Page 26 of Starside

“And you have everything you need?” The king.

“Yes.”

“You know your orders?”

“I won’t return without it,” Raker says, deep and low. I frown. Without what? The cup of magic?

“Good,” the king says. “It will be the start of a new age. I feel it coming …”

I lean closer, to hear more, but then the steps retreat. They’re leaving. I lean around the corner, to see if I can follow, but they’re gone.

I should get back to my room. It’s getting late.

I take the same halls back, studying each object again, in case I missed something. But it’s all the same finery that I could sell in the markets for buckets of metal—and won’t do me any good on the quest. So much for getting anything useful. My steps hurry, panic sinking through my chest. What if Cadoc and his friends are wandering these halls? I turn around the corner—

And smack right into a wall of armor.

Slowly, I look up—and up—only to see a hood. I swallow.

Fuck.

6

He’s enormous. Even bigger up close. Even unarmed, his presence nearly makes my knees buckle. With sword in hand … no wonder rebel armies surrender as soon as they see him coming. No wonder some have chosen to fall onto their own swords rather than face him. No wonder people whisper about him like he’s a demon.

His head tilts, and I catch a sliver of that silver mask. “Interesting,” he says, his voice rumbling along my bones. “You aren’t pissing yourself yet.”

It takes everything in me not to run. He would catch me in a second. But a worse fate would be a death at his hands before I even started this quest. So I summon every shred of courage I have, reinforce it with my hatred, and lift my chin. “Is that how people normally greet you?”

He seems shocked that I’m speaking to him, or that my voice isn’t shaking. I’m fucking shocked my voice isn’t shaking. I don’t wait for a response.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say.

At that, I hear him growl beneath his mask. When it’s clear just his presence won’t make me stand down, he takes a step toward me. “Everything about you is a disappointment,” he says, with so much venom, I bristle.

“You don’t even know me,” I say.

“I know a street rat when I see one. I know a thief.”

Rage flames through me, blazing past my better judgment. I lean forward. “And I know a king’s lapdog when I see one.”

The moment the words leave my lips, I know I’ve made a big fucking mistake. He doesn’t need a sword to kill me. He could crush my throat in one of his hands. He could snap my neck with half a thought. I swallow, waiting for him to end this conversation by ending me.

But instead, he ducks low, in an attempt to meet me anywhere close to my height, and says, “You’re lucky the king doesn’t permit killing in his castle … but the next time I see you, I won’t hesitate.”

Shit. I don’t know whether to feel relief that I actually get to survive this encounter, or dread that I’ve made the worst enemy imaginable.

Still, I manage to keep my head high. “Neither will I.”

He huffs in cruel mirth as he walks past me. When he’s out of the corridor, I finally slump against the wall, heart pounding against the stone.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I never should have left my room. I race back, then shut the door, slide down it, and keep it closed with my spine.

Kira is still sleeping. Her breaths are long and heavy.

Sure that she can’t see me, I begin to trace the markings at my neck, the way I do when I’m anxious.