Mavrel fluffed his feathers. She planted a kiss on his tiny head, and he took off for the trees.
“What now?” Dess asked.
“We wait.”
He dropped the pack from his shoulders, and after a moment she did the same. Together they settled onto the soft ground.
Thia said nothing, annoyed that his careless thievery was the cause of their current concerns. She knew he could sense it; he kept opening his mouth, but she pointedly watched the trees, not trusting herself to swallow another snap. Silence lapsed and stayed that way until a glint of silver flashed through the trees.
Mavrel had returned. And he was not alone. Stumbling after the bird through the underbrush was Thran, coming into view just as Mavrel settled on Thia’s shoulder.
“You’re alright!” Thia said, standing to greet the man.
“Aye,” he said, stopping in front of her. He was panting lightly, sweat gleaming on his brow.
“Oskaren?”
When he wouldn’t meet her gaze, she knew. But she let him say it anyway.
“They took her.”
The pronouncement settled over her like ice. If any of the rest of them had been captured, they might have been okay. But Oskaren? Thia didn’t know how famous a criminal the girl was, but if they had any kind of bureaucracy in this place, it was only a matter of time before she was recognized. And when she was….
Thia refused to be the one to have to tell Sorscha that her daughter was dead. They would get her out. For Sorscha.
Or so she told herself, because there was another image swimming before her that she tried and failed to shove away.
Ren?
Say it again.
She squared her shoulders. “We have to go after her.”
Thran’s mouth twisted in sympathy, and Dess kicked his foot against the ground.
“Thia. There’s only three of us. And you don’t know how to fight.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it still stung. “It’s your fault she was taken,” she reminded him, and he winced. Her stomach clenched.
“Do you think I want this? I hate that—” He cut himself off, hands forming fists. “She’d leave us there, if one of us was taken.”
He knew Oskaren better than she did. But Thia couldn’t live with herself if she abandoned someone, even if it was her. Especially if it was her. “I’m going,” she told him. “Will you help me or not?”
He continued scuffing that shoe, hard enough to leave a hole in the ground. He took so long to speak, she really thought he was going to let his grudge win out. But then he sighed. “I’ll do it for you. And for Sorscha. Not for her.”
She expelled a breath. “Thank you. Thran?”
He looked between them, resigned. “Do you have a plan?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
HUCKLETON WAS SMALL,WITH MAZE-LIKE STREETS THAT PROVIDEDexcellent cover. The mayor lived in a stone manor at the town center; they presumed this was where Oskaren was most likely being held, as it was the only guarded building in the area.
The plan was simple enough: march to the gates and demand that Thia Witch-Slayer and her attendants required lodging, counting on rumors of her royal visit to have spread. Once they were inside, she would keep the mayor occupied while the others slipped away to find Oskaren.
They left their packs and weapons in the woods, save for knives the men strapped to their bodies and the bow Thia wore that she expected would be taken from her by the guards. Dess swore no one would recognize him as the map thief, as he’d been wearing his hood, but Thia was still buzzing with nerves as she watched him stuff his pack into the shadows of a large shrub.
There was some debate as to what to do once inside. Dess thought faster was better, as it gave them less time to be discovered. Thia conceded that point, but worried they’d never be able to get out with Oskaren in tow.
