But the prize was something that could have easily turned and killed you. Was it worth risking your life?
She had looked at me thoughtfully then. I knew the queen had the gift, but I didn’t think she could read minds. Even so, she saw the answer in mine. Yes, it was worth it. Every missed meal was worth it. The grueling new depths of patience I had to learn were worth it. Every groveling favor I had to pay off was worth it.
But there was more I couldn’t tell her. A reason that hooked into my heart as sharply as a claw. It was the tiger’s eyes. Their beauty. Their shine. Their amber glow that had wrapped me so tightly with memory that I couldn’t breathe. I saw the desperate brokenness in them that was masked behind a defiant roar. Shhh, Kazi. Don’t move.
In the flash of that moment, I already saw myself leading him across a rickety chain bridge, setting him free in a forest where he would roar, fierce, loud, and unbroken. At least that was my hope for him, to be restored and free.
The animal you steal for me will be even more dangerous, Kazimyrah. You must be every bit as careful and cunning, and above all, you must use every ounce of patience you possess. You must not be reckless with your own life nor with those who are with you. This beast will turn and kill you.
Cunning. Careful.
Patient.
I had always been patient. Even the simple stealing of a turnip or a mutton bone required waiting for opportunity to cooperate. It might take an hour or more. And when opportunity didn’t present itself, more patience to create opportunity, or learning to juggle to distract a merchant, or telling them a puzzling riddle to make their minds tumble in different directions, abandoning their guard. The brass-button theft alone had taken a week of planning and patience. The theft of the tiger, over a month, testing my limits, always unsure if the tiger would survive long enough for me to follow through with my plan, wanting to rush, but then holding back, my patience gnawed and eaten away, like a worried bone. I thought nothing could be harder.
But this theft of a traitor had complications I hadn’t foreseen, namely Jase Ballenger. And now something else had gone wrong, something worse than a complication. I could hear it in Mason’s deliberate footsteps and the long silence between us. I could taste it in the air, the foreboding tang of blood and anger. In Venda, when I sensed things going wrong, I could back out, silently walk away, and disappear into a crowd. Move on to a different mark. Here, I couldn’t do that.
Patience, Kazi. Patience. There is always more to draw from.
It was a lie I told myself.
So far I believed it and that was all that mattered.
I eyed the blood on Mason’s sleeve. What business had suddenly taken them all by storm? Did they find Wren and Synové? What if the blood was—
“Why didn’t Jase come and get me?” I asked.
Mason grinned. “Am I really such a bad escort? Don’t believe the rumors.”
“I always believe rumors.”
“Relax. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
When someone said that, it was precisely the time to be worried. “I was only wondering—”
“Jase had to go clean up.”
Clean up? He was spotlessly clean just a few hours ago. “It must have been some very messy business you were taking care of.”
“It was.”
I knew I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. Mason was tight in the inner circle, family, one of many keystones firmly wedged and committed, and nothing could make his lips slip free for anyone outside that circle. I understood and admired that because one loose stone could make a whole bridge collapse, but unfortunately, his loyalty did nothing to help me.
We reached the end of a long hall. Tiago and Drake stood on either side of the doors.
“They’re inside,” Drake said. “Waiting.”
Who? A salty taste swelled on my tongue. Patience, Kazi. The tiger is not yet yours. And I knew patience was the dividing line between success and failure.
Mason opened the door and we walked in.
*
It was a small room, windowless, with dark paneled walls, but a candelabra in the corner provided soft golden light. Jase sat slumped in a chair, his boots propped up on the end of a long table, and Gunner and Titus sat on either side of him. Gunner reviewed scattered papers and carefully wrote on another.
Jase jumped to his feet when I walked in. He had a new shirt on. He stared at me. His brown eyes that had once swallowed me whole with their warmth were cold and distant. The anger and blood I tasted in the air was not imagined.
“Hello, Kazi,” he said formally.
A fist pounded my sternum. It was death, fierce and strong, and I couldn’t breathe. “Who have you killed?” I asked immediately, not waiting for any more formalities.
“Who says—”
“I want to see Wren and Synové! Now!”
Jase walked to my side and took my elbow, trying to guide me to a seat. “Sit down. Your friends are fine, but we can’t bring them here—”
I yanked free. “You don’t really have them. Is that it?” I asked, praying I was right. Praying he would confess this one truth to me. “That’s why you won’t let me see them.”
Gunner stood and retrieved something from a leather case on the floor. He threw two items onto the table. Wren’s ziethe clattered and spun on the polished wood. Synové’s leather archer glove slid as smooth and golden as warm butter toward me.
Gunner grunted. “We thought you might need some proof.”
I let out a shuddering breath, letting them think it was fear instead of relief. I maintained my distressed expression, but inwardly I calmed. Now I knew, with little doubt, that they didn’t have them. Each of Wren’s blades had dyed leather wrapping the hilt. The red one was the spare she kept carefully wrapped and buried deep in her saddlebag. The blue and violet ziethes were her blades of choice and the ones she wore at her sides. Synové’s monogrammed archer glove was a gift from the queen, a spare she had not yet worn. She was too much in awe of it. The leather was still pristine and unblemished. Gunner had only gotten hold of their saddlebags, perhaps taken by the magistrate at the livery while we were in town. If they actually had Wren and Synové, they wouldn’t have had to dig deep through their belongings. They could have taken items in plain sight at their sides.
“This doesn’t mean they’re alive. I saw the blood on Mason’s shirt,” I said, keeping up the charade.
Titus shook his head. “She’s a hard one to convince, Jase. I don’t know how you spent all that time with her.” He threw a loosely wrapped packet on the table in front of me.
I pulled a corner of the paper aside and choked back a gag.
“Those look like your friends’ ears?” Titus asked.
“No,” I answered quietly.
“Put them away, Titus,” Jase snapped.
Titus wrapped the ears back in the bloodstained paper and set it aside. I tried to sort out how severed human ears played into this.
“We’ve had more trouble in Hell’s Mouth,” Jase said. “We need your help.”
I looked down at the damson stain that Jase had carelessly overlooked on the toe of his boot. He saw me staring and drew my attention away, taking my arm and leading me to a seat at the table. They all took seats around me. They were sober as they laid it all out. They had found more labor hunters in town. That was the coldness I had seen in Jase’s eyes—and now heard in his voice—his utter hatred for the scavenging predators. It was a hatred we shared and was an especially fresh horror for both of us.