Page 54 of A Thief Among Fae

Now alone, I shut my bedroom door and finally let my body relax. Then I strip for an overdue and well-deserved bath. As I start to wrap a towel around my torso, the sight of my smooth skin stills my hands. My breath locks in my throat as I remember the scar gnarling Evie’s stomach. A mark of my failure, etched into her instead of me. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve taken the arrow. Gods, I would’ve traded places with her without a second thought.

A healer, I remind myself. I’ll hire the greatest healer on the continent for her. I just have to survive.

Bound to that resolve, I tuck the towel and step into the hall. During training, Desmond had told me that the tub in each bedroom isn’t the only place to wash up.

There are two doors at the end of the hallway, one marked with a drawing of a laboratory, the other with a ripple. Training didn’t leave me with time to explore, so I haven’t been into the latter room yet.

I open the door, and a waft of steam warms me. ‘Wait till you see the washroom,’ Desmond had said when we first arrived, as if the only option was the tub and a pail.

“Ass,” I mutter.

Stone steps descend into a steaming hot spring. Wispy strands curl around my legs, then ascend to the narrow skylight above. Sconces bathe the small cave with a warm, pulsing gold.

Yet I’m not alone. A goblin sits shoulder-deep in the water and looks up at me. Her long, silky black hair floats atop the water like bleeding ink. “Hello,” she calls out. “I do not mind if you come in.”

I know that I haven’t met all the thieves yet, but it’s odd that no one mentioned her arrival.

She turns away as I shed the towel and descend into the pool. The hot water prickles my skin, and the heat unwinds my tensed muscles. “Thank you,” I tell her, leaning back against the stone cavern wall.

“You fight with vigor. It is nice to see that in a woman.” She falls quiet, then says, “Bad things can happen to women who do not fight. Sometimes, even if they do fight.”

Vigor. That’s a rare compliment. But how could she know? “You weren’t there when Desmond tested me.”

Her solid black eyes, like beads of jet, blink at me. “I am Min.” She holds out her arm, and I gawk as fur grows out of her grayish skin. Her already stubby fingers shorten as her nails lengthen. Then the fur retreats, and her fingers reverse their metamorphosis. Shifting must be her Gift, and it’s a rare one, too.

Min’s attention doesn’t leave me, like a cat watching a bird. It’s either flattering or unsettling. Maybe both.

“So you’re an acolyte?” I ask her.

“Many are surprised, thinking of a goblin pursuing religious endeavors.”

I can’t refute that. Aedrosian acolytes are the antithesis of all the goblins I’ve met. To humans, goblins seem fiercely collectivist. None dare violate Torok’s complex system of laws. . . in plain sight. There are grave penalties, and for other races, learning and comprehending those nuances requires years of study. Goblins are clever, more intelligent than humans, and perhaps that’s why they lack the empathy that we value.

The idea of a goblin pledging themself to the god of compassion is a bit absurd. Aedrosians own nothing. Their purpose in life is benevolent servitude of the unfortunate and devout prayer. But something stands out to me even more.

“You’re an Aedrosian, but you’re an assassin. And you’re helping fae break into a tomb. That doesn’t strike me as fitting into their doctrine.”

Min blinks like she can’t comprehend the disconnect. Finally, she says, “I would not fit in at an abbey. My brother and I took refuge at one after we escaped from traffickers. There, I fell in love with Aedros. Yet my soul is too stained to belong there.” She catches my horrified stare and adds, “Aedrosians do not believe that the virtue of one can be stained by the vileness of another. I am stained because I killed the traffickers and did not repent, nor did I stop killing. Those whom I hunt, I believe to deserve their fate. I defend those who cannot defend themselves.”

The only sound is the soft lapping of water around us as the weight of our conversation hangs like millstones around our necks.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “For what happened to you.”

Min floats on her back, the brazen exposure of her breasts be damned. She stares up at the small gap in the cavern ceiling, where a sliver of moonlight trickles in. “If you blow the torches out, the water mirrors the sky. You can float amongst the stars. I pretend to be adrift in them, sometimes. Do you dream of the stars?”

“Of new stars,” I answer. “Of a sky I haven’t stared up at every single day of my life.”

She muses, “You would have to travel far for that. It is not only about the treasure, then.”

“No,” I admit, but it would be unwise to say more.

We both fall silent. The torches sputter, and scents of smoke and sulfur linger in the air.

Min stands, water dripping off her short frame and wide hips. Her hair hangs around her like a dark curtain. “I hope you survive the mission with all your appendages intact.” She wiggles her fingers. “From what I have overheard, those in the guild are lucky not to lose a knuckle.”

With that wishful remark, she opens the door and transforms into a lynx. Her tail sways as she pads away, the door clicking behind her.

“Surely she’s not always naked,” I murmur, sinking further into the water.