Page 162 of A Thief Among Fae

If Desmond were still in my life, I wouldn’t mind showing him just how much stronger I can grow after every adventure. I would find him, no matter if he was in Mythos or the farthest reaches of the continent, or home in the Hollowlands. I’d challenge him to spar, because gods, it would feel so good to see him slack-jawed, his composure slipping. I always felt invigorated, rewarded, every time his mask of indifference cracked—and I grew so fond of the man beneath it.

Whenever he passionately rambled about history, fed me threads of truth without riddles, or smiled so brightly that his cheeks dimpled, it felt like glimpsing into a sacred what-could-have-been. Who he’d be if war hadn’t hardened him, if he hadn’t decided that assassinating Queen Orla would save his people.

Would we still have met? Would I have felt differently about him? Maybe I would’ve seen his intelligence in the shrewd glint of his eyes instead of arrogance. A fervid love for reading instead of aloofness. Maybe I would’ve noticed how soft his dark, tousled curls look, how the scar on his chin brings imperfect charm to an already handsome face. And the humanity of the stubble along his jaw and calluses across his palms is more bewitching than any glamour.

My breath hitches as my pulse inexplicably stutters. Gods, I want him. I want him so badly it hurts like he’s cleaved my heart in two.

And now. . . he’s gone.

Enough.

I slip back into bed and tug the worn quilt over me. Thank the gods Evie is fast asleep, ignorant of my suffering.

“I hate him,” I whisper, because you can’t want something you hate.

The words taste hollow. Hating him only makes me miss him more.

Chapter 47

In the morning, Nettlerock is abuzz with the only real news of the year: Ronan’s celebratory birthday ball is in two days. By then, the moon will be full as an eye above us.

We’re cleaning the chicken coop today, a chore I thought I’d never have to do again. But I have to stay for at least a few days. Dad is more open to the idea of an aristocrat’s life than Mom. He’s sold on the idea of plumbing. He even told us about his “dream house” during breakfast, but he wants to build it in Nettlerock.

Fine. As long as they never go hungry. As long as they finally realize there’s no reason to put up with harvesting from dawn till dusk. I will adjust to their plans. I just don’t know what they’ll tell the other villagers when their “dream house” outclasses the innkeeper’s.

As I rub at a smear of bird poo on my wrist, I sigh again. Gods, Desmond wouldn’t believe⁠—

No. I clench my rag. I have to forget him. The news of his execution will hurt too much if I don’t.

“And Deana says even the orc clans are sending delegates to the ball,” Evie babbles. “Cynthia? Were you listening?”

I lean back and watch a hawk circle above us, wishing I could fly away with it. “You could go, you know. To the ball. I know a guy who can forge invitations.”

She laughs. She doesn’t think I’m being serious.

Then she waits for me to laugh. I don’t.

Evie drops her rag. “Your head isn’t in it today. Not that it ever really is during chores. Do you want to swim?”

“Sure.” I step out of the coop. I untether the dagger sheathed at my hip, throw my rag into the air, and fling the dagger at it. The blade strikes a tree with the rag dangling from its tip.

Evie stares like I’ve just beheaded a rabbit. “That’s. . . a new trick.”

“Got lots of them. Let’s go.”

We run through town. Everything is so normal and yet so wrong. The resinous breeze through the pines is the same as before I left. The rippling lake. The crunch of rocky soil as we kick off our shoes. The songbirds chirping around us. It’s like my time at the guild was just a dream I’ve finally woken up from.

I hate it.

We wade into the lake, and it’s almost as freezing as the water in the tomb. But I don’t say anything—I don’t want to disappoint her. As we float on our backs, I realize I haven’t spoken in minutes. She’s watching me, her brows furrowed.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re different. What happened while you were gone? And don’t say nothing. I haven’t seen you mope like this since Dad went to Mythos without you three years ago.”

I snort. “That wasn’t one of my best days.”

“So what happened?”