Page 119 of A Thief Among Fae

It’s only been two days, and already we’re pointing fingers at each other.

“Her morals fall differently than the rest of the guild,” Desmond says. “She’s not motivated by wealth or comfort, but simply what she perceives as justice. Despite what Rune wants everyone to believe, it’s Min who has the final say on whom she assassinates. She alone shadows them, then deems them deserving. . . or undeserving of their lives.”

Auri wrinkles her nose. “That’s conceited.”

“I’ve heard she’s a good judge of character,” Desmond replies with a shrug. “And inexorable once she makes up her mind.”

I lean toward them, my fingernails anxiously digging into my thigh. “So your point is, she wouldn’t betray you to the fomorians unless she saw it as righteous. Well, do the fomorians have a reason to think killing you is moral? One that Min might support?”

Auri glares at the floor as if her anger could traverse realms to the fomorians. “A feud as old as time is bound to be morally rationalized by both sides.”

“I wouldn’t expect Min to be involved when the Hollowlands is on neutral grounds with Torok,” Desmond adds. “As for the fomorians wanting me dead, Auri is correct. It’s a matter of patriotism.” Then he stands. “We’ll stay here until tomorrow morning. I need more intel on the route, and Cyn needs to train.”

“And where exactly are you sleeping tonight?” Auri asks, her uneasy glance belying the evenness of her tone.

Desmond doesn’t look back as he answers. “Outside.” He climbs down the ladder, leaving Auri and me uncomfortably alone.

“What do you have planned for the day?” I ask her. Inwardly, I wince. It’s odd making small talk with Auri.

“There isn’t any satisfactory high ground in this village,” she says, flipping the knife into the air and catching it by the blade. “Patrolling the perimeter may aggravate the villagers, but I plan to do so under the guise of frequent walks.” Then she glances at me. “And you?”

I shrug. “A bath would be nice.”

She nods. “Ask the innkeeper.”

Good idea. I wave goodbye as I walk toward the ladder, ignoring how strange it feels to be cordial with each other. Her eyes narrow at me for a moment, and then she resumes tossing and catching her knife.

I climb down the ladder. Desmond isn’t on the first floor, so he must be somewhere in the village. Min still sits with the monk, deep in conversation with him.

See? I tell myself. Not the traitor. But then who is?

The innkeeper pauses his sweeping, clutching his broom as he glowers at me.

“Excuse me, is there anywhere to wash up here?” I ask him. Now would be a good time to know goblin manners. Too bad that’s something the elders don’t teach in Nettlerock.

“Human,” the innkeeper gruffly greets me. He points at the counter, where four large folded cloths sit. “The Aedrosian said humans require ‘sheets’ for their. . .” He scowls. “Their modesty. You and the fae folk—each of you may take one to the bath.”

I dare to get my hopes up that it’s more than a pail beside their well. “Thank you.” I grab a sheet, then pause. “We need one more.”

The goblin grunts. He doesn’t look up again.

Well, the others will have to deal with it when they decide to bathe. Snooze, you lose.

My first stop is the carriage to grab a change of clothes. I spy Enbarr lying in the field grass, the morning sunlight warming her white coat. Just as exhausted as we are, I think with sudden affinity. Then I walk back into the village, admiring the pastoral landscape. It’s so different from Nettlerock’s dense, towering forests. The snow-capped Krelthars sparkle in the distance, and to the south, shallow hills dip back and forth until they fade into the southern horizon.

Two goblin children chase each other along the crumbling stone wall. My heart sinks as I’m reminded of Nikolai’s children. He loved them so much.

Their mother watches me as I pass, but doesn’t pause from spinning goat wool into mohair. She doesn’t call out to her children to warn them away from me, nor call out as I climb onto the wall.

Where did I see the well? It has to be around here somewhere.

Then I spy something else—a stone and timber building with steam wafting behind it. Thank the Gods Vekhara is more advanced than Nettlerock in this regard. After the guild, I’ll always loathe the cold wooden basins we call baths back home.

I approach the bathhouse, holding my clean clothes to my chest. The building is a single story, with one wide door that my magic pushes open as I enter. The small room has benches for changing, two spigots at shoulder-height with pipes leading into the floor, and opens to a fenced-in courtyard. There, a stone-lined pool wafts blissful curls of steam.

“You rinse first under the spigot, then enter the baths.”

I jump and drop all my clothes. “Shit!” I hurry to gather them off the floor.