Page 163 of A Thief Among Fae

My mouth hangs open. Something inside me wants to confide in my sister so I don’t have to shoulder it alone. I don’t know if it’s my sourness toward Mom and Dad for not adjusting to their new fortune how I wanted them to. Or maybe it’s because I’m so isolated from the guild that anything I could say would feel like a tiny ripple in this insurmountable distance. It wouldn’t matter.

A wispy cloud passes above us. Water striders dance atop my knees. Everything is moving, and yet so idle. So boring. Maybe recounting my time with the guild will feel like living through it again. It could make it more real, somehow.

“Alright,” I agree. “It started when I met a fae. And not just any fae.”

I recount segments of my adventure to her. She scowls when I speak of Rune, still bitter that he pickpocketed her. She swoons when I imitate Finnian’s charm and his unrequited doting over Min. Auri, of course, makes her huff because Evie doesn’t like the thought of anyone pushing me around. A lump catches in my throat as I tell her more about Desmond Vale, Prince of the Hollowlands.

I tell her how he could bury himself in a book for hours and still lodge a dagger through a fomorian’s throat with a flick of his wrist. How his ruthlessness warred so brightly with his desire for peace between our kingdoms. How gentle he was when his hands cradled my face, when he kissed me after desiccating the ravine’s hungry beast with his bare hands.

“Cynthia!” she exclaims. “You let him kiss you? But he’s fae!”

“He’s half-fae.” I’m glad I didn’t tell her what else we did.

“And a necromancer!”

“Who rarely uses his powers,” I rebut.

“He could’ve glamoured you and whisked you away to the Hollowlands!”

“He tried. The glamour part, anyway.”

She huffs. “Then forget him, even if he is a prince. He did sound charming, so I get how you fell for him, but–”

“I didn’t fall for him!”

“You’re lying.”

I sigh. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter, though. He lied to me, used me, and he’s planned his own funeral. I’ll never see him again.”

Evie props her elbow on a stream of water so she can look at me. “Tell me what happened next,” she urges. “Tell me so I can scorn him with you.”

I shouldn’t. I told Desmond that I wouldn’t, but he didn’t make me swear on it. And gods, do I need to vent. This is my sister. If I can trust anyone in this world, it’s her. She won’t betray me like he did.

“They wanted a weapon. To assassinate the queen.” I snort. “Good luck to them with that.”

“Good luck?” She stares at me, incredulous. “What’s wrong with you, Cyn?”

“It was sarcasm, Evie!” I flounder around in the water, swearing under my breath. “Queen Orla is always protected by guards and wards. Guess the wards don’t matter if that arrow is really enchanted. But even if they survive that far. . . even if they escape. . .” My voice cracks. “He doesn’t think he’ll live through it all.”

Evie is unsettlingly quiet.

“Maybe they’re right. He really thinks this is the only way to liberate the Hollowlands. The way that we—that Avedor treats them is horrid. The war was horrid.”

She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “They’re horrible to us! Think of all the stories!”

“And they’re just that,” I argue. “Stories. Maybe some of them are true, but we don’t really know them. We don’t understand them, and we don’t even try.” Gods, I’m even beginning to sound like him.

Evie frowns. “You told someone about their plan, right?”

I shrug. “I agreed not to if they helped me gather the loot. Which didn’t exactly work out since a curse consumed the chamber. But they won’t succeed. They’re idiots.”

I don’t know if I’m convincing her or myself.

“I hope not,” Evie quietly replies.

“You need to keep it between us.” I should’ve started with that. “There’s no need to worry anyone.”

“No need to worry anyone about three fae traitors wanting to murder our queen,” she mocks, but her voice is flat.