Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

Something large lumbered toward us, hulking, a mountain of swaying black. Each footfall trembled though me. Jase couldn’t speak now; it was too close, but I felt the strain of his muscles willing me to freeze. It went against every instinct I had. Run, Kazi, hide. But I froze beneath his weight, sweat springing between our bodies. The creature sniffed the air, saw us, and its mouth opened wide, a gaping cavern of enormous teeth, and a terrible roar split the forest. My muscles tensed but Jase held me tight, still. It drew closer, so close that its heaving breaths touched our skin, the smell noxious and suffocating, like all the furnaces of hell bellowed from within. A warning grumble vibrated from it, its mouth tasting the air, tasting us, its tongue rolling over our skin. It huffed, as if disappointed, and turned away. We didn’t move as dawn crept over us, but when the creature’s footsteps had finally faded, Jase let out a long-held breath, and his hand slid from my mouth.

He looked down at me, our faces still close, and the moment splintered, out of step, tumbling into long, frozen seconds, his chest still beating against mine. He blinked as though he was finally oriented again, and rolled off, lying on the ground next to me.

“I didn’t mean to crush you,” he said. “There wasn’t time to wake you up. Are you all right?”

Was I? The fear was ebbing, and yet my pulse still raced. I still felt the pressure of his body on mine and the burn of his skin.

“Yes,” I said, my voice hoarse. “What was that?”

He explained it was a Candok bear and they preferred fish to people, but there was no outrunning or killing them if they perceived you as a threat. If you made no sudden moves, they would usually leave you alone.

Usually. I felt like Wren now, understanding the certainty she wanted when it came to racaa and their meat preferences—especially when I still had the memory of the bear’s hellish wet tongue sampling my face.

“We should go in case it comes back,” Jase said, getting to his feet, but in two steps he stumbled and fell, the chain jerking between us. He cursed. “I forgot about this thing.”

He got back to his feet and grabbed his shirt from the rock where he had laid it to dry the night before. I watched as he put it on, seeing the inked feathers on his skin disappear beneath the fabric, and I thought about how he had forgotten about the chain and the dead weight he was attached to, and yet he had protectively hovered over me anyway.

* * *

Over the next few days, we fell into a surprisingly easy rhythm. There was rarely silence, and for that I was grateful. He told me about other animals that lived in this region. There were several deadly ones I hadn’t yet had the pleasure to meet. He hoped we would come across a meimol mound, a sign of a meaty, tasty bird that tunneled and nested beneath the soil in this area. He eyed the sharpened end of his walking stick, saying the bird wasn’t hard to spear.

“How do you know so much about this region?” I asked, my hand sweeping the horizon.

“It’s Ballenger territory too.”

“Way out here? This has to be more than a hundred miles from Tor’s Watch.”

“Could be.”

I grunted but said nothing else. My silence poked and stabbed between us.

He finally sighed and a sardonic grin pulled at his mouth. “All right, Kazi of Brightmist, tell me, just what is your definition of a thief?”

His tone wasn’t angry. It seemed more like a genuine entreaty to understand me, and I wondered if he had been pondering it ever since I called him a thief a few days ago.

“The Vendan definition is no different than anyone else’s. You take things that don’t belong to you.”

“Such as?”

“Livestock.”

“You’re talking about the shorthorn we took from the Vendans? It was payment for trespassing.”

“You weren’t entitled to even one shorthorn, but it was far more than that. It was everything. You burned their fields. Destroyed their pens. Took their supplies.”

He shook his head. “One shorthorn. That was it. The rest is Vendan embellishment.”

“I saw the damage myself.”

“Then someone else did it. Not us.”

I glanced at his profile, wondering if he was lying. A vein twitched in his neck, and he seemed absorbed by what I said. This news troubled him. Or maybe it was just me who troubled him. I didn’t let up. “What about the merchant caravans you raid?”

“Only under certain circumstances when they cross into our territory.”

“You mean if they cross you?”

He stopped and faced me. “That too.” There was no apology in his expression. His easy tone was gone.