A Thief in the Night

chapter Seventy-three

Eventually the light at the top of the stairs went out, leaving them in total darkness. Slag snored noisily by the gate, but after a while even that sound stopped registering on Malden’s ears and all was still. Cythera wrapped her arms around him, and he held her close. She had stopped shaking. The pain in his back was still there, though. It felt like his body expected at any moment to be stabbed through the vitals.

It was not a good feeling. It left him restless and irritable. The third time he shifted his weight, Cythera sat up and whispered in his ear, “Every time you move you wake me. Try to get comfortable, Malden. Or it will be a very long night.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. She settled back into his arms but her shoulder blade jabbed him in the side and he moved again.

He felt her weight leave him, and he panicked. Like a babe separated for the first time from its mother. “No,” he said, his voice plaintive and hurt. The emotion in his words surprised him, but he couldn’t help it. “No, please. Don’t go away.”

“I’m right here. I couldn’t go very far if I wanted,” she told him. “What’s wrong? Beyond our obvious predicament.”

“I can’t take this,” he told her. “Being confined. It’s—It’s worse than torture. My whole life I’ve been fighting to be free. To do as I choose, go where I want—and it seems like I’ve been running from one cage to another!”

She kissed him gently on the temple. Her hands caressed his face.

He was breathing heavily but not with lust. The comfort she gave him was something he desperately needed, something he could not live without. “At least you’re here with me,” he told her.

“Always,” she said.

“I almost believe you when you say that. You’ve forgiven me for my fancies. And my liberties,” he said, thinking of how angry she’d been with him in the Hall of Masterpieces. “You love me. You said as much when you thought the elves were going to kill me.”

“I remember. I was foolish enough to think that would save you. I thought it might move them and they would take pity. It seems stupid now, but at the time it was all I could think of.”

He bit his lip. He was certain there had been more to it. That she was making an excuse now. If he gave her any leeway, she would slip from his grasp again. He wanted to keep silent but he couldn’t. “If we get out of this alive—”

“Suggest no other possibility,” she told him.

“When we escape,” he told her, “you have to tell Croy about us.”

She sighed deeply and put her arms around his waist. “And why do I have to do that?” she asked, sounding as if she knew she would regret the answer.

“Because we’re in love! Because you don’t love him. He still thinks you’re going to marry him when we get home.”

She was quiet for a time. A time far too long for Malden’s liking.

“If Croy were here right now, before me, I would marry him on the spot,” she said. “Malden—I said what I said. And I can’t lie to you now, I do care for you. But I would have said anything at that moment, anything that might have swayed them. Anything that might have saved you. What I feel for you, Malden—it isn’t right. It isn’t the way my life is supposed to work out. I’m sorry.”

He started to protest but suddenly realized he could see her face. Light was streaming down from the top of the stairs.

An elfin soldier came clattering down, carrying a torch. The two revenant gaolers lifted their swords, but the soldier said something soothing and they lowered their weapons again.

When he peered into the stockade and saw Malden and Cythera holding each other, a wicked smile twisted his thin lips. “If you were about to mate, please don’t let me stop you. I’ll just wait here and observe.”

“Piss off,” Slag moaned, sitting up. The dwarf wiped sleep from his eyes and rose to his feet.

The elf kicked the bars. Slag jumped backward and the elf laughed.

“You,” the soldier said, pointing at Malden. “When we captured you, weren’t you wearing a sword?”

Malden blinked at the elf but said nothing.

“What is your name?”

“You might as well tell him,” Cythera said. “What difference does it make?”

“Malden,” the thief said.

“What? Speak up. Is it Croy?”

Cythera’s arms gripped him tighter.

“No,” Malden said, raising his voice. “I’m Malden.”

The soldier frowned. “How vexing. I’m supposed to fetch a Sir Croy. I was told he would be among the captives, and you were the only one with a sword, so—”

“Well, you’ve f*cking found me,” Slag announced.

For a moment no one at all spoke.

“You’re Sir Croy? You’re a knight?” the elf asked.

“That’s right.”

The elf laughed heartily. “You’re not tall enough!”

“How dare you, sir,” Slag said, in a passable impersonation of Croy. “I may be short in stature but—”

“You were wearing no armor when we caught you. Nor did you have a sword. Knights are supposed to have swords.” The soldier frowned. “Aren’t they?”

“The boy was just holding my sword for me at the time. If I’d had it to hand, the lot of you would be so many spitted roasts right now. Well, you’ve got me. You fought dirty, but I suppose that’s what one expects from you dog-hearted elves. Take me away, you bastard. Do your worst.”

The elf’s brows knitted together. But then he shrugged and unlocked the cage. “Things must have changed outside in the last eight centuries.” He pulled Slag out of the cage and then locked it again.

“Might as well get it over with,” Slag said as he was marched up the stairs.

Malden turned to Cythera with a look of horror. “They’re going to torture him to death,” he said.

“But why?” Cythera looked deeply confused. “Why would he pretend to be Croy? He can’t hope to benefit from such a ruse. Was he trying to protect you?”

“I don’t think so,” Malden told her, remembering what the dwarf had said earlier, while she was sleeping. “I think he just got tired of waiting.”