Page 135 of A Thief Among Fae

I step back to let him pass me, and yelp as my foot slides against stray rubble. I trip, flailing my arms out as I fall backward.

He’s there in a blink, catching me. He holds his sword high over my body, out of harm’s way.

Slowly, I look up at him.

“Are you alright?” he asks me, his soft curls hanging to frame his gorgeous face.

I swallow. “Uh-huh.” Smooth, Cynthia.

He rights me, but his hand drifts down to the dip of my back and stays. “Be on your guard.” Then he finally pulls away.

As I follow him down the tunnel, I levitate the torch beside me. The tunnel curves until it brings us into a circular chamber, unsettlingly empty apart from two sets of large stone wheels set into the walls on opposite ends of the room. A magic glow lights the chamber, so we no longer need the torch.

“I’ve seen this kind of riddle before,” I tell Desmond. “There are symbols carved along the rim of each wheel. You have to line up the right combination and then—” I falter, pointing at the stone slab sealing the exit on the opposite side. “That slab should move.”

“Can you reach it from here?” Desmond asks.

My magic caresses it. I try to push it, then pull, but it doesn’t budge. There’s a force keeping it in place, stronger than gravity.

“I can’t move it,” I admit, already frustrated.

“There’s a riddle carved on the wall over each wheel,” Desmond says. “One sees. The other hears.”

I frown. “I have a bad feeling. The only way that slab will move is if we survive whatever trap awaits us.”

Desmond nods.

At the chamber’s center, the floor is made up of closed metal slats. Large pipes jut out between the wall’s stones. The second we step beyond the threshold, who knows what will happen?

Desmond’s gaze unfocuses as if far away, and he silently mouths a string of words.

For a second, I’m too stunned to say anything. I just stare at him. It reminds me of when I eavesdropped on him in the forest. “What are you doing?”

He stills. “Thinking. I know what the trap is, but not how to solve the riddle.”

I’m not sure if I believe him. It sure looked like he was speaking to someone. Yet there’s no one in the tomb beside us, the draugr, and the ghosts of the dead.

The dead. What did he tell me the night of the heist? That the dead lurk in the shadows?

Staring at him, I dare to wonder. There is a Gift that allows the living to speak with spirits unable to move on to the afterlife. As far as I know, spirit mediums don’t wield shadows or any elemental powers. That violet energy lurking within Desmond has to be part of his Gift.

“We can’t turn back,” Desmond says, interrupting my thoughts. The concern trickling from him to me is so strong it’s almost palpable. He’s worried he won’t survive this, scared that I won’t, but beneath it lies an unbreakable determination. He will do anything to reach the depths of this tomb. Anything. His desperation screams through the bond between us.

I stare at him. What does he want here so badly? Why would he risk so much to get it? It’s not that I want to turn back. I have no more choice than he does. I need Olin’s treasure to heal Evie and ensure she never has to worry about her dowry again. Evie will marry some lecherous sack of slime over my dead body.

I swallow the uneasiness that makes my mouth feel dry. “What’s the trap?”

Still looking out at the chamber, Desmond’s lips curl into a grim frown. “If we fail, we’ll drown.”

Those words shiver over me, bringing me back to the barrow I dragged Evie into. For her, this trap would be child’s play. I still don’t regret leaving her behind. I swore I’d never endanger anyone I love again.

“I’m ready,” I tell Desmond.

His hand flexes, almost imperceptibly reaching for mine. Then he strides into the chamber. I wish he had reached out. I could use the warmth of his grip to soothe my nerves.

I follow him. The chamber is one story tall, but the pipes above us aren’t large enough to crawl through. The only sound is the click of our boots on stone. Stopping beside the metal slats, I see rusted scratches—dozens of them, as if someone clawed the slats with their fingernails for dear life.

“If raiders died here, why aren’t there any bones?” I wonder aloud.