Page 78 of A Thief Among Fae

We enter Mythos at midnight. I’m relieved that Maeve decided to come with us, but she chews on her lip as Finnian leads us through the winding cobblestone streets. It’s windy tonight, the hanging pub signs creaking as they’re blown parallel with the ground.

The shutters on the homes are closed, but many tavern doors are stoppered open even though the harsh wind batters them. The strum of lutes and bawdy laughter leak out with the golden hearth light. The spiced aroma of meat pies makes my stomach growl. After a lifetime of rationing every bite through winters of chronic hunger, sometimes all it takes is the scent of a good meal to distract me.

Guards patrol the streets. Most nod at us. Others eye the padded armor we wear over our dark guild clothing and the weapons sheathed on our persons, but Finnian told us it’s not uncommon for mercenaries to wander around at night. We have to hope that we blend in.

Finnian leads us to the opulent rows of three-story manors. We walk right past them to the Mythos wall, where an orc male waits for us in the shadows.

“Brandur!” Finnian greets him.

Now I understand what he meant by big. The orc towers over us, robust in build with flame-red hair that cascades to his mid-back and ivy green skin. His boisterous grin bares his sharp lower canines. I’d hate to face him in a brawl, but wouldn’t mind having him at my back in one.

He sports the same guild uniform underneath his gambeson as the rest of us, his sleeves decorated with almost as many tiny star patches as Finnian’s.

“Still gallivanting your merry way across Avedor?” Finnian asks, clapping him on the back.

Brandur laughs, his timbre deep and warm. “Still lifting skirts and skirting hearts?”

“Those days are behind me now,” Finnian says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can’t have myself drunkenly blithering about my profession. Brandur, meet Cyn. Cyn, meet Brandur. He and I were a thing, once.” His nose scrunches. “Never again. Everything you’ve heard about an orc’s bite—not an exaggeration.”

“You’re too dramatic.” Brandur flashes a wicked smirk. “I don’t hear complaints from anyone else.”

“So what are we doing here?” I cut in, fearing that the longer I let this ball roll, the dirtier it will get.

Brandur’s thick brows rise. “What are Maeve and the human doing here?”

Maeve awkwardly waves. “Hi, Brandur. Long time no see.”

Brandur frowns at us. “Finnian, if this is another one of your jokes, it’s not funny. We’re wasting darkness.”

“You know Maeve will be helpful, and Desmond recruited Cyn for the tomb job. She asked me if⁠—”

“Why wasn’t I informed of a new recruit?” Brandur demands.

I try to ignore that his muscular arms look strong enough to snap mine in two. “I’m not a guild member. But I won’t get in your way.”

“Remember the little problem with the guard dog?” Finnian cuts in. “We can avoid it if we sneak in through the top-story window. Cyn can help with her Gift.” He jostles his backpack, something wooden clacking inside it.

Having not discussed this plan with me at all, I’m amazed he sounds so blithe about it. I paste on a smile and nod.

“This is not what we discussed,” Brandur argues.

Finnian paces around the orc, undeterred. “Then I’m calling in that secret you owe me as a favor instead.”

He grunts. “I was never going to tell you which Oldasi twin I slept with.”

“That’s because you don’t remember,” Finnian replies with a smirk.

With a frown I would never want leveled on me, Brandur shakes Finnian’s hand. “Let’s get back to work.” Then he hands Maeve and me fingerless gloves. “You’ll want these. Now, up we all go.”

Finnian sinks onto one knee, bracing as a makeshift step for me. Brandur stands next to him, lacing his hands together to provide a boost.

Then the wind rattles us, whipping our hair and burning our eyes. One of my gloves takes flight as I try to slide it on, but Maeve catches it.

“Thank you.” I put it on and squint up at the wall. “It’ll be even windier up there.”

“Then it would be wise not to fall,” Brandur gruffly says.

I flex my fingers once before stepping from Finnian’s thigh onto Brandur’s waiting hands. The stone presses cold against my palms as I steady myself. Then Brandur pushes me upward.