Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

I ran my fingers through my hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. She didn’t mention taking anything from the king. I looked back at Garvin. “You said you figured something out?”

“Her name. Ten. She was a petty thief in Venda. Probably the best.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

KAZI

My breath came in gulps. Eben’s arms clamped around me.

“Breathe, Kazi. Take it slow,” he whispered in my ear.

Water steamed in a kettle. Hot bread lay on a rack. Half-chopped turnips were abandoned on the cutting board. Their voices were details, like the bread and steam and the stab in my throat, all of them splintering through me, as if I had stepped into a world that was exploding apart. Eben had seen me storm through the hallway and pulled me into the kitchen. Natiya’s eyes loomed in and out of my vision. Wren bit her nail. Synové pulled on her braid. I closed my eyes.

As I hurried up the mountain, all I could think was, Eleven years. For eleven years, the driver had been coming and going with the Ballengers’ blessing. He was here all along. This was where his journey began, where he slept and ate and bathed, where his life went on, when mine had stopped.

“Are you all right?”

All right? I made a vow. I had no choice but to be all right.

But my insides bled.

Drained through my pores.

Every part of me hollow again.

I remembered the brokenness.

The hunger.

The years vanished, and I was hiding under a bed again.

Where is the brat? Where is she?

In the warehouse, I had reached for my knife. I was ready to kill them all, just as I had been when I’d gone after the ambassador. It was only the flash of the prison I had landed my whole crew in that made me stop.

The man who took my mother was here. Somewhere. And if he wasn’t here today, he’d roll in on a wagon tomorrow, or the next day, and when he did I would do something that would jeopardize everyone in this room because he mattered to me more than a thousand valleys piled with dead. I craved justice for one.

I need you, Kazimyrah. I believe in you.

I floated between worlds, between oaths and fear, promises and justice—between love and loathing.

“Drink this,” Natiya ordered.

Eben loosened his hold, and I took the water Natiya held out to me. I finished the glass and asked for more, turning away, leaning against the counter, molding composure the way I did when my next meal depended on it. A hundred tricks, one piled on another, fooling myself that I could do it, digging my nails into my palms until one pain masked another that I couldn’t bear.

I downed the second glass of water and finally turned back to face them. I told them about the Previzi warehouse.

Anger pinched Wren’s face. “Previzi? Based here?”

“And the welcome mat is rolled out for them,” I confirmed. “Something else happened too. I punched the Patrei in the face.”

A deep silence fell in the room.

“Did you knock any teeth out?” Synové finally asked, a certain desperation in her wink and smile.

“If I did, it wasn’t enough.”

Natiya sighed. “You’ll have to smooth it over with him until we leave. An apology—”