Chapter 49
The horse I borrowed in Nettlerock protests being led off the path.
It tosses its mane, whinnying nervously as I lead it up the hill to the thieves’ guild headquarters.
It even glares at me as I coerce it into the hidden cave.
Enbarr stands forlornly near the back. She saunters up to me and nuzzles my shoulder.
Her long-lashed eyes stare at me with what I can only describe as sorrow.
“I’ll get him back,” I murmur as I stroke her mane. “Don’t you worry.”
She snorts as I walk away, but I can’t afford to be careless with my time. I knock on the boulder three times and wait, tense enough that I’m tempted to bite my nails.
The boulder rolls partway over. Nog scowls through the gap. “We don’t welcome traitors. Betray and be hanged, human.”
“Wait!” I cry out as she rolls it shut. “I want to save them! I never meant for this to happen.”
It doesn’t move. So I make it, with a burst of untethering so strong that the boulder slams against the hill’s rocky slope, jostling the bookshelves in the foyer.
Nog is gone. The foyer is eerily quiet, the faint crackling of a dying hearth the only sound as I navigate to the kitchen. Maeve isn’t here. Neither are the fae.
The door to Rune’s office creaks open. He leans against the doorway, brows raised. “I daresay, I’ll need to have a word with Brandur about acquiring a heavier boulder.”
“Not even a mountain would’ve stopped me.”
“Ah.” Rune’s frown doesn’t wane. He raps his fingers on the doorframe.
“So you’ve come to boast of your triumph?
Or join the guild, perhaps? We’d be honored to have you here after a thorough review of our ethics.
Can’t say the others will take kindly to your return once I inform them of what happened, but how I interpret it, you made no move against the guild. The fae, on the other hand. . .”
I grit my teeth, but he plows on.
“I really didn’t think you had it in you, Cyn.
As fond of the prince as you were. No matter.
” The usual Rune Erickson grin bursts forth as he runs a hand through his dark hair.
“I fulfilled my end of the deal and earned my just reward. And you’ve gotten yours, from what Min said.
King Olin’s crown, my lucky darling, is no mere trifle.
Yet I don’t suppose it holds a candle to whatever Queen Orla has promised for your devout service. ”
“Stop it,” I snap. “I didn’t mean to betray them.”
“Then you what?” Rune smirks. “Drank a little too much that night in Mythos? Let it slip to a little birdie, perhaps?”
My dagger is pressed to his throat before I’ve even had the thought.
His eyes widen, so close to mine that I see flecks of cerulean.
Yet his grin spreads, baring his teeth. He’s too stubborn, too full of himself to take a step backward into his office.
It only encourages me to add a little pressure, a bead of blood rolling down my blade.
“You’ve got to learn to keep your cards to yourself,” Rune practically purrs. “All this little outburst did was confirm that I’m right. You told her, didn’t you? Your sister.”
“Fuck you,” I seethe.
He has the audacity to laugh. Finally, he steps back, but with a casual saunter like all this was a silly game to him. Then he sits behind his desk, legs spread with the laxity of a self-absorbed king. “So now that we’re through the pleasantries, how can I be of service?”
I approach until my toes are close enough to touch the desk, then loom over him.
“You knew what they were after. You knew they wanted an infallible weapon, and yet you housed them, fed them, supplied them. What ‘just reward’ is worth treason against your own country? Or. . .” I frown, discerning him. “Did Desmond promise you something?”
Rune’s laugh irritates me more than the amused shake of his head. “He promised me his crown—not the rule it signifies, obviously, but the relic itself. Would you care to see?”
Before I can spit out that no, I would not care to see, he spins around and removes a painting from the wall, revealing a safe.
He rubs his thumb against the cut on his neck and then holds it out to admire the small stain of blood that colors his fingerprint.
“Just a bit of blood magic. With Finnian’s Gift and sticky fingers, mere locks aren’t enough around here.
Weren’t enough.” He presses his thumb against the safe.
I’m about to rebuke his insulting use of the past tense when the safe groans as if alive. The door swings open, revealing a crown so elegantly bedazzled that for a moment, I’m speechless.
It’s gold, fashioned as intertwining branches and bramble.
The leaves are decorated with emeralds that are the exact shade of the green in Desmond’s hazel eyes.
The uncanniness pulls at me like a lure, and I find myself only stepping away when Rune abruptly slams the door shut.
“You don’t want to look at that for too long.
It has centuries of enchantments on it. Or a millennium.
” He shrugs. “Either way, fae court relics have been known to drive mortals mad.”
