Page 153 of A Thief Among Fae

My knees weaken as an urge to obey washes over me, but it dissolves just as quickly. I clutch where the rowan berry necklace is hidden underneath my clothes.

He tried to ensorcell me. There’s no other explanation for that feeling. My breath catches in my throat as I back away from them. What did I tell myself when we met? That you can’t ever trust a fae.

I’ve been a fool. Why did I let my defenses fall? I let him touch me, beguiling me with sweet nothings. Words that I was an idiot to let worm into my heart.

“How dare you glamour me?” I seethe.

Finnian winces. Auri stiffens beside him.

Desmond has the gall to look stricken. He squeezes my hand. “Cynthia, what we’re about to do could be dangerous. I couldn’t let you⁠—”

“Shut up!” I yell at him, wrenching my hand out of his. “You made me think I could trust you!”

He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. The color drains from his face. His lips part, but no words come. For one terrible moment, he looks like I’ve broken something inside him.

My mouth runs dry. When I muster the will to speak, my voice is hard and cold. “I’ll help you kill the draugr wight. Then you’ll each carry as much loot as you can hold, take it back to the carriage, and I’m leaving with it all for home. If you do that for me, I won’t breathe a word about your plans to anyone. You can even make me swear on it.”

If they want to kill Avedor’s queen to free their kingdom, I’ll let them. Yet if Desmond is so determined to sacrifice himself that he’s willing to glamour me. . . How could I stay with them? How could I go back to the guild and pretend everything’s okay? It already hurts so damn much.

“No,” Desmond says. I’m about to laugh, incredulous that the demand is too much for him. Then he exhales a shaky breath. His whole body shudders beneath the weight of what he’s done. “I won’t make you swear on it. You’ve done nothing to break my trust, and I give you my own word.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a nod. Not even a yes. He tried to glamour me. He lied to me. He used me. I stare at him with a numbness that spreads through my body. “Then let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 43

Ihold a knife in each hand as Finnian pours a trail of salt around the dais. Desmond kneels at the top, arms outstretched as he murmurs in fae.

“What is he doing?” I ask Auri. We’re standing a few steps back from the dais.

Auri’s bowstring is pulled taut, an arrow already waiting to fly. “That sarcophagus is wrapped with magic like a moth in a web. Only a necromancer can open it.”

Desmond shouts and claps. I know the magic seal breaks because I can feel the waves of malevolence wash over me. Finnian grimaces, just as perturbed as I am. Auri’s lips are set in a grim frown, but Desmond doesn’t hesitate. He shoves the sarcophagus’s lid aside, stone grinding against stone.

Curse is repeated in every painted line on the lid, a bad omen if I’ve ever seen one.

The skeletal revenant inside sits up. Its desiccated head swivels toward me, a crown perched atop its straggly gray hair as though held by magic. One spectral, glowing blue eye blinks at me. The other socket is empty.

King Olin. He has the same ghastly hollowness as other draugr, but his clothes are carefully preserved, grand purple robes with golden thread woven in intricate patterns. Pinched between the fingers of his bony hand is the arrow the fae desire. Its shaft shimmers, tiny runes inked across it.

Auri shifts to shoot, but Desmond throws his arm out. “Wait,” he says, watching Olin intently.

“Those who awaken my infernal sleep, heed my warning,” King Olin rasps. Black smoke snakes from his mouth, billowing around him. “You have broken the wards that sealed the Curse of Ages inside this tomb, inside this very body. Five centuries ago, the divine goddess Elowyn punished my people for tampering with death, for worshipping Osian over herself. The gods do not take kindly to the betrayal of their order.”

His head cocks sideways as he hisses out a longer trail of smoke. “Some called it a plague, others a blight, but our diviners called it a drain of magic. Elowyn’s curse made our land wither, and our Gifts weakened. Only siphoners like those of my line could remove this stain on the land, but that tainted magic cannot be destroyed—only contained. I siphoned part of the curse, but my sacrifice consumed me. I lost control, forcing my own people to orchestrate my death. They buried me in the very necropolis we were punished for erecting, our necromancers awakening me as one final sin so I may heed this warning to you. You must not let a siphon release this power back upon the land.”

Goosebumps crawl down my arms. The smoke curls around my ankles and winds up my body, tickling my skin.

“There are only two known bloodlines of siphons,” Desmond murmurs. “King Olin’s descendants are one, and the other is fomorian.”

Olin’s descendants? That would be Avedor’s royal family. So Queen Orla, Eldon, Ronan, Cara, any one of them could be a siphon?

King Olin’s neck creaks as he turns to look at Desmond. “They will come for me soon, now that the wards are broken. Then they will come for the others like me, the cursed revenants scattered throughout the continent. If they release this power with no siphons left to contain it, you will be doomed. Be warned.”

“Who are they?” I ask, fearing the answer.

The ghastly skin around Olin’s teeth pulls taut in a smile. “It will drain the land until there is nothing left.”

He extends the arrow to Desmond, bones clacking as he waits. Desmond slowly takes it, like he expects Olin to lash out at any moment.