Page 76 of A Thief Among Fae

I look into his dark eyes. “Take me with you.”

That shocks him, the chair creaking as it rocks forward. “That’s rather complicated, considering Desmond told me not to. Said you’d get us caught for sure.”

My stab of irritation mirrors when my parents said I shouldn’t join the adventurers’ guild. More doubt, more hindrance this, and incapable that. I hate it. Why should Desmond, or anyone else, dictate what I can’t do?

I’m not weak. I’m not foolish. And I’m certainly not a liability. I lower my voice, conspiratorially leaning toward Finnian. “Why don’t we prove him wrong?”

Finnian lets out a short laugh, then realizes I’m serious. He stiffens. “You don’t want⁠—”

“To disobey him?” I scoff. “I’ve survived over a dozen barrows. A heist won’t be a challenge. Besides, my Gift is perfect for disarming traps.”

His face scrunches as he hesitates.

I need to go with him. I need to snuff out Auri’s air of superiority. How can I give Finnian the final push to change his mind?

“If there’s trouble because of me, that topaz is yours,” I offer. “And consider it your act of repentance for yesterday, our first. . . gesture of friendship.”

“Alright,” he says, plucking the topaz up. He twirls it in the candlelight before holding out his other hand. “Let’s shake on it. Or is it like this?” He curls his hand into a fist.

“Like this.” I unroll his fingers and grasp his hand.

“Ah, so just like a greeting. That’s simple.” We shake and let go, and he juggles the topaz from one hand to the other. “We’ll meet up with Brandur, another thief from the guild. You’ll like him. He’s got a big personality. You’ll want your blades.” Then he pauses. “Even though you’re not a guild member, I’ll have Nog make you a uniform. Can’t be underdressed on your first heist.”

I blink in surprise. “I appreciate that. And I’ve been meaning to ask, what do the little star patches on your shoulder mean?”

“The number of successful thefts completed,” he answers. Since his sleeve has rows of them, he’s completed a lot. “Tomorrow, meet me in the foyer at sundown, and don’t breathe a word to Dez.”

He winks as he tosses the topaz to me. My magic guides it to the table. His jovial smile as he departs doesn’t show a hint of guilt for snooping in my things.

“There’s a ruby missing,” I call out.

Finnian stops, turns, and throws me the tiny ruby. “Sorry. Force of habit. I would’ve slipped it back into your room in the morning, fae’s promise.”

I cross my arms, the uncut gem inside my fist. “I’d prefer there to be no slipping in or out of my room.”

“Acknowledged,” he says. “I’ll leave that to Desmond. A little bird told me you shared a bed already.” And before I can retort that Desmond spent the night tied up to a chair, he ducks into his own room with a chuckle. Maybe that was for the best; the chair situation sounds even more deviant.

I open my armoire to grab my nightdress. I need a bath, then dinner and a good night’s rest. Yet a large drawstring pouch made from dark blue velvet is laid on the bottom shelf. Beside it is a little paper box tied with twine. A parchment card sits atop the pouch, Cynthia written in inky cursive.

Only one person here knows me by my real name. My heart skips a beat as I take the pouch and open it.

Inside is a leather knife roll, six throwing knives slotted into it. I swallow as I slide one out and examine the polished blade. The craftsmanship is unmistakable.

Sebastian forged these.

Tears sting my eyes as I trace my finger along the lightening holes. They’re cut into moon phases, matching the engravings on the dagger Desmond won from me. The knife feels right to my magic, light enough to whip through the air at my mind’s command.

On the back of the card is a short note: Try not to leave them in a tree.

A genuine laugh slips out of me. I hug the knife roll, breathing in the woody scent of new leather. The prince of the High Court found my favorite blacksmith and had these commissioned for me. The surrealness overwhelms me so much that I laugh again.

Of course, I still miss the dagger Sebastian forged for my birthday, the one Desmond won from our duel. One day, I’ll win it back.

I slide the knife back into the roll and open the little box. Inside is a sweet roll drenched with honey. Gods, he even remembered that I gave away the one he bought me in Mythos.

I take a bite and moan. It’s everything I hoped it would be: sweet, sticky, and to die for.

“Cyn, you in there?” Maeve calls out from the hall. “Can I come in?”