Page 11 of Heart of Thieves

Probably not.

That night, I told her, You do not want my trust, and you do not want my help. You only think you do. I thought I was lying, pre-tending I’d tricked her into caring for me. But, in truth, I glamoured her without realizing it the whole tournament, without magic and without illusion, to think I was someone who might be safe to love.

As long as that moonshard’s magic flows through my veins, through Enzo’s body, through Laurel’s heart, none of us are safe.

So I shove away thoughts of Lola. Shove away the longing and the curiosity until I cannot feel them anymore. Until there’s nothing but Laurel and the evidence she bears of my sins.

“What do you propose?” I ask.

She hides a small smile. “What do you know of St. James?”

I let out a slow exhale, thoughts whirring. There are a few criminals worth investigating—people the world might be better off without. While personally I would prefer to have them locked up, sending Laurel their way could buy me time to assess the extent of her powers and uncover any possible weaknesses.

St. James is an obvious target. His whole operation is full of liars and cheaters, criminals and sinners.

“Did you hear about Tomas Hildebard and Ignalus Price?” I ask.

She frowns. “No.”

“Hildebard was in my tournament,” I tell her. “He lost, and the secret he’d bartered was that he told St. James he’d killed my brother when, in fact, he had not.”

“And Ignalus Price?”

“Price was St. James’s second-in-command. He knew the corpse Hildebard supplied wasn’t really Enzo and kept it to himself,” I explain. “Their bodies were found in a warehouse last week.”

“So St. James punished them for their disloyalty,” she concludes. “What does that mean for us?”

“Price was his top dog, so someone new has likely taken his place.”

“Any idea who?”

“Well, there was another secret revealed during my tournament,” I say. “Ostena Vesnes.”

I think back to the player who faced off against Lola that last day. “She made it to the final round. Her secret was that she and her lover, Forsyth Lott, had conspired together to enter the tournament to foil Hildebard. It is likely they knew Hildebard’s secret and hoped that if St. James found out about it, he would kill him and promote Forsyth to second-in-command.”

“Forsyth Lott,” Laurel repeats, sloshing the name around in her mouth to test its taste. “How do we get our hands on him?”

“He plays Solstice at the Oyster Lounge most nights of the week.”

“Tell me where,” she says, nodding at the road ahead. “Let’s track him down.”

We find Forsyth at the bar. He’s a younger man, perhaps only a year or two older than I am.

Laurel’s donned gloves to hide her encrusted hands, but when she grasps my fingers, she presses a chip of voratium between our palms. I glance down at her, brows raised. She’s giving me access to my magic?

Instinct tells me to take it, to wield it, to run.

As though sensing that, her presence flickers through me, an awareness raising goose bumps on my skin. A warning. She can take hold of my body anytime she wants.

I steel myself. “Follow my lead,” I murmur. Swallowing the trepidation in my gut, I approach Forsyth with her at my side. A scent filters into my nose through the voratium. Now that I’ve got it in my hand, I can sense secrets again, and Forsyth’s are rancid. The sort I might have bargained out of him once.

I take the chair next to him, nodding at a deck of cards on the counter. “You up for a round of Solstice, sir?”

Forsyth tips the last of his drink down his throat before slamming his cup onto the counter. “You’re the Liar.”

“Hmmmm.” I cock my head. “You’ve been to my casino.”

“Only a handful of times. But I’ve heard stories.”