Page 112 of A Thief Among Fae

He takes off his burgundy doublet and folds it, offering it with cautious hesitation. ”If you want it.”

“Thank the gods,” I mutter. I position the jacket-pillow against his shoulder and settle against his side. His body is warm, and I begrudgingly admit to myself that his steady breathing soothes me. “You smell good,” I murmur, breathing in the aroma of mint soap and clean linen.

Desmond chuckles, low and quiet. “You don’t smell so terrible yourself.”

“Oh?” I smile. “What do I smell like?”

There’s a crinkle of a page turning and a pause before he says, “Like sunlight.”

My cheeks heat. He could’ve said that I smell like the lavender soap that Nog leaves in the armoire each morning. What am I supposed to say now? What does sunlight even smell like? It should be easy to banter with him, and yet the more we speak, the more I find myself too taken aback to think. I close my eyes and let each of his soft exhales lull me closer to sleep.

“Get your asses out of the carriage!” Auri calls out, jolting me upright. “We’ve got a problem.”

I rub my eyes, but it does nothing to dispel my grogginess. “How long was I out for?”

“Four hours,” Desmond replies. He takes the doublet back when I hand it to him. I must be muddled with sleep because I swear he pauses, pressing it to his nose and lips, before he puts it on.

They should’ve woken me for a turn on the horses. Four hours is a long nap. No wonder my neck is so sore.

At some point, Min swapped places with Finnian because he sits across from us, rubbing his face.

I follow Desmond out of the carriage, but pause mid-stretch. Two mountains loom over us with a narrow pass in between. The snow-capped peaks aren’t within sight. It’s as if the mountains became the very sky, a stairway to the heavens.

Then I notice why we’ve stopped. The mountainside is peppered with large, round holes, too symmetrical to be natural caves.

Lindwyrm burrows.

Chapter 32

Icount the round tunnel entrances. There are four before the pass bends, and who knows how many more are beyond that.

“So this is how this pass stayed a secret,” I remark, feeling grim. “We’ll be dinner before we reach the other side.”

Auri glances at a weather-worn symbol carved in the stone before us. It’s a skull and crossbones.

Four decades ago, a lindwyrm migrated to a cave outside a village near Nettlerock. Dad was a child then and had seen the wreckage firsthand. Trees smashed aside like twigs. Homes crushed. Regurgitated bones littered the path to its den. The village lost all its cattle and five people before the Queen listened to their pleas and sent two dozen men to slay it. A third of them didn’t walk away.

“Mordrak is looking pretty good right now,” Finnian remarks. “I’d rather get a scrumptious soup there than become soup in some beast’s belly.” He brushes his hair back, then takes a step toward the carriage. “What do you say, Dez?”

Desmond examines the sight before us with the shrewdness of a tactician. “We risk it. I know we brought forged papers for Mordrak as a contingency, but we all know they won’t suffice under scrutiny. It’s either the lindwyrm or Mordrak’s prison.”

“What if there’s more than one wyrm?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “They don’t live in close proximity to each other, and it’s not mating season. Those tunnels belong to one.”

“One is ample cause for concern,” Min says. “We do not possess the ideal Gifts for slaying one, nor a substantial advantage in numbers.”

“How reassuring,” I mutter. At least someone’s addressing the facts.

“What else do you know about lindwyrms?” Auri asks Desmond. “Any weaknesses?”

He rocks back on his heels, thinking. “They use vibrations as sensory stimuli and can detect them through the air. That’s why there are no birds here. Their mobility is enhanced by their two clawed feet, and despite being venomous, they swallow their prey whole. As for weaknesses. . .” He tilts his head, his curls shifting across his forehead. “Those are usually deduced when encounters with them are survived.”

“Which is seldom,” I surmise.

“Quiet,” Auri snaps at me. “Your quips are making it hard for the adults to think.”

“Excuse me?” Her words sting even though I shouldn’t care what she thinks. Everyone else falters like they’re sensing a storm. “At least I don’t have a stick up my ass,” I snipe back.