Page 82 of Heart of Thieves

“Ostena came to me yesterday with a very interesting backup plan, just in case yours fails.”

“It’s not going to fail,” I grit out.

He raises his hands, a placating smile on his face. “Of course not. But if it does, I want to make sure I’m utilizing this opportunity to the best of my ability.”

“Ostena won’t be able to capture the Thief any better than your other goons have, game or not.”

“The Thief can go noncorporeal,” my father replies quietly. “But the Liar can’t.”

My stomach sinks. The last thing I need is for my father to spark some kind of battle in the middle of my game. “What good would trapping the Liar do? He doesn’t have Magnolia.”

“Those brothers are far more entangled than they allow the public to believe.”

“They hate each other.”

“Hate is another shade of love, Nocturne. Just channeled differently.” He smiles softly. “If the Liar is in danger, the Thief will come.”

“Even if he does,” I hedge, “how would that get your daughter back?”

His smile is wolfish, teeth glowing yellow in the cheap, buzzing light. “I’ll make him choose.”

My mouth goes dry. “You’re banking an awful lot on the supposed love you think exists between two seaspawn who have spent years trying to undermine one another. Especially considering the Liar cannot die. Why would the Thief care about sparing him?”

“What benefit is my daughter to him, other than as a bargaining chip?” my father asks, cocking an eyebrow.

So he, at least, doesn’t know about my magical abilities . . . Unless he’s pretending not to know in order to keep it secret?

“His brother, on the other hand,” my father goes on, “is powerful. In more ways than just magic. And he is capable of feeling pain.” My father’s eyes glitter. “The Thief is a lot of things, but heartless is not one of them.”

The irony would be enough to make me laugh if I didn’t feel so sick.

“Get your minions out of my game,” I hiss, whipping in shadows from every side, plunging everything but our faces into suffocating darkness. “Or our deal is off.”

His eyes flash, but his expression does not change, immovable and eerie as a rictus grin. “Maybe I don’t care for our deal any longer.”

I flood the room with a chill as cold as death. Lightning crackles in the rumbling shadows, sparking near his face.

“You’d defy a seaspawn?” I ask.

He does not flinch. “Magic does not scare me.”

“It should.” My whisper is full of hissing snakes.

“Threaten me, then, if you’re so fearsome. Hurt me.” His eyes flash. “Kill me.”

His voice is conversational, as though we are doing nothing more than having tea, but I hear in it the challenge. The line drawn. The sword raised.

My attack last time struck a chasm between us. He no longer sees me as an ally. Only as a rival to be challenged.

He’s calling my bluff.

Perhaps I did not do so well at hiding my reaction to his pain last time. Perhaps he noticed the flicker of terror in my eyes when I realized what my magic was doing to him. Perhaps he glimpsed human weakness behind my shadows.

Footsteps echo around me. Shapes moving through my smoke. Approaching with pistols raised.

He’s got guards, and he’s not afraid to use them.

His eyes glitter with a maniacal glee that terrifies me. Suddenly, a man with whom I’ve always felt safe—even, somehow, as Nocturne over the past few weeks—becomes someone I do not recognize at all. But it’s not that this man is a false version of my father as I’ve tried to believe. Not a villainous character he’s playing in order to keep his power or to hide his own weaknesses.