Page 165 of A Thief Among Fae

The Queen isn’t dead? My palms sweat. I search our neighbors’ faces for any signs that someone knows what’s going on, but they look as confused and anxious as I am.

Evie yawns again, slumping against me.

Everyone hushes as the crier unfurls a scroll of parchment. “By order of the queen, Avedor has declared war on the Hollowlands in light of most foul and traitorous plans. The draft for Avedor’s esteemed army will begin approximately in one week. All males older than–”

The words fade out as my ears ring. The Queen still lives. Desmond failed. Exactly what he wanted to prevent has happened—another war.

“Have the traitors been caught?” I blurt out.

The crier stutters mid-sentence. “Yes. The fae prince and his devious underlings have been imprisoned in Drottheim Keep, awaiting execution. Now, as I was saying. . .”

He’s not dead. They’re not dead. Just captured. Imprisoned. Alive.

Relief sags through me, and I almost cry.

The crier clears her throat. “The woman who revealed this most insidious plot wishes to remain anonymous, but trust that she will be appropriately rewarded by the Queen for both her loyalty and her courage.”

The woman.

I whip around, knocking Evie off balance. She glares at me as she catches herself. “What was that for?”

“Where were you last night?” I hiss.

Her boots are splattered with mud.

“Nowhere,” she says, too quickly.

I point at her boots.

She winces. “I may’ve gone for a ride.”

I grip her arm so tight she cries out. Several heads turn, but they quickly face the crier again. I lean until my mouth hovers over Evie’s ear. “To Mythos? And don’t dare lie to me.”

Evie swallows. She nods.

Ice-cold dread makes my next breath hurt. My heart seizes like it’s stopped beating. “Why did you ride to Mythos?”

“Everything is okay.” Her eyes widen, pleading with me. “I told them you were ensorcelled and they believed me.”

“You what?” I pull her away from the dispersing crowd, charge toward the tree line, and look twice to make sure no one’s followed us. “What did you do, Evie?”

“Let go! You’re scaring me!” she squeaks out.

I let her wrench her arm from my grip, but I’m not letting her get away. In two steps, I’m between her and the village. My mind reaches out for blades that I realize I left behind at home. It’s not that I’d hurt her. I could never hurt Evie. But I will sure as hell scare her if that’s what it takes to get to the truth.

“You said you hadn’t warned anyone.” She steps back, eyeing the village past me. “So I rode to Mythos. I couldn’t sleep knowing our queen might die. I had to do something.”

“You had to do nothing!” I shout, then lower my voice to a hiss. “You told the Mythos guard that Prince Desmond Vale planned to assassinate Queen Orla?”

Her gaze searches mine like she desperately hopes I’m not really angry. But I am. Really angry.

She went behind my back. If my friends weren’t already doomed to die, trusting Evie made me their executioner. Me. Panic quickens my pulse until I feel hot with rage. I look at my wrist, the bare skin where the crescent moon once was. If it were still there, would I have felt Desmond’s fear when the guards captured him? Would I have felt his despair when he learned of Orla’s war declaration?

Why do I miss our connection? Why do I suddenly yearn to feel him? The loss is indescribable, irrational, but also undeniable. A part of me will die when he does, soul vow or not.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I seethe. “Thousands will die because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut! Because I couldn’t keep mine shut!”

She shakes her head. “Cynthia, I–”