Page 40 of A Thief Among Fae

Gods, does he know I’m thinking all of this? Is the soul bond that powerful?

I shudder.

Eventually, the stone path transitions to dirt. The sun bears down on us, the breeze offering a small relief. We’ve been silent for some time, the clop of Enbarr’s hooves a rhythm to birdsong and rustling leaves.

On the southern side of the path, forested hills rise and fall, the worn descendants of mountains from a time before Avedor. Many have beautiful talus slopes, stray waterfalls tumbling into shallow pools rife with dragonflies. Desmond slows Enbarr and dismounts.

“We’re stopping here?” I ask him.

“The woodlands are easier for her to traverse without riders.” He points ahead to the forested valley between two of the rocky slopes, then offers his hand to me. I don’t take it, instead sliding off Enbarr’s back on my own. I learned my lesson when he seared that tattoo onto my wrist.

We stand for an awkward beat of quietness.

Then Desmond clicks his tongue and leads Enbarr off the path and into the valley. The farther we walk, the more the twisting canopy of leaves and branches makes me feel distant from Mythos.

“Before we meet the crew, feel free to come up with a moniker for yourself,” he says.

A crew. I dare to imagine what it’ll be like working alongside other tomb raiders. How did he meet them? What other tombs have they raided? And why do I need a moniker? “Aren’t we sworn not to kill each other?”

“Only you made a vow with me.”

Figures. “I’ll go by Cyn.” I don’t want to deal with the hassle of getting accustomed to a new name.

Silence ensues. No insult? No snappy comeback? I turn to look at him, but he’s watching the forest with a grim focus.

“Are you worried that the masked person followed us? There was no one within sight when we left the path.”

He straightens as if I’ve startled him. “Someone is always watching,” he says ominously.

We progress deeper into the forest and toward the talus slope on our right. Then a sudden, overwhelming urge to turn back claws through my mind. The sensation screams this hill is dangerous; I have to leave.

My feet swivel, and I make several hurried steps down the hill before Desmond grabs my arm, halting me. “Hey! Let me go!” I try to twist away, desperate panic writhing within me, but he doesn’t relent.

“The guild has a ward-maker who specializes in repellents,” he says. “Once we’re through the barrier, the fear will dissipate.”

I resist as Desmond spins me around, and he drags me step by step toward a wide gap between trees. “The ward around the royal dais shimmered. I don’t see one here!”

He fixes me with an agitated grimace. “That’s because the guards wanted everyone to know it’s there. Do you trust me?”

“No,” I reply immediately.

His laugh is almost too quiet to hear. “I shouldn’t have bothered to ask. Now put one foot in front of the other, Cynthia. We’re almost there.”

The order was filled with far more patience than I would’ve expected. It calms me enough that I grit my teeth and force myself to march ahead. As soon as we pass between the two trees, the repulsion vanishes.

Desmond gestures ahead. “We’re here.”

Here is a steep hunk of rock in the hillside, ivy and gnarled roots hanging off the spindly trees vying to grow on its crest, far above us.

I look around for tents but see nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding. Are we roughing it? Sleeping in bags around a campfire?” But I don’t even see a damn fire pit.

“Is that what you would prefer?” He brushes the ivy aside and reveals a narrow cave. There’s a water-filled trough inside of it and stacks of hay bales. No beds, no paltry rations, or even the embers of a fire. “Wait until you see the washroom,” Desmond teases. He beckons Enbarr inside the cave.

I follow, sniffing the fusty air. It’s accompanied by an odor of manure. The horse looks unbothered as she shakes her mane and munches the hay. “I bet she’s a great cuddler,” I murmur.

He huffs a laugh. “Better than you.”

Enbarr bares her teeth at me in response to this apparently grave offense.