Page 117 of A Thief Among Fae

“He’s in a better place,” Finnian replies forlornly. “Wish I could say the same for my dignity. I’m coming to terms with not being much use in combat.”

Min claps him on the back. “There are four of us to make up for that.”

I fail to stifle my snort. Then I slump against the wall as my eyes roll back. Auri thrusts a canteen of water before my lips and forces me to drink. Every gulp helps quell the heat behind my eyes, and I eventually shove it away and lean to look out the window.

The sunset is almost over, vibrant red rays like clay streaking the sky until it’s kissed by the ink-black ridges of the Krelthars. I watch every shadowed burrow, even as the night makes them as dark as the mountainside. Desmond said that there was only one lindwyrm in the pass, and I believe him, but I still feel uneasy.

Another curve, and I see the path dip. We’ve reached the pass’s saddle.

“I acknowledge. . .” Auri says behind me.

Surprised, I whirl around to face her. Min and Finnian are both asleep, slumped against each other.

Auri wrings her hands in her lap. “I acknowledge that you aren’t as selfish as I accused you of being.”

I snort. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”

She clears her throat, unusually unsure of herself. Her hand runs through her tight braids, then her shoulders collapse with a sigh. “I know.”

We stare at each other. The guilt-ridden way she’s fidgeting reminds me so much of Evie that I almost laugh. Almost. How can I when her tale starts to resound through my head?

She was captured, and Desmond gave himself up to save her squad. Five days of torture. Memories that give him nightmares. And she was there for it all. I wish I hadn’t judged her so harshly when we met. If I had tried to breach the divide between us, would she have opened up sooner?

All the resentment and envy I had toward her melts away. “I won’t hurt him,” I whisper. “After we’re out of Olin’s tomb, I won’t even be around to.”

Enbarr’s hooves clack a steady rhythm as Auri looks past me, out the window. The low, throaty thrum of an owl is a welcome sign that we’ve cleared the lindwyrm’s territory and the barren alpine plains of Torok stretch out before us. Then Auri looks back at me solemnly. “You’ve earned my respect as a part of this team, Cyn. I will do my best to treat you as you deserve.”

About damn time. Yet for once, I keep my sarcasm checked.

We ride in silence as rodents scamper through underbrush and crickets chirp in song. The new trust between us is fragile, but good enough.

Chapter 33

When we reach the village of Vekhara in the Krelthar foothills, dawn finally encroaches. Everyone is exhausted. Desmond detoured us to a main road before reaching the village, so no one would suspect we had circumvented Mordrak.

That caution was excessive, given Vekhara’s waist-high wall ends on either side of the path without a gate between them. The only creatures around are a trip of goats and their one-legged goblin shepherd. He watches us warily but doesn’t move from the hay bale he leans against.

It’s a telling impression for the rest of the village. Goblin farmers tend to small fields of cabbage and root vegetables, pausing in their work to regard us with narrowed black eyes. The distrust is palpable, and yet none approach us. The message is clear: don’t bother them, and they won’t bother us.

“I thought Torok was the most innovative of the nations,” I whisper to Min as we walk beside the carriage. Where are the aqueducts I’ve heard stories about? The transportation rails? The most sophisticated structure here is their stone well.

“This village has no valuable resources. Therefore, it was not a priority to industrialize,” she answers. That’s the rational, yet brutal way of thinking I’ve come to expect from goblins. Life in Nettlerock was dull, but I think I’d rather die than live here.

Vekhara’s only commercial establishments are an inn and an overpriced general store that doubles as a pawn shop. The owner looked just as seedy as the shop itself, which was home to more than one palm-sized spider skittering across warped floorboards. At least it had a few curiosities. I splurged on a rucksack that’s allegedly weightless and bottomless per a hag’s clever enchantment. I’m not holding my breath that it’s true, but at least the rocks my magic tossed inside didn’t add any weight. Nor did they vanish immediately. You never know with hag magic.

Desmond leads Enbarr and the carriage behind the inn as the rest of us walk inside. A hearth lies at the center of the large room, benches surrounding it. A ladder in one corner leads up to a trapdoor, and there’s a single door behind the back counter. The sign hung on it reads “keep out” in each of the continent’s languages. The establishment is rather dilapidated, with craterous holes in the floorboards and an unpleasant draft.

The goblin innkeeper looks up from his counter. So does the single guest at the hearth, an incongruous human man dressed in a robe like Min’s, yet his is white instead of orange.

“Scuse me,” Finnian says to the innkeeper. “Got two rooms for five? Three in one, two in the other.”

The goblin looks affronted. He’s a head shorter than I am, with dark gray skin, black hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, and jet eyes like Min’s. “What do you think I run?” he splutters. “A luxury baq? There’s one room upstairs. One room with ten beds. If that’s not to your liking, sleep in the field.”

“What’s a baq?” I whisper to Min.

She tilts her head, thinking. “It is what you may call a ‘bed and breakfast’ in Avedor, except goblins are not known to be exquisite chefs.”

Finnian opens his coin purse. “Then how much for five beds?”