Page 16 of A Thief Among Fae

“I would be most thankful to Aedros,” I murmur. He reaches for the makeshift bandage’s bow, and I recoil, surprising myself. “I’ve got it.”

I can’t explain it, but I want to be the one who undoes the prince’s handiwork. With one tug, the strip of soft velvet unravels. My blood stains it, but beneath the strong, coppery scent is a whiff of autumn rain, peppermint, and cedar. The bandage shouldn’t have held up through the rough horseback ride if it came apart that easily. Was it skill or magic holding it together?

My mother cranes forward to glimpse the wound, sighs, and mutters a prayer.

I squirm as the priest lays his fingers around it. He hums to himself, and my skin warms from within. The edges of the wound crawl together, then meet to form a thin, pale scar.

“May Aedros be with you,” the priest bids me.

A reply forms on my lips, but Evie wobbles against Mom.

“It’s time to go home,” Dad says. He lifts Evie into his arms like she’s a child again. She’s so frail and limp as she cradles her head against his shoulder, just like the famine. Yet even after the forest thrived once again, I continued raiding tombs. Maybe this is a sign from the gods that I should stop.

Chapter 5

As we walk back home, we’re too solemn for words. I drop the velvet bandage into a fire basket that illuminates the path. The flames lick and devour it. Nothing remains from my encounter with the fae prince except the memory of his piercing gaze and the fearful whispers surrounding him.

An owl calls, low and throaty. Crickets trill in answer. The glare Mom sends me communicates one thing clearly—I’m due for a scathing lecture. I’m too exhausted to fight it and sit at the table without Mom needing to utter a word.

She sits across from me as Dad carries Evie upstairs. We sleep in the attic since the two rooms downstairs are our parents’ bedroom and the hearth room, where the table and wash basin are. Water steadily drips from our thinning thatch roof. The sky must’ve sprinkled while I was at the docks. Pails are meticulously placed beneath the leaks, one on the table, several on the dirt floor. I’ve memorized the maze-like path around them.

Mom crosses her arms. “You never should’ve raided that tomb, Cynthia. I would rather starve than offend our gods. And your foolishness almost cost your sister her life!”

I bristle. “I’m so⁠—”

“An apology won’t cut it!” Mom sucks in a tight breath. “With that scar, Evie will be lucky to find a husband now. Her prospects were always so much better than yours. Water-wielding is a desirable Gift here. And unlike you, her virtue is intact.”

I bristle, shame lighting my cheeks on fire. Twice, I’ve entangled myself with handsome travelers passing through to Mythos. But I never mentioned those trysts to anyone. “What I do is none of your business,” I tell her, fighting to keep my voice level.

The other thing she said wounded me even more. Water-wielding is a desirable Gift here.

Mom’s eyes narrow. “Everything you do is my business. We are a family. We need each other to survive.”

“I raided that tomb to help us survive!” I argue. A tear rolls down my face, so hot against the cool air that it burns. “One day I’ll save enough that you can hire a farmhand for a season. Then I can join the adventurers’ guild⁠—”

“How utterly foolish,” Mom cuts in, the words stabbing through my heart.

“Some of those quests pay more than we can make in a season.” We pay half our profits each year to our queen, leaving us with only enough to buy necessities. Even during the famine, Queen Meirden demanded the same tithe.

Mom tuts, unconvinced.

“Then what about Evie’s dowry? That farmhand who’s hinted that he wants her hand? I’ve spoken with the girls from Elmstead, and they say he’s a drunkard who charms unwed women until he tires of them. That’s not the future we want for Evie!”

“No one will marry her now!” Mom snaps. “You ruined her! Besides, you wouldn’t last a day in the adventurers’ guild! You’re a woman, for one thing. If traffickers don’t capture you, the fae certainly will.”

My hands clench into fists. She’s shredding through every dream I’ve ever had until I’m trembling. “I can defend myself!”

“With your Gift?” Mom scoffs. “Untethering isn’t fire-wielding, Cynthia!”

The words cut deep, a shard of glass thrust into my chest.

“You’re lousy with a sword,” she continues. “You never inherited your father’s aim with a bow, though I suppose that’s to be expected when you didn’t inherit his farsight magic either.”

I recoil.

“If you want to help your family, you can start with adding your sister’s chores to your own. Who knows how long she’ll need to recover?” Mom grips the sides of her chair as if steadying herself.

Dad climbs down the ladder alone. Evie must be swaddled in our bed. He looks at me, his brows furrowed and lips pressed tight. “I heard everything, Cynthia. Your mother is right.”