Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

He looked down at me, our pauses becoming more reckless, the questions lurking behind them doubling.

“What?” I finally said as he continued to study me, like all the world’s mysteries were hidden behind my eyes.

“I have a riddle for you this time,” he said.

“You?” I laughed.

“Don’t be such a skeptic. I’m a fast learner when I’m motivated.”

Wish stalks, stories, riddles—for now it was enough. “All right, then, Jase Ballenger, go ahead.”

“What is as bright as the sun,

As sweet as nectar,

As silky as the night sky,

And as irresistible as a cold, tall ale?”

“Hmm. Bright, sweet, silky, and irresistible? I give up.”

“Your hair woven through my fingers.”

I laughed. “That’s a terrible riddle. It makes no sense.”

He smiled. “Does it have to?”

He brushed a strand of my hair across his cheek, his face drawing closer, and his lips hovered, lingering at my hairline. I closed my eyes, breathing in his touch, needles of heat skimming beneath my skin, and then as slow as syrup his lips traveled over my brow, grazed my lashes, down my cheek, drawing a line all the way to my mouth, and there his lips rested gently, our breaths mingling featherlight, a searching, wondering ache between them—How much longer?—both of us memorizing this moment as if we feared it disappearing, until finally his lips pressed harder, hungry on mine.

It was a wild indulgent slope we had cascaded down, and I didn’t care. For once in my life, I didn’t care about tomorrow. I didn’t care if I starved or died. I feasted on the now, and I didn’t let myself think about who he was or who I was, only who we were right now in this moment and how he made me feel on this patch of earth, in this patch of shade. In this strange upside-down world, ignoring tomorrow seemed as natural and expected as breathing.

What is this, Jase? What is this?

But it was a question I didn’t really want answered.

Our lips finally parted, and he rolled onto his back. He blew out a long slow breath. “Time to go,” he said. “I’ll think of a better riddle next time.” He stood and helped me up. We got our last drinks at the stream, and he studied the path ahead. I perceived a shift in him already, counting the steps to home. The settlement was closer than I thought.

Next time.

There would be no more next times. This brief story we had created was ending. I felt it in the glint of the sun, the curl of the wind, the voices of ghosts still calling, Turn back. I saw it in the change of his focus. That other world, the one that held who we really were, was calling him, already whittling a hole into this one, our pasts echoing through it. Its voice was strong and I heard its call too.

* * *

The mountains on either side stepped closer, the wide valley narrowing, funneling us in the crook of its arm. I watched the way he scanned the shrinking horizon, the way he tensed as we crested every knoll, always walking a step ahead of me. My fingers danced up the knots of his spine, and his chest expanded in a deep breath. He looked sideways at me, his expression dark.

I had interrupted his thoughts.

“My father is being entombed today,” he said.

The final good-bye.

I wondered how quickly his father passed, if there were things Jase didn’t get a chance to say to him. We can never know the exact moment when someone will leave our lives forever. How many times had I bargained with the gods for one more day, one hour, just one minute. Was that too much to ask? One minute to say the unsaid things that were still trapped inside me. Or maybe I only wanted one more minute to say a real good-bye.

“Is there more you wished you could have asked him?”

He nodded. “But I didn’t know what all my questions were until it was too late.”

“How did he die, Jase?” I wondered if he would trust me enough to tell me now, instead of skirting the question like he had the last time.