Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

Jase’s chest rose in a deep breath. He knew it would be anything but simple. “And that would be?”

“No conditions,” Titus argued.

Gunner’s eyes bulged. “Is she blackmailing us?”

Mason huffed out a disbelieving growl. “I think that’s exactly what she’s doing.”

“Only because you choose to read it that way,” I said and smiled. “I prefer to call it payment for services rendered. A simple business transaction. You Ballengers understand that, don’t you?”

Jase’s voice turned flat and to the point. “What do you want?”

“Reparations,” I answered. “I want everything that was stolen from the Vendan settlement restored—with interest—and all their destroyed structures, pens, and fences rebuilt.”

Tempers exploded. A host of angry objections whirled between them. Jase jumped to his feet. “Are you out of your mind? Haven’t you gotten the message? We want them to leave.”

“It is their right to be there. Venda has gone to great expense and effort in establishing this settlement, and the King of Eislandia specifically approved the site.”

Jase growled. “The king who doesn’t know Hell’s Mouth from his own ass?”

I shrugged. “No reparations. No letter.”

“No!” Jase went off on a rant, walking around the room, his hands waving, punching the air, reiterating that his family hadn’t destroyed anything and helping the Vendans would be the same as posting a welcome sign for anyone to come and take what they wanted. All of his objections were punctuated and reinforced by the others. They fed off each other like a pack of jackals. “They are half the cause of our troubles in the first place! You let one encroach on your territory, and then everyone thinks you’re weak and they want a piece too!”

I sighed. “They are seven families. Twenty-five people. It’s not even land that you use. Are the Ballengers so very small that a few families are a big threat? Can you not see them as an asset instead? A way to grow your dynasty?”

They looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Those are my terms.”

Angry glances bounced between them, but no words. I watched their frustration mount, jaws growing rigid, nostrils flaring, chests rising with furious indignation. The silence ticked.

“We’ll move them,” Jase finally said. “And rebuild in another location.”

A heated chorus of grunts erupted. The others objected to this concession.

“But it has to be fair and equitable,” I answered, “water, good land, and still within a day’s ride of Hell’s Mouth.”

“It will be.”

“I have one other stipulation.”

Gunner’s hands flew into the air. “Can I wring her neck right now?”

“The Ballengers must do the work,” I said. “Specifically, the Patrei. You, Jase. You personally must physically help rebuild their settlement. It shouldn’t take long. A few weeks at most. They had so very little to begin with. I will stay on here—of my own free will—to make sure the work is done, and you will remove the guards at my door, so I will be a true guest, just as your letter so poorly tried to imply.”

Jase’s hands curled into fists. His gaze was deadly. “Sign the letter.”

“Does this mean we have an agreement?”

His chin dipped in a stiff affirmation.

Titus groaned.

A hiss burned through Gunner’s teeth.

Mason shook his head.

“Sign it,” Jase repeated and pushed the letter back in front of me.