Page 61 of A Thief Among Fae

“To be free,” Desmond says slowly, as if every word were a burden.

I breathe in to tell him I hope there’s a day when his kingdom will be.

Yet he reaches out, shushing me by pressing a finger to my lips. “To walk every step of the world, to leave the war and court politics far behind. What wish more foolish could a prince dream of?”

He lets his hand fall. Looking at him is like gazing into a mirror, and I wonder if he feels the same. I never thought a prince and a pauper could hope for a fate so similar.

“I’m glad you told me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel alone.” Then his mask clicks back into place, cold and unreadable.

“I should keep looking for my knives,” I tell him, glad the darkness hides the flush in my cheeks. As I step away, I slide my hands into my pants pockets and feel several small, cold objects.

I pull out five silver marks. He must’ve slipped them in when he pinned me. I suck in a tight breath. “You remembered. I didn’t know if you really⁠—”

Zing!

Desmond lunges, tackling me to the ground. A throwing knife glints, striking the tree right where my head was mere seconds ago. Our elevated pulses echo through our chests, and he gazes into my eyes for half a second—just long enough to make sure I’m alright—before he pushes off me.

“Stay behind me.” He unsheathes his sword.

I’m about to protest when I remember I’m unarmed. At least our attacker gifted us a blade. I shove the coins into my pocket, pull the knife from the tree, then follow Desmond. The knife hovers behind my shoulder, levitated by my Gift. My fists are raised like he taught me.

The hairs on my neck stand on end. A prickle along my skin has me shift my weight to my left foot.

“Move left!” Desmond shouts.

Another knife sings through the darkness, passing mere inches to the right of me. In the tree ahead of us, I sense the heaviness of chainmail in the shadows, the rustle of clothing. My magic knows someone is hiding there.

The tree limb that our attacker is balanced on sways as they aim with another knife. I pull on their armor until I see them lose their balance and fall.

Desmond charges.

The attacker is a man. He rolls back onto his feet and parries Desmond’s first strike. I recognize the gray cloth covering his face, the tall stature that looks down on even Desmond. He stopped me outside the market, showing me the wanted poster with Desmond on it. Then he spied on us as we left Mythos.

Now, he’s dressed for battle.

Their swords slash and block quicker than my eyes can keep track of in the dark.

“I am Gashil, but you will remember me as your reaper in your final breaths,” a male’s deep baritone rumbles within my mind. Every word is pronounced with immaculate precision, an eerie voice that could belong to the gods. “If you are wise, you will surrender now.”

Another masked assassin approaches from the shadows. This one is female, slighter than Gashil. Her sword is drawn against a woman’s neck.

“Please,” the captive begs. “Let me go!”

Every bit of warmth drains from my body. Terror claws through me as I sink to my knees and raise my hands over my head. The knife I was levitating clatters to the dirt.

These bastards have kidnapped Evie.

Chapter 19

Tears roll down Evie’s pale cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers. “Cynthia?” she calls out.

Two more assassins emerge from behind the trees, shoving my parents forward. Their hands are bound, gags tight around their mouths. Mom is pale, her nightdress too thin for the cold air. Her knees shake as she stares at me. Dad shouts into the gag and writhes against his restraints. His captor slaps him in retaliation, whipping Dad’s head sideways.

I swallow a scream. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” I have to believe it. I have to get them out of here alive.

The lead assassin lowers his sword and backs away from us, knowing he’s already won.