Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

I looked at her now, lying across from me. She hadn’t stirred all morning, and I wondered if she would wake at all. I didn’t know why I tried to warn her that the brute was sneaking up from behind. Maybe because I saw her as a chance to get away. I’d seen how fast she could move when she kicked my legs out from under me back in Hell’s Mouth. I mulled that over too, or maybe it was more like I seethed over it.

My stomach was still raw, empty. The hunters hadn’t given us anything but water since they took us yesterday. I watched her chest bare

ly rise, her breaths so shallow sometimes I thought she wasn’t breathing. He’d hit her hard, and I guessed she had a good-sized egg on the back of her head. She had hesitated in the alley when she spotted me, as if something had distracted her. Her demands had disappeared and a puzzled expression had crossed her face. Maybe it was only seeing her prey snatched from beneath her nose.

Rahtan. I turned the word over and what I had thought it meant. I had seen Rahtan before in Ráj Nivad, but none had been like her. They looked like killers and brutes, and they were big. She barely reached past my shoulder. And they sure as hell never juggled. Nothing about this added up. Could she be an imposter? Someone sent by Paxton? But I had overheard her speaking Vendan when we first approached. No one spoke like that around here, except other Vendans.

Her lids fluttered. She was finally coming to, but her eyes remained closed, even though her chest rose and her breaths became fuller. She was awake. Just assessing her predicament. I could tell her. It was bad. Very bad.

Scum like this hadn’t ventured close to Hell’s Mouth in years. They feared the Ballengers. But with settlements moving in, they probably thought they could too. Give up a handful and you will lose it all. My father was right. All the Ballenger generations had been right. We would give up no more; not a single fistful of soil would be shared.

Her eyes opened and her gaze shot to her chained hands first, then our shackled ankles, and finally her eyes rose to mine. I said nothing, just stared at her, letting it all sink in.

Still plan to arrest me? Maybe not.

I had already spent the whole night trying to loosen the chains or pick the locks with a sliver of wood I had pried from the wagon. The locks were secure, and we were stuck. She turned her head, staring out the back of the wagon, and for the first time, she flinched. If it was fear, she muffled it quickly and pulled herself up to sit against the side of the wagon. She winced as she rose. I wondered if she had broken anything when she slammed against the cobbles. Half of her face was still covered with dirt. She looked around, finally taking note of the others chained in the wagon—six of us altogether.

“Welcome to the party,” I said.

She looked at me, unflustered. Her eyes were smoky golden moons, her pupils pinpoints, shrewd, scheming, or maybe it was just the blow to her head that made her look that way. Her focus turned back to her chained hands, and then she stared at our shackled ankles again, examining them for long, studious minutes. I suspected that rankled her the most. If she hoped to jump out of the back of the wagon and run, I was her anchor. She slowly surveyed the others. We were the only ones with leg shackles, maybe because of our position at the back of the wagon, but all their hands were similarly bound like ours. Their expressions were empty, despondent. I recognized two of them from Hell’s Mouth, one from the cooperage and another from the smithy. Her gaze shifted to the driver. She studied him for a long while too, and then her chin lifted as it had when she told me to move along. I knew something was coming.

“Driver!” she called. “Stop the wagon. I have to pee.”

The driver laughed and called over his shoulder. “You missed piss break, darling. You gotta go, you do it right there.”

“I’d rather not,” she called back.

“And I’d rather not listen to your caterwauling. Shut up!”

Her eyes narrowed.

I nudged her with my foot. Don’t, I mouthed. He had pummeled one of the other prisoners senseless when he wouldn’t stop moaning, and I didn’t want her messing up my own plan for escape. I had spotted an ax under the driver’s seat. Easy to get to, if the opportunity arose.

A grin lit her eyes. A grin. What was the matter with her? She was going to push him.

“Let it go,” I whispered between gritted teeth.

“Driver, I really need to pee.”

He whipped around, furious, but before he could speak, she said, “I’ll give you a gift for your trouble?”

His rage turned to a chuckle. “I already got all the valuables off you. Sword. Knives. Vest. Those fancy boots.”

She leaned forward. “What about a riddle? Something to occupy your mind for all these long, dreary miles? That’s a treasure in itself, no?” His expression changed. No doubt any proposal containing the word treasure caught his greedy attention. When there was nothing tangible left to take, this prize appealed to him.

“Give it to me,” he demanded.

“Pee first.”

“Riddle first.”

She sat back. “Very well. But I warn you, you won’t get the answer until I pee.”

He nodded, happy with his deal, and told her he was ready for it.

I watched her expertly pushing him against a wall, but I wasn’t even sure what the goal was. All this to pee? I didn’t think so.

“Listen up,” she instructed, her voice cheerful, like it was a fun diversion for her.