“Then why did you want it?” I ask, hoping it’ll help me deduce his price.
“I wanted it, dear Cyn, because I could have it. So no one else could have it. Did you know that I come from humble beginnings? No doubt more humble than yours. And what other common-born man could boast that he has in his possession, not only the Pearled Eyes of the Mer, but the crown of the Hollowlands’ prince?
” Joy, his greedy sort of it, dances in his eyes.
“Pity the color doesn’t match your eyes,” I reply with thinly veiled sarcasm. Gods, he’s vain. The starkness of his avarice against Desmond’s austere room and dog-eared books is astounding. To believe that Desmond really traded his crown for this man’s help—for the failed plan to save his kingdom.
“Perhaps I’ll make it match,” he says, daring to smile at me.
He wouldn’t dare. “How would you feel about adding an even rarer royal relic to your collection, instead of mistreating Desmond’s?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my face to hide my anger. “Which brings me to my proposition.”
“Proposition?”
Of the treasures I looted from King Olin’s tomb, there are a few that might interest him. I swallow my pride because I hate admitting it, but his aid is the only help I can get. “I need help breaking the fae out of Drottheim Keep.”
“Dead or alive?” he asks as he dabs his thumb against a handkerchief.
“Alive, obviously!”
“Pity. That throws a few complications into the mix. Yet there’s another problem.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “I deal in thievery, not prison breaks.”
“I’m aware of that, but—”
“And has it occurred to you that maybe you shouldn’t rescue them? Perhaps you should try counting the number of lies Prince Desmond fed you.” He mock-counts on his fingers up to ten, then dramatically pauses. “Oh, look at that. I’ve already run out of fingers.”
His words cut deep, but I won’t let them deter me. “They’re my friends. And they lied to me for a reason.” I’m battling the urge to sock Rune’s jaw with how badly I need his help. “I have a plan, but I need a map of the keep, and I need allies. Both of which, I’m sure you can provide.”
To my relief, despite that he keeps his relaxed posture, the mirth falls from his face. It reveals something hard and calculating. “And what do you propose as payment?”
I lift my chin, declaring it with as much pomp as I can gather. “King Olin’s crown.”
“Hmm.”
Hmm is not the reaction I was hoping for. Tension tightens my chest as Rune stands and leisurely walks around the desk until he’s right in front of me.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice unintentionally low.
Asking was a mistake. His wicked grin makes me sure of it. “What I want is simple, Cynthia.”
A shiver crawls down my spine. Somehow, his knowing my full name makes me feel vulnerable. Naked.
“I want Olin’s crown, because how could I ever turn that down? Yet that alone won’t buy my services. “ He leans toward me, his face hovering beside my ear. “One crown, one favor.”
My eyes narrow, but I force myself to stay in place. I refuse to let him think he’s affecting me. “A favor is too broad.”
Rune chuckles. “Time is ticking for those three fae. Are you sure you have enough of it to barter with me?”
Damn it. “Fine. But nothing sexual.”
He mocks a gasp right into my ear. “I’m rather offended. I thought my reputation as a gentleman preceded me.”
“You thought wrong.” I finally pull away, digging my nails into my tunic to stop the frown that wants to force its way onto my face. “I’ll give you the crown now, as an advance payment. But you only get the favor if all three of them escape. Alive.”
“Then it’s a deal.” He winks at me as he moves to a basket holding large, tightly rolled sheets of paper. He riffles through them, then he chooses one and lays it out on the desk. “Here we are. One map of Drottheim Keep.”
“Great.” I sigh in relief. “Let’s get started.”
“No time like the present,” he agrees, like we’re both in on a joke. Then he meets my gaze, his teal eyes demanding that I hold it. “And believe me, Cynthia. I’ll get that favor.”
I scoff. “You seem rather sure of yourself. At least that bodes well for our odds of survival.”
“What can I say?” Rune’s conniving smirk hints at the danger, the ruthlessness lurking underneath his charm. “I don’t know how to fail.”
Brandur, Maeve, Min, Rune, and I flank the kitchen table. It’s crowded. Our elbows keep knocking, and I’ve stepped on Maeve’s toes more than once, but we fit. And we’re here together, as good a team as I could’ve hoped for.
Rune taps a date scrawled at the top of the map. “Chances are, the layout of Drottheim Keep hasn’t changed since I stole this map. Although if they’ve employed earth-wielders to switch things up, navigating could be a challenge.”
Brandur crosses his arms over his muscular chest. “Even so, the cells would still be at the bottom level.”