Page 17 of A Thief Among Fae

His betrayal burns, and I stand, my chair scraping back. “I don’t want to die less than a hundred steps from where I was born. I want to see the world!” Tears burn my eyes, blurring their shocked expressions.

“And look what that foolish dream brought you,” Mom says, her face darkening. “Your sister on Osian’s doorstep. Was your treasure worth it, Cynthia?” She stands, shouting. “Have we not given you a good life here? Why do you loathe us? Why do you want to run away?”

This is exactly what I feared they’d say. “It’s not running away!” I shout back at her.

“Both of you,” Dad scolds us, “lower your voices. Evie needs to sleep.”

The thin timber walls are a poor barrier against sound. My parents scarcely need to breathe to wake us up in the mornings.

Mom and I glare at each other. The crackle of the dying hearth and my pounding heartbeat are the only sounds until Mom tsks. “Don’t you dare set foot in another barrow. And in the morning, explain to your sister why you so selfishly endangered her life.”

I swallow the scream clawing up my throat and turn away, my jaw locked so tight it hurts. The metal pails shake as my magic lashes out, the water inside them sloshing. I should’ve lied about everything.

The anger simmers into shame. The pails fall still.

Maybe they’d change their minds if I found someone to heal Evie. If I had enough treasure to afford that, maybe they’d understand. Maybe they’d finally accept me.

I hold my head high as I turn on my heel. My climb up the ladder is only unhurried because I’m determined to hide how deeply my mother’s scorn has carved into my heart.

When I open the door, I see Evie curled up in our shared bed, lips parted with a hint of drool on her pillow.

She’s still alive. I shut the door, close my eyes, and lean against it. That’s all that matters. Her peaceful breaths are music in the quiet room.

She’s alive.

Footsteps creak inside the house as my parents retire to their cramped bedroom downstairs. I hear Mom murmur a prayer to Elowyn, then Dad tells her that everything will be alright. How can he say that when they just shattered me?

I change into my summer nightgown and clean my dagger with a rag. My best friend, the village blacksmith, crafted it for my last birthday. It’ll always be my favorite blade. I sheathe it into my thigh holster, just in case.

Then I climb into bed beside Evie, but I toss and turn. I don’t know how much time has passed when there’s suddenly a thunk against the exterior wall. Another follows. The Ettingford kids must be throwing rocks again. They’re going to wake Evie up, the little shits.

The anger from my parents’ lecture boils up inside me, swears blossoming on my tongue as I hurry down the ladder and to the front door. I throw it open.

“Go home before I tell your—” My breath catches as I find not three children up past curfew, but him.

The fae prince from the market watches me with another rock in hand, not a hint of emotion in his gaze.

“You,” I hiss.

A crow lands on our roof and caws, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I untether my dagger and levitate it beside me.

He’s just as handsome in the dark. The night’s shadows are a blade cutting across his jaw, illuminating the scar on his chin. “If I planned to hurt you, I would’ve done it already.”

“You’re a fool if you think I’ll lower my guard.”

The cloak is gone, and his short-sleeved tunic reveals tight cords of muscle that shift with every movement. He drops the rock and holds his hands up, palms facing me. Then he frowns. “Do you always answer the door dressed like that?”

I glance down at myself, flushing as I notice how the thin nightgown reveals every curve and barely brushes my mid-thighs. The village men who tried to court me would have stared too long, smiled too easily. Their honeyed interest always felt either entitled or shallow.

His gaze is nothing like theirs.

It lingers for a breath too long on my bare skin, a dark hunger flickering in his eyes. Then he blinks, and it’s gone. His expression becomes as still as ice, cold and unreadable.

Heat creeps higher in my face. I shift, moving one leg in front of the other in a failed attempt to seem less exposed. “I’m shocked you didn’t notice, but this isn’t the kind of village where people expect strangers past midnight. Have you been spying on me?”

He shrugs. “You haven’t done anything worth spying on.”

“Which you know because you were.” Even though he’s standing seven steps away from the doorway, it’s too close for comfort. I keep one hand on the door’s handle, warily watching every move he makes. This is just like every tale I’ve ever heard. Fae come in the night, and they get what they want. You are never seen or heard from again.