Page 8 of Of Kings and Thieves
“Ring… was… bargaining… Harry.”
“Where is the ring?” the Deviant demanded, his voice sharp as a whip. The half-goblin shuddered, torn between loyalty to the merchant and terror.
“Master has it,” he whispered.
“Where exactly?”
“Pocket... left pocket,” the slave choked out.
“Check his pockets,” the Deviant ordered.
I held my breath, knowing they wouldn’t find the ring. Its weight felt heavier in my pocket than it should have, taunting me with the knowledge that I had brought this suffering upon the poor creature, all for an item that held sentimental value.
“Nothing,” the soldier finally announced, frustration lacing his words. The half-goblin whimpered in agony.
“You are useless,” the mage sneered, and then the slave began screaming again.
“He’s waking up!” the soldier said. Harry was groaning, and I hurried to finish cutting a hole in the tarp.
There was some conversation I couldn’t make out, and then Harry began speaking. “What the fuck are you doing to my slave?”
“Getting information,” the Deviant said coldly.
“The boy doesn’t have any. By the gods, man, you have killed him!”
“And you were supposed to do one thing—keep the ring safe until we came to retrieve it!” yelled the magistrate’s guard, evidently not wanting to be left out of the shouting. “How thick must that skull of yours be, you stupid fool!”
“Silence,” commanded the mage. His voice was colder than ever, and I imagined him threatening to kill the guard right there.
There was an audible swallow. “Yes… I only thought.”
Another sharp crack split the air. This time, the grown man screamed.
“Let this be a lesson,” the Deviant hissed, and I imagined him looking at Harry and the soldier. “The Harrow does not tolerate this kind of ineptitude. You are all on thin ice. One more misstep and you’ll find yourselves drowning on dry land. I have had time to perfect a little spell of mine, so it should be interesting to watch you die here on the floor next to this filthy half-breed. The magistrate and his men are incompetent fools, and I’ll not have you waylay my plans because you are too stupid to know when to shut your fucking mouths.”
I stood on my tiptoes and hauled myself halfway through the opening and looked down. The ground was farther away than I’d imagined, and there wasn’t anything to hold on to outside. I was going to have to fall.
“He evidently knows something,” the Deviant continued, “because he said ‘Andris.’ You let slip about the ring!”
“I… I didn’t!” Harry murmured.
“Liar,” said the mage’s cold voice.
It wasn’t a coincidence that the Deviant was here. They were still after Andris—Col—tracking down any information pertaining to him. Did they know where Col was, or that he was on his way to Iron Deep?
My heart gave a painful tug in my chest, as if it was tethered to the conversation inside.
“Where is the ring?” the Deviant asked.
“That bitch took it!” Harry said after a moment, in which he must have checked his pockets. “She took it and ran. How long have I been out? You might still catch her.”
“Nice try,” said the soldier. There was a sound of a leather hand striking flesh, and then lots of cursing from Harry. In the presence of the Deviant, everyone was willing to get their hands dirty to make sure they weren’t on the receiving end of his wrath.
“Enough,” the Deviant said. “He’s not lying. Check outside. You, merchant, what’s this about a bitch?”
My heart, which had been pounding in my chest, dropped into my stomach. And still I stayed to listen as Harry recounted my appearance and the enchanted sleep I’d placed him in when he tried to capture me.
When the merchant was done, the mage let the silence linger. My muscles were screaming for release from the awkward position. Finally, the Deviant spoke. “Why would Andris send a woman to fetch his ring?”