphire could help me save for a healer now.
My heart hammers from something other than exhilaration.
Guilt. It deafens every other thought. As I slide the necklace into my pocket, its minuscule weight sinks my stomach. This isn’t a barrow, where valuables have been left to degrade. This is the housecarl’s bedroom, perhaps the sole place she feels safe.
She’s a person. A living, breathing Avedoran.
So are the sleeping gentry upstairs. And no matter how wealthy this family is, they’ll be disturbed when they learn burglars have broken into their home.
And this housecarl, just a private guard earning a wage, will suffer most of all.
She’ll be fired, accused of co-conspiring with the burglars, or worse.
What if the lord threatens to blackmail her about their affair?
The infamy would stain her name much longer than his.
My hand fists the necklace. I’ll put it back.
The floor creaks as footsteps move toward me. Every hair on my neck prickles. The bed. It’s the only place to hide. I throw myself to the ground and roll underneath it. The housecarl enters as I hold my breath, my nose squished against the wooden frame.
The wolfdog enters at her heels. I am so incredibly doomed.
My heart pounds. I hold my breath as it sniffs the air.
“What’s wrong, Fang?” the housecarl asks.
The wolfdog halts at the edge of the bed, nose twitching. A deep growl rumbles from its throat. My muscles lock, fingers clenched so tightly around the stolen necklace that the chain digs into my palm.
I see her shadow shift as she looks around. Then she bends down before the bed.
I have seconds.
The dresser. The axe on the rack. The frame—anything. My Gift latches onto the first object I can focus on.
The chair.
It lurches across the floor with a loud, grating scrape, and the brush clatters to the floor. The housecarl spins, reaching for her axe.
I roll out from under the bed, jump to my feet, and race to the door. My shoulder slams into the doorframe, and I hiss in pain.
The housecarl gasps. She swings her axe. I dodge, careening into the kitchen with the heavy steps I’ve been warned against making. I spin, unsheathing a dagger with my free hand.
Her dark eyes widen when she sees the map. I notice that her skin has a tinge of gray—half goblin. That’s why Lord Snow-Shod gifted her a map of Torok’s mountains. As our gazes meet, I realize I can’t bring myself to hurt her. So all that’s left to do is run.
As I lunge for the cellar door, a sharp pain erupts down my back. Something hot and sticky coats my gambeson as I stagger. I grit my teeth, burying the pain as I vault down the cellar stairs.
Thank the gods she didn’t hack my spine in two, but my pulse hammers as I reach the barrel under the trapdoor.