Page 157 of A Thief Among Fae

I expected him to sound rueful, but instead, his words were coated with bitterness.

His eyes darken. “They got what they wanted in the end. The other powers emerged. I went from the spare heir to our greatest weapon in the span of seconds. All because Deitra’s horse squashed the toad I’d been feeding behind the stable. And when I found it, in my grief—” He draws in a breath, then lets it out unsteadily. “I forced its soul back into its body. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and stop myself, or at least make sure a guard wasn’t watching.”

His laughter is hollow, steeped in regret.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, but then I wince. “I know it’s rude to say that to fae. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” he says, surprising me. “It reminds me of him.”

Of him?

His father.

I bury my hands deep into my pockets to ward off the cold. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I wish I had let you in. Then you could’ve made every choice knowing that when this is over, we’d never cross paths again.” He grimaces like he’s swallowed something bitter. “I raised the corpses of my friends to save myself. I had to watch their bodies twitch and rise, then live with that guilt every damn day. I’ve committed sins that don’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, least of all yours. I don’t deserve you, Cynthia.”

Hours ago, I would’ve welcomed his honesty.

Now I only feel a resigned emptiness. How can I bring myself to forgive him for glamouring me? For making me an instrument in his death? He had so many chances to open up to me, and now he’s only taking it when we’re on the verge of going our separate ways for good.

Swallowing back tears, I take off his cloak and hold it out. “You lied to me. You used me. So no matter what you say, it changes nothing.”

His face falls, and an irreconcilable guilt twists my insides until I can’t bring myself to look at him. After weeks of holding himself back, he finally bore his truths to me. And after all my pleas that he open up, when he finally did, I rejected him.

He takes the cloak. Then his dejection is replaced with the cold, indifferent mask he wore so often when we met. “I understand.”

“I’m glad,” I murmur, a lie that tastes like ash. It sickens me.

We walk in silence the rest of the way.

Chapter 45

The journey to Mythos is quiet, awkward, and long. Even with Enbarr’s fantastical speed, it’s a two-day journey to reach the front gate. Min will return to assassinating the incorrigible for the guild, and the fae will finish plotting the queen’s demise.

I recall my time in the guild, trying to deduce Rune’s involvement. After the first few hours, I decide it doesn’t matter. Nothing is worth thinking about except for going home.

Now we’re finally here.

Desmond stops Enbarr before Mythos’s gate. He dismounts and opens the carriage door for me. “Are you sure you don’t want us to take you home?” he asks.

Shrugging, I step out of the carriage. His gaze follows me, and the attention makes my skin heat. I pretend I don’t notice the sorrow in his eyes.

“You’d draw too much attention.” The last thing I want is for the village gossips to spot me with fae. Not to mention that they’re future traitors. “I’m staying in Mythos for the night to rest.”

I have more than enough coins to rent a comfortable room. Desmond gave me marks in exchange for some of the lesser valuables I grabbed in the tomb. It was kind of him. Too kind. I don’t want more reasons to mourn him before he’s even gone.

“Will you return to the guild once your affairs are in order?” Min calls out.

“I don’t know.” That cozy cave, the delicious feasts, and the warm banter amongst friends felt more like home than Nettlerock ever has. But all that waits there for me now are memories I no longer want.

As I gaze at the four individuals I’ve trained and traveled with, the strangers who quickly became my friends, I find it’s hard to look away. Finnian’s bittersweet smile, Auri’s distracted frown as she assesses passersby, and Desmond’s failing mask of ambivalence tug at my heart. It’s foolish, but I hope they survive, even if it means I’m complicit in the death of my queen.

At least the fae will finally be free if they succeed. All of them. . . Except for Desmond.

A lump catches in my throat.

Desmond reaches into his pack and pulls out a bundle of fabric. He holds it out, biting his lip as if he doesn’t know what to say. Then he sighs. “You saved my life in the tomb. You’ve earned this.”