Page 26 of A Thief Among Fae

“I wanted to know where you got this.” He pulls the statuette of Danu out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers. “But no matter. I’ve been looking forward to a good night’s sleep.” He returns the statuette to his pocket and stands.

“That’s it? I⁠—”

“Too late.” He tucks his book under his arm and pulls his hood lower. “You should really put some more thought into your questions.” Then he yawns, and I swear to Elowyn he feigned it just to goad me.

I’m exhausted. My limbs are lead. “There’s an abandoned faery door inside a barrow, north of Nettlerock. I could draw you a map.” I try so hard to keep the desperation out of my voice.

To my relief, his eyes light up. “Was there anything peculiar about it?”

“The entire barrow was flooded, but the Hollowlands wasn’t. It looked like there was a battle before it was abandoned. I found the statuette there.”

“Flooded? How did you get in? Did you dive?”

“My sister’s Gift. She’s a water-wielder. But if you even think of recruiting her, the answer is no.”

“You care for her,” he says. “So much so that you let the hag fleece you. My ring was more than enough for the bezoar.”

“Damn it,” I mutter. If I see that hag again. . .

“It’s a weakness.” Desmond’s hazel eyes harden. He leans toward me, lowering his voice in warning. “So treat it like one. Be mindful of who you tell.”

His words stun me. He’s right. I’m so used to Nettlerock’s close-knit friendliness that I’ll have to train myself not to mention my family. Even a stray anecdote could reveal their location. And it’s far too unsafe to tell anyone about Evie—especially the Prince of Death. Too late for that.

His grim expression fades into a tired sigh as he crooks his ringed fingers. “Come on, Cynthia.”

My pulse flutters, just like last night. “Stop doing that.” His husky voice turns my name into a spell. And I hate it.

“Doing what?” he taunts me.

“Using my name when I never gave it.”

We stare at each other in a silent stand-off. “It would be polite if you asked for mine,” he finally says. “Though I’m quickly learning that manners aren’t your strong suit.”

I smile as I shake my head. “Manners aren’t yours, either. Instead of being a reasonable employer who fills me in on the tomb raid, you pull out a book and ignore me. I don’t need to know your name. I can think of lots of other things to call you. Hypocrite, maybe?”

He snorts. A hint of an amused smile warms his face for a split second. “My name is⁠—”

“Desmond.” Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Shock briefly stills him. I wonder if he’s so used to his numerous appellations that it’s rare for him to hear his real name. His widened eyes make me regret that Evie had to tell it to me. Then he holds out his hand, an invitation to pull me to my feet.

I’m taken aback. He’s aloof and proud, just like I imagined a prince would be, but he didn’t want to leave me alone among mercenaries and pickpockets. He bandaged my arm in the market. He traded with me for the ring. And now he’s offering me his hand.

I accept it, feeling his calluses against my palm as I stand.

Then his fingers squeeze mine, refusing to let go. He pulls me toward him until his mouth is too close to my ear.

My pulse spikes, pounding through my chest. I try to yank my hand away, but he grips it even tighter. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“There is one little thing I neglected to tell you in Nettlerock yesterday,” he says, each quiet word tickling my skin. “You need to swear a vow to me.”

Chapter 8

Asharp unease rises in me as he pulls me through the tavern to a dark, quiet corner. His grip is too tight, too forceful. I stumble after him, taking two steps for every one of his.

Then he stops, swiveling to cage me against the wall by standing so close I’m forced to look up at him. He still hasn’t let go of my hand. “We wouldn’t want anyone overhearing the vow,” he says with an unsettling, capricious smile.

“In your dreams. Now let me go,” I hiss.