Page 101 of Realm of Thieves

“Yield!” I yell at him.

“Never!”

Before I can move out of the way he leaps over the rock like a jackrabbit and tackles me to the ground, snow flying everywhere. I screech, laughing as he puts his body over mine, pressing me into the cold. “I will never yield,” he says, running his cold fingertips over my face. “Unless you beg me for mercy.”

I’m about to tell him off but he kisses me instead. I should be freezing, should be trying to playfully fight him off, we should probably make sure Onyx isn’t running away, but I can’t help but feel the heat spreading through me. How is it that he’s the one makingmeyield?

“This also isn’t fair,” I say as he pulls back, his golden eyes still gazing into mine. “You have me under some strange spell half the time.”

“I can’t help it if I’m charming,” he says, brushing my hair off my face. Then his brows lower, his expression growing serious. “Though I wonder how far my charm extends. Is it enough to convince you to do anything?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

He clears his throat. “How do you feel about partaking in a little revenge?”

Chapter 29

Brynla

A heist.

The moon has already waxed and waned since that time we lay in the glitter-snowed field by Lake Efst, and Andor asked if I would be willing to do a heist in order to exact revenge on the Daughters of Silence. We had just been joking about his charm, so I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but the moment those words left his lips, the moment he saidrevenge, I knew I was already all in.

Of course I was furious with him, for the second time that day, for keeping yet another secret from me. He had clearly been thinking about this for some time, stealing the rumored egg of immortality—enough so that he talked to my aunt about it the morning of her death. But everything went to shit after that and he said he was waiting for the right time to fill me in.

That moment in the snow was a good a time as any. I think I managed to get out the majority of my anger at his betrayal through another onslaught of snowballