Page 4 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Yes, but it’s also important that we approach Iron Deep in secret, and you know as well as I that we can’t do that using the main road.”

Magnus shook his head. “So be it. But you and your shortcuts… I swear.”

We turned northeast, and though it had been many years since I had seen the road myself, after we’d spent the rest of the night searching, we found it. The way to Ravenfell Pass, the most direct route into the kingdom from the east. The road was fraught with danger. It had been many years since I’d used it, and in that time the terrain had become wilder, the monsters and wild beasts more numerous. And now, apparently, orcs had claimed some of the mountain ranges for their own territories.

We rested for a few hours and moved on as soon as it was light enough to see.

The road was treacherous, and the first section was a nightmare. We lost the path three times, and Killian reminded me that it was a trail rather than a road, and had been made that way to make it difficult to find, to protect Iron Deep from invaders.

“Fucking lot of good it did in the end,” I muttered, dismounting to lead my horse once again over a land bridge barely as wide as my shoulders, trusting the animal would find its own footing. Magnus’s enormous horse snorted and walked confidently behind my friend, as if to say, “This is the hardest thing you can give me?” And Killian’s long-maned horse practically breathed fire as it danced across. He had always chosen the most spirited, barely trained animals to ride, and I shook my head.

The terrain was harsh and full of hazards; cliffs and fissures made for difficult climbs and unexpected drops. A few times we saw a hint of something prowling around in the distance, but nothing close enough to become a threat.

Later in the day, we encountered a herd of wild boars that charged past us. Magnus wanted to bring one down for dinner, but we had no time to deal with a large boar carcass. So all the beasts got to live, and we thanked the stars nothing worse had happened than a small shock.

The next evening, we crossed into a valley with a meadow. From here, there would be little but rock and sky and snow and clouds. This was the last night we would spend in relative comfort, and we took advantage of it, camping in a stand of bare trees and allowing ourselves a fire.

I took the first watch, and as Magnus and Killian got settled, I checked on the horses, which had found some sparse grass. When I returned, Magnus was already asleep, the kind of slumber that only those in exile know—plagued with dreams of a homeland we barely remembered.

I wondered what it would be like to gaze on the keep of Iron Deep again, wondered if it looked the same as I remembered. And then I thought of Samara. The idea of her being leagues away, possibly heading south once more, didn’t put me in a better mood. I finished my watch in poor spirits. As Killian relieved me, my one consolation was that at least Samara was safer in the southern lands than she would be here.

CHAPTER ONE

SAMARA

The air was thick with the stench of rotting fish and refuse, a product of the nearby wharf on the river. Despite being warned about the foul smell that awaited me, nothing could have prepared me for the acrid odor that filled my nostrils and burned my eyes. I covered my mouth with my shirt and looked around at the decay.

A young male slave stood near the entrance to a large, dilapidated building, his gray-brown skin and shock of white hair standing out amongst the mess.

I stayed out of sight, but with only a pile of debris between me and the group of soldiers who approached, I felt exposed and vulnerable. I had a sword and dagger, and my gift of song, but there were too many unknowns. I could only wait and watch as the soldiers passed the warehouse, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The young slave had noticed them, too, and fear rolled off him, his frame hunched and cowered as if he could make himself small enough not to be noticed. He stood still and quiet, observing the soldiers with a single, intent gaze. As a slave, he had some protection because he was property, but I could sense the tension and dread the soldiers created in him. I imagined it was the same as my own.

Being here was a mistake. Prismvale was the last place I should be.

The soldiers passed, and I finally exhaled, my heart resuming its normal pace. I stepped out of the debris and walked cautiously towards the warehouse. The young slave started when he saw me, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. His gaze swept over my clothes—black and gray with a long cloak—and weapons. Then he ducked his head and went back to his work.

Shame coursed through me, not for the first time since I’d re-entered the city. With my new clothes, I looked like someone who would order a slave around, not like the wanted fugitive that I was. I was nothing, a half-breed wanderer.

The young male patched a net with unnaturally long, deft fingers. He must have been part goblin, then, which explained his fear of the soldiers. Another twinge of guilt rolled through me, but I squared my shoulders and approached him. If I was to complete my errand, I would have to play the part.

“I’m looking for Harry,” I said with a confidence I didn’t have.

The half-goblin looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes. “I don’t know any Harry.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I leaned in closer to him, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I think you do,” I said. “Just point me in the right direction.”

The slave hesitated for a moment, then looked around nervously before speaking again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but his long fingers twitched.

I reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding it tightly. “Don’t lie to me.” I made my voice low and threatening. “I know you know where he is.”

The young male winced in pain but didn’t pull away from my grip. Finally, he swallowed and gestured to a closed door at the back of the warehouse. “He’s in there,” he whispered.

Releasing his wrist, I nodded my thanks and made my way to the door, ducking under a sagging overhang that housed a haphazard stack of rotten barrels. My hand hesitated on the knob before I finally turned it and pushed the door open.

The large room beyond was dimly lit, with only a single candle flickering on a small desk. A figure sat in a chair facing away from me, silhouetted by the candlelight.

“Harry?” I spoke tentatively, unsure if I had found the right person.