A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

Half climbing, half jumping up the brick wall of the building, Jarek cuts the rope with one powerful swing.

The body collapses to the cobblestone with a thud, and the women rush in to cover him with the blanket. “Thank you, sir,” the younger one offers, tears in her eyes as she collects the corpse’s hand.

That’s when I see the dull mark on hers. “Where did you get that?” I point to it. “That emblem.”

“The priestess. She is going around Cirilea, marking all the mortals. She marked my Wilkins too.” She holds up the man’s hand to prove her claim. “Only, his glowed before. That’s why they hung him. Because he took the poison and then he was foolish enough to admit it. I didn’t even know he’d done it!” Tears roll down her cheeks, reddened from the cold.

An odd mix of vindication and horror swirls through me. Wendeline is still alive, and despite his childish response to my letter, Atticus listened to me.

He listened to me, but he’s still executing mortals. Using my help to do it.

“We must keep moving,” Jarek warns.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offer the women and continue on, my teeth clenched. Only, the next body over catches my eye, the flames from the lantern casting a glow on her face. I recognize her, even in death. “No. Cecily.” Why would they hang someone from the Rookery? Those people don’t have keepers anymore.

A dull emblem marks her hand. It must have glowed once too.

“You knew her,” Jarek asks.

“She helped us escape from Cirilea in her skiff. Is that why she’s dead?”

“No, this corpse is fresh. Likely died today. And by a dagger through the neck.” He points to a wound beneath where the rope cuts into her skin.

That’s some small consolation, though. Why go to the effort to strip and string her up, then? And where is her husband? Arthur, that was his name. I scan the faces of the nearby male bodies, but I don’t see him anywhere.

“Come.” Jarek’s arm curls around my waist as he urges me to continue. “Atticus will have spies in these streets. Lose your tears. They do nothing but draw notice and cause trouble.”

“I’m going to kill him,” I growl, brushing away the wetness on my cheek.

“We are here for information, not assassinations, as much as that would please me.” In a rare show of affection, he squeezes me to his side once before releasing me.

“This is what Ybaris has caused. This is the result of that fucking Ybarisan queen’s schemes and lies,” I hiss. “It’s the mortals who suffer most, yet again.”

“Not for much longer, if what Lucretia says is true.”

“Yeah, then we’ll have Malachi and a pile of monsters to deal with.”

“One problem at a time, Romeria. That is how we deal with it.” He points ahead. “The tavern is there. Go on your own and find a table. I’ll be in shortly and will take a seat nearby. Stay out of trouble, and remember—”

“I know. This is a bad idea and don’t trust anyone.”

He smirks. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Oh, really?” I peer up at him, hidden within his cloak. He’s said it a dozen times.

“No.” He steps in closer and drops his voice. “I was going to remind you that you are the queen of Ulysede now, and you do not bow for anyone.”

His words catch me off guard. “A hidden kingdom that no one knows about, Jarek.”

“Aye. Perhaps it is time for that to change.” He studies my face for a moment, before releasing a long sigh. “Also, this is a bad idea and don’t trust anyone. Especially not the tavern owner.”

I give him a playful punch in the ribs. “Don’t worry, I’ve already crossed paths with Bexley more than once.”

“Then you know to be careful what you say in front of her. She has everyone’s ear, including the king’s.” With that, Jarek breaks away from me and heads across the street to peruse the women standing on the balcony, looking to bait their next customer.

The Goat’s Knoll smells of mead and melted wax, and hasn’t changed any. To my relief, Bexley isn’t at the door, and the girl who is seems more interested in her cross-stitch work than greeting customers.

I move past her and straight to the burly man behind the bar.

He smiles at me. “Haven’t seen your pretty face around here before.”

“That’s because I’m not from around here. I just arrived today, for the royal wedding.”

“Just today, huh?” Something flickers in his eyes that makes me think I’ve stepped in a lie.

Always offer as little as possible, Romy. I force a grin as I chastise myself for forgetting my skills.

“What can I getcha?”

I set a gold coin on the counter, face down to hide Ulysede’s emblem. “A mug of mead and a chat with Seamus.”

“The mead I can do. The other thing, though …” He looks me up and down and pours my glass from the barrel tap.

I fish a second gold coin out of my pocket and place it on the counter next to the other. “Tell him I’m here on behalf of Cordelia.” The alias Gesine used then she arrived in Cirilea.

He sets the mug on the counter and when he pulls away, the coins are gone. “Enjoy your drink.”

“I’ll enjoy it more with company.” I head for an empty booth near the hallway Zander and I used to escape last time. Sliding in, I survey the room. It’s only half full, the mood somber compared to the last time I was here. People hunch and whisper, casting sly glances around. A few have dull emblems on their wrists, marking them as both mortal and untainted. They’ll fetch a premium rate for their blood if their keepers don’t lock them in cages. With all the bodies hanging outside, I imagine that might start soon enough.

Only two more days, I remind myself.

Two more days and these people’s blood will no longer be a commodity.

But Atticus can kill a lot of mortals in that time.

Kaders is here, in a booth across the room, sharing a drink with a woman in a long, sable-colored dress. I’ll bet he’ll be sailing back to Seacadore soon.

A tall, cloaked figure catches the corner of my eye, and a wave of comfort washes over me. Jarek takes a stool at the bar. Our gazes touch only in passing, but I know he could reach my side in a split second if I was in trouble.

I’m halfway through my mead and wondering if I should order another when a mortal slips into the bench across from me, a mug in his fist. He fits the physical description Gesine gave me of Seamus—small, wiry, with bright orange hair and deep lines across his forehead.

“The south wind blows tonight,” he asks, his lyrical Seacadorian accent reminding me of Elisaf.

“And the north wind answers,” I respond without missing a beat, armed with the necessary code words passed along from Gesine.

He takes a long sip of his drink. “Been waitin’ to hear from you. How can I be of service to Cordelia?”

I dig into my pocket, relieved he won’t make me jump through more hoops to prove myself. Gesine did warn me Seamus is wary of strangers, especially elven ones. But he’s also a thief, and thieves are wary of everyone. “You can provide us with information.” I show off a stack of gold coins within my fingertips.