Chapter Seven Honor Among Thieves
CHAPTER SEVEN
HONOR AMONG THIEVES
Reya woke to the feel of fresh cotton sheets and the soft crunch of a feather pillow.
Candles flickered around the room. A mug of ginger tea steamed on a bedside table beside her ruby dagger, clean as the day Lennox had gifted it to her.
And a black-clad figure sat on the floor in the corner, one arm slung casually over a bent knee—gazing at her father’s sword.
“You,” she snarled, snapping up the dagger and throwing off the sheets. She immediately regretted the action for two reasons. First, everything hurt. Second, her shirt was in tatters.
The man in black—no, the male—trailed his gaze along her body like a fingertip, and she fought the urge to rub the gooseflesh that followed in its wake.
He looked almost irritated, like there was something about her body that displeased him.
Reya wanted to wrap the sheet around herself, but she refused to show that kind of vulnerability.
At least her marks had faded back into her skin, though there was little chance he hadn’t seen.
A half-human, half-immortal, Reya had been born with magic and the preternatural strengths that came with a Sage’s body.
But thanks to the human blood that flowed through her veins, her marks only appeared when she used her magic.
And with a Kellstone necklace to keep it bound, she had managed to stay hidden in the human world.
“I had to cut your shirt to reach your wound,” he said.
“I would have removed it, only I didn’t think you’d appreciate my undressing you while you were unconscious.
” The words were dry and full of censure.
Evidently, he remembered her. She was having trouble feeling guilty about anything when she was falling out of her top, though.
Reya made a mental note that the draught she’d poured down his throat was not effective on Sages.
“There’s a bucket of clean water and some linens on the table.”
Her eyes slid to the table, and to her pack sitting on one of the wood chairs.
She cataloged the distance to the door and decided she could probably make it.
The problem was, he was currently between her and her father’s sword, which she would not be leaving without.
Her hand, the one currently holding her dagger, twitched.
His gaze flicked from the blade to her face, eyes darkening. “I dare you.”
Never in her life had she backed down from a challenge like that. Every survival instinct she had went out the window. She hurled the dagger across the room.
He caught it by the blade a mere breath from his nose.
Reya gaped. He set the dagger down and wiped his hand on his cloak like it had given him a paper cut rather than a slash across his palm.
“Your continued assaults are starting to test my patience, thief.” The last word was grating, and it landed on Reya like the passing of a sentence, though he sounded more exasperated than angry.
And she’d just given him her only weapon. Great.
He turned his focus back to her sword. Meanwhile, Reya’s mind raced to put together what happened. Wolves. There had been wolves in the city. She’d used her magic. And then there was—
Fire.
“How did you come to possess this?” he asked, tipping his chin to her father’s blade and interrupting her silent panic.
Why had he taken her back to his room at the inn? What sort of revenge was he plotting? “None of your damn business.”
He ignored that. “How is your shoulder?”
Reya looked, expecting to see a slab of bloody flesh where her shoulder had been.
But all she found was swollen red skin and a slashing of vertical scars.
The ache was sharp, but bearable. And it no longer hurt to breathe.
The fingers on her left hand, while still a little bruised and yellow, were unbroken.
Her eyes flicked to the Sage. There was no way her body had done this on its own, but how—
Reya’s hand flew to her throat. The Kellstone necklace was gone. She needed to get back to the alley.
As if reading her mind, the Sage said, voice dripping with disgust, “I dropped that thing in the river.”
“You what?” She’d only taken it off because her life had been in danger.
Kellstone necklaces weren’t exactly lying around Edris—it could take her weeks to find a replacement.
And she couldn’t control the magic without it.
Already she could feel it buzzing beneath her skin.
Her fingers scrambled over her clavicle, clawing for its missing weight. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
The Sage didn’t look the least bit apologetic.
He’d only seen a taste of what she was capable of.
Without the necklace and the safety net it provided…
all he had to do was piss her off, and she might bring down the building.
All-Gods above, she was going to be sick.
Stomach contracting as she gagged, she hurtled across the room for the chamber pot and surrendered her dinner into the basin.
“The tea will help settle your stomach.”
“I’m not drinking anything you give me,” she said into the bowl, eyes watering at the acidic burn in her nose.
“Of the two people in this room, you’re the only one who has attempted to harm the other.” Orange and blue flame danced across her memory as he continued. “If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
She wiped her mouth and nose and looked over her shoulder. Reading the question in her eyes, he lifted his hand and snapped. A small orange flame rose above his thumb. He snapped again and the flame disappeared.
“Fancy,” was all she could think to say. She thought his lips twitched, but too quickly her head was buried in the chamber pot again.
Reya retched until there was nothing left in her stomach to lose, and then she dry heaved for a good while longer. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone see her like this. Face flaming, she stood and swayed on her feet. He was across the room in an instant, steadying her.
She shoved him off—and recoiled from his chest like she’d struck a stone wall. He caught her again just before she hit the armoire behind her. Oh, he’d definitely been holding back before.
Una above, his scent—it crashed over her like a tidal wave, just as potent as it had been the night they’d met. Smoke and wood and earth and… something older. Something that belonged only to him. Something distinctly male. She wanted to bottle it.
As a demi-Sage, her instincts were not quite so… animalistic as his, but she could still detect unique scents and hear conversations taking place beyond a human’s earshot. Thankfully, they were qualities she had managed to attribute to her work and skill.
Her physical edge on men far larger than her had been more difficult to disguise behind a good training regimen.
But the mask of the Crimson Dagger had made everything easier.
Beneath the blue cloak, she could be anyone.
Anything. Her legend, her anonymity, had allowed her a measure of protection as a magic-born.
When people expected incredible things, they weren’t surprised.
“Sit down before you hurt yourself,” he said.
“I don’t need your help.”
He cocked a brow, and she’d never wanted to hit someone so badly.
When he looked ready to carry her to the bed himself, she conceded and sank onto the mattress.
He handed her the steaming tea with a stern look.
“I swear by the All-Gods there is nothing dangerous in it. The return of the magic after Kellstone exposure can be… uncomfortable. I know.”
Truth.
Still, she snatched the ceramic mug and examined the contents.
The peppery scent made her want to sneeze, but she took a sip, wincing at the temperature.
She would be hard-pressed to find a replacement for her Kellstone necklace, even if she did have the time to go hunt one down.
Teeth flashed in her memory, and she cringed, already dreading the nightmares she would have for months. “What were they?”
He didn’t need her to clarify. “Creatures from another age. Brought from the Void and trapped here to rot.”
Reya would have said it was ridiculous. That the Void and its monsters were just stories holy men told to strike fear. But she had seen the beasts, fought them, and they had not been of this world.
He continued, “We call them Dread Wolves. They’ll eat anything that moves, but they have a special taste for you and me. The power in our blood is like wine to them.”
Reya shivered, suddenly wishing she were drinking something far stronger than tea. She didn’t miss his use of the plural.
“They haven’t crossed into human territory in centuries,” he said. “They keep to the Ashlands in the west where they can remain in shadow even during the day.”
She didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t want to owe him anything else.
Her shoulder twinged and she rolled it before taking another sip.
The Sage tracked the movement with the same intensity she’d always seen in her mother’s eyes when delivering a babe or stitching someone up.
“Their bites are poison. A few more minutes and you would have been blind and deaf. I drew the venom from your bloodstream, but you’ll be dizzy for several hours, and it will be sore for a few more days.
The official recommendation is rest and lots of fluids. ”
“Are you a healer, then?”
“Among other things.”
Reya refrained from rolling her eyes at the vagueness. “Who are you?”
He was silent as he pulled out the chair across from the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. At last, he said, “My name is Caelan Halcyon.”
“And why am I here, Caelan Halcyon?”
“Because I need your help. And you need mine.”
“Is that so?” Reya said over another sip of tea.