Page 53 of A Thief Among Fae

Desmond’s eyes narrow. “You said the guild’s funds were unparalleled.”

Rune shakes his head. “Unparalleled doesn’t mean I’m willing to empty our coffers for a map. You did tell me that its importance to your mission is only a hunch. Besides, Finnian and Brandur are well-equipped to proceed with Plan B. We’re thieves, after all, not proxies. Has Brandur been in contact, Maeve?”

“Not in a week.” She wrings her hands. “He gets distracted when he’s deep in a job. I can send a courier pigeon?”

“No need. I’ll take care of it.” The light in his eyes sharpens like the glint of a knife. “But I would like you to find Nikolai. Someone’s been sniffing around our wards.”

Maeve nods. “Right away.” She flashes me a tight smile, then takes off down the hall.

Rune sighs, turning to me. “My apologies, Cyn. I presume Desmond has made you feel at home here?”

“More or less.” I glance at Desmond, expecting to feel something through our link. Yet the bond is just as silent as he is.

Rune nods at me, waiting.

“My room is beautiful,” I add, hoping a compliment is what he’s after.

His resulting smile is answer enough. “What’s your Gift? It must be a true treasure for you to be recruited to the team.”

“I can move objects with my mind.”

“That’s auspicious magic for a thief!”

“The only thievery Cyn has done is from the dead,” Desmond says. He flips something between his fingers—that statuette of Danu I traded with him. Has he been carrying it around with him since yesterday?

“Tomb raiding doesn’t make me a thief. I did it to survive!” I argue, then wince. That sounded defensive.

Desmond raises a brow. “Then why do they call it tomb raiding?”

I stare at him, failing to think of a rebuttal. He smirks, and my cheeks heat.

Luckily, Rune changes the subject. “This is the first time we’ve dirtied our hands in raiding,” he says. “It’s in the code not to do anything that upsets our dear old god of death. Yet the reward for this job. . .” He grins at Desmond. “How could I refuse?”

Desmond pockets the statuette, then leans against the wall like he owns the room. “You’re a simple man to please.”

Rune smiles, either unaffected or pretending to be. “I’ll ask Nog to serve the good wine tonight for our guest. Do try robbing the living, Cyn. Perhaps you’ll get a taste for it and join us. We aren’t common thieves; we’re disciplined.”

“You pickpocket poor peasant girls, and you employ an assassin,” I point out.

“Who only handles marks befitting such a fate,” Rune counters. “Traffickers, dealers, serial murderers. People with resources, charisma, or influence that cause constables to overlook them. Surely you can agree the world is better for not having these reprobates run about.”

There isn’t a way to dispute what he’s said without sounding callous. I’m not even sure what there is to dispute, besides that he seems to have no qualms with profiting off of it. He’s no selfless vigilante. Yet what I can’t believe is that Rune sends a lynx after such deplorable targets.

He reads the skepticism on my face and leans toward me like we’re sharing a joke. “Believe me, Min is far more formidable than she appears.”

Desmond remarks, “Perhaps the only truth you’ve said so far.”

A beat of awkward silence follows.

Then Rune bursts into hearty laughter. “Let it never be said that fae don’t have a sense of humor.” He buries his broad hands into his pockets, and he strolls into the hallway. “Until our next time together, Cyn.” He opens a door, revealing a lavish office.

“Cyn, take a break,” Desmond says. “I’ll find you when it’s time to train again.” Then he follows Rune inside without invitation and closes the door behind them.

Hours have passed since Rune Erickson arrived. I’m leaden both in mind and body as I trudge into my room.

I had a second round of training with Desmond after lunch. He’s relentless, pushing me past limits I’ve never dared to test. Failure doesn’t deter him, and success doesn’t diminish his drive.

My muscles were so sore it hurt to sit through supper. I had powered through the pain, because how could I turn down a meal so decadent? Nog had prepared roasted stag, butter-soft goat cheese on rye, and baked squash. It took serious restraint not to stuff myself sick.