Page 11 of Thief of Hearts

Thrax. He was the reason.

Out of all my mother’s children, Thrax and I had been the closest. We were less than a year apart in age and he had been my best friend. I missed my brother. Having his daughter with us would’ve been like having a piece of him back home.

I missed having someone like him in my life. I didn’t have friends and I didn’t have much in common with my other siblings.

But I was happy for him. I loved Quynh and I loved that they were so . . .

My mother’s words filled my mind.

At peace. Content.

It wasn’t something I would have admitted to anyone else, but my mother had been right. I did feel something being in Troas. Part of me envied Lia her close relationships with her family, her adelphia, her daughter, her husband. I had nothing like that. Even at that going-away celebration, where I knew everyone loved me and thought of me as a sister, I felt outside of them. Like I was looking through a window and watching them while not actually being part of it.

I wondered how much of that was my fault. I prized my independence above all else, and Thrax had commented on more than one occasion that I sometimes had a tendency of pushing people away and shutting them out.

Was that true?

“Passing through?”

It took me a moment to realize the question had been directed at me. Normally in this situation I wouldn’t respond. Drunk villains who frequented inns did not need any sort of encouragement. It would make me feel bad if I was forced to stain the rugs with their blood.

But I still had all of their focus, which meant they weren’t paying attention to the family by the door. I could keep them occupied until that family made it safely to their room.

“Yes,” I finally responded.

The man who had asked the initial question sat with four others. My adrenaline spiked—these men were dangerous.

They also weren’t drunk like the others. They were clear-eyed and watched me the way a predator would its prey.

Of the group, one stood out—he was objectively handsome. He looked cleaner than the others, his gaze shrewd and calculating.

I had often found that men like him were the worst of the worst.

“Are you on your way to the tournament?” a different man asked me. I kept my eyes on them, not wanting to risk glancing at the family and having someone see what I was looking at.

“What tournament?”

The men let out a collective guffaw as if they found this hilarious. “The tournament in Sagaris,” the same man said, as if this were something I should have already known.

“I’ve never heard of the tournament or Sagaris,” I said, waiting impatiently until I could end this conversation. I took another bite of the stew.

A wadded piece of papyrus landed on the table in front of me. They were lucky it hadn’t landed in my bowl. I flattened out the parchment and glanced at it, as if I could read it. It had been a long day. These were not the kind of men that you showed any sort of weakness to. It only encouraged terrible behavior.

“Because we’re going to the tournament and perhaps we could all ride together,” the handsome man said. I supposed his smile was supposed to be charming but it only seemed cold to me. “We consider it our sacred obligation to protect women and would be happy to escort you and keep you safe.”

I heard the innkeeper say something about retrieving linens and he left. I willed him to go faster.

“Why would I go to this tournament?” I asked.

That finally earned me a moment of silence as they all stared at me in disbelief.

“Do you know what prizes they’re awarding? A bag of gold bigger than a man’s head!”

I told myself not to make a cutting remark about there not being a bag bigger than their heads. I stayed quiet.

“They’re giving the victor a magical rope from Phrygia!”

That meant nothing to me, either. What would I do with a rope?