Vow of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 2)

Steady.

I’ve got you. I promise.

I turned to face the king.

I smiled to reassure him.

Juggled the words in my head into the perfect order, then stacked them into a neat pile. These were the things I knew how to do, the things that were second nature to me while everything else swirled wildly out of control.

I needed control.

“I do see your point,” I said. “The town does need to move forward. Into a new era.” I walked back to the table, the king’s plate empty, mine still full. I remained standing and stabbed a quail’s egg and ate it, then stabbed one of the tiny potatoes. I ate it too and washed it down with a long sip of wine, draining half the glass. Some of it dribbled down my chin, and I wiped it away with the back of my sleeve. Heat and recklessness rushed into my fingertips and toes. “One thing surprises me, though, Your Majesty. You’re a gambler, aren’t you? I wouldn’t have expected it.”

“No,” he replied uncertainly, “I never gamble.”

“I killed at least three of your soldiers, and yet you took a chance that I wouldn’t kill you the minute you stepped into my room earlier.” I looked around the empty dining room, my hands raised in a question, the fork still in my hand, acting as a pointer. “And here? No weapons? No guards, even though you just admitted murdering the Patrei of Hell’s Mouth, the true ruler that my sovereign entrusted me to return to his home. Yes, you’re a gambler, a foolhardy one perhaps.” I leaned forward on the table. “Or maybe you’re just a very stupid one.”

His chin lifted. Angled.

The sly king. Ah, there he was. Back again. Slinking out from the shadows. All he needed was a little prod.

My gaze burned into his. “You’re nothing but an opportunist who moved in on an unstable situation for your own gain and employed wolves like Paxton and Truko to help you get it. All you care about is your newly acquired wealth at the arena. You think you can tell me you are responsible for orchestrating the ambush of the Patrei, without benefit of trial, and I will just lie and do your bidding?”

He pushed against the arms of his chair and slowly stood, the sly king unfurling, taller, imposing, in control. No juggling. Not caring. He was fully exposed. His skin seemed to stretch tighter across his face, his cheekbones sharper, his eyes darker and deeper.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your vacillations between kissing, attacking, and arresting the Patrei left me with some doubt about which side you were really on. Vendan soldier—or traitor to the Alliance in league with the Ballengers? I guess I have my answer now.”

He stepped toward me, and I jerked the fork in my hand upward, a warning.

A grin lit his eyes. “You think you’re going to kill me with a pickle fork?”

“You’d be surprised at the creative places I know to shove a simple small fork. I’m not saying your death would be quick. On the contrary, it would be ugly and slow—maybe something like being torn apart by animals.”

I swallowed, the last few words clawing in my throat.

“I didn’t order that part,” he said. “That was fate, ordered by the gods.” He took another step toward me. “Put down the fork. You know that I’m stronger and could overtake you easily.”

“And yet here we are,” I replied. “I’m the one holding a pickle fork, and I can see the veins rising in your neck. Your pulse is racing. There are many kinds of strength, Your Majesty. Maybe you should become acquainted with them all instead of dwelling on your biceps and that useless muscle between your ears.”

The door to the dining room flew open, and his cronies rushed in.

“I should have known,” I said. “Listening in?”

They slowed when they saw the fork in my hand. They began to spread out. “Not behind me,” I warned. “In front of me where I can see you—unless you want me to plunge this fork into the king’s throat immediately.” I was closer to him than they were to me, and I was still a lethal yet unknown factor who had killed at least three of their soldiers.

“Stay where she can see you,” the king ordered.

I really had no plan beyond this moment. Wren would hate this. No escape. No juggling. But if I were to die, the king would die first. Of that much I was certain.

They created a half circle in front of me, and I eyed each one carefully. Banques, Truko, Divot Head. And Paxton. My eyes rested on him the longest. My only regret was I couldn’t kill them all.

“Put the fork down,” the king repeated. “You’ll never get out of here alive.”

“Maybe that was your greatest miscalculation. That I ever planned to.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Paxton warned, edging closer. “The king might have a position here for you, one that could be lucrative. He’s very generous. You’re looking at this all wrong. Don’t make a rash decision.”

I glared at Paxton. “You just might be the worst of them all, you worthless pile of dung. You’re a Ballenger too.”