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

My pulse races. Jarek’s right. Too many things could go wrong.

I’m wearing my mask again, much to his chagrin. “Any good dreams last night?” I tease.

He sighs heavily. “It is not you. It is that face.”

“Semantics.” I duck as a tree branch flings back. “So, you did?”

“I already regret ever telling you.”

“What happened in it?”

His responding chuckle is deep. “What’s wrong? Missing the king too much that you need lewd visuals to get by?”

“Lewd? How lewd are we talking?”

“Lucretia has quite the imagination. You do not want me spelling it out.”

“You’re so sure it’s her?” It probably is, but I get too much enjoyment from this. “Maybe it’s just your secret crush on me.”

He stops abruptly and I plow into his back before he spins to tower over me. “You are nervous about this absurd plan of yours. When you are nervous, you try to distract yourself with terrible humor.”

“I wouldn’t say terrible.”

His gaze slides over my face. “When you wear that mask, I must keep reminding myself who you are. Be careful, or I might forget for a moment.” He turns away as my mouth gapes.

Jarek and I are always tossing harmless banter, but that felt different. Charged. I don’t know what kinds of things Lucretia is planting in his head, but I should probably order her to stop.

I follow him quietly the rest of the way until we rejoin the others.

“Three children and a fish.” Jarek points at an elaborate water fountain with sprays of water jutting in various directions.

Just as Zander described.

Zorya pauses to scan the area for guards and then sprints in behind it and pushes on a block. A door swings open.

Pan’s face makes a wide O shape. We’re cut from the same cloth, he and I, in our appreciation for secret passageways.

Jarek snaps his fingers and our merry little band of thieves takes the stairs down to the tunnel into the undercroft of the castle.



The guard on duty watches as Loth and I approach the heavy iron doors. We keep our pace casual, unhurried. There’s no one else around, but I would expect this area to be off-limits to everyone save for the royal family. Hence, my borrowed face. I hope Annika won’t mind.

“Your Highness.” The guard bows before his suspicious gaze flitters to the soldier beside me. Of all the legionaries, Loth stands out the least. Still, he stands out, and with each step closer, the guard’s eyes narrow more. His hand moves for his sword hilt. “Princess Annika, do you require—”

Loth is so quick, I hardly notice him move before the guard crumples to the floor, rendered unconscious by a thump against the back of his skull.

“Thank you for not killing him.”

The serene legionary dips his head.

“We have until seven tonight before the next guard arrives.” A few hours to get in and out of the city. What trouble this might cause for Annika later, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to risk using Atticus’s face, knowing he might already be gone to the east, a fact that the castle guard will be well aware of.

That is if he survived. I assume he has.

While Loth binds and gags the unconscious male, I channel Aminadav’s affinity into the keyhole as Gesine taught me. The threads pour in like hot lava, molding into each intricate groove inside. I coax the threads to harden and break off the affinity, leaving a head much like any key sticking out. I give it a turn, and a click sounds.

“How many locks I did not have to pick over the years,” I mutter, mesmerized by this newly acquired skill. I push open the heavy door with a smile of grim satisfaction.



“That is more than enough, and if it isn’t, commandeer his ship and bury your blade in his gut,” Jarek snarls, sizing up the chests of jewels and gold in Horik’s and Loth’s grips.

Both legionaries grunt under the weight of their parcels.

The bound guard in the corner is stirring, so we leave the vault behind, pulling the door shut and locking it.

I slip the key into my pocket, my nervousness giving way to adrenaline. “You guys should get moving. You know the plan.” I hold up the letters sealed by “the king” before slipping them into Gesine’s grip. “Get to the sanctum. I’m sure I saw a wagon there last night. Pan will get the horses from Silmar.”

“Two lefts and a right,” he echoes, repeating the direction we gave him to reach the stables from there.

Gesine already knows how to get hold of Seamus and then they’ll head to the Trinket Inn to pay off Kaders. “We’ll meet you at the port as soon as we’re done here.”

“Have fun fitting through that tunnel.” Jarek pats Horik’s shoulder as they take off, Zorya in the lead with her sword drawn. She’ll get them there safely.

Jarek looks up the stairs to the main castle hall, his handsome face etched with worry.

“We’ll be fine. Remember?” I wink and tap my cheek with my fingertip.

“Perhaps you should choose a less conspicuous person than Princess Annika?”

“You’re right.” And I know just the one.





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE




GRACEN


“How is that stew coming along?” Corrin hollers at the kitchen door.

Sena leans over one of the pots and inhales. Three more simmer beside it. “Nothin’ but water and tomatoes right now. Another hour, at least, I’d say.”

“These poor people. If it were up to Boaz, they’d starve to death.” Corrin fills her arms with loaves of bread until she’s hugging as many as her short arms can carry. “I’ll send Fikar in for it once it’s ready.” She struggles with the door handle before finally yanking it open. She storms off as quickly as she came.

I return to my task in time to watch the glob of applesauce slip off my spoon and splatter onto the stone floor.

With a sigh, I grab a cloth and kneel to wipe it clean before it ends up on the bottom of my shoe. That’s the third spoonful I’ve lost. Either the fruit is too runny or I’m too scatterbrained, my gaze continuously veering toward the basket on the floor and the sleeping baby within it.

A sleeping caster baby, apparently.

How is that possible? And what does that mean that she has an affinity to Aoife? What will she be able to do?

Maybe Wendeline is mistaken. She has been under such duress lately, dragged around Cirilea day and night, not to mention whatever horrors she faced in the dungeon at Boaz’s hands. It is far more likely that she is wrong than that my daughter is the first caster born to Islor in two thousand years.

But what if Wendeline is right?

With the mess cleaned up, I pull myself to my feet.

Corrin marches toward me. “There you are. Just the person I was looking for.”

“But you were just here.”

“I was. You’re right.” She surveys the apple turnovers I’m making for the children. “Those look delicious.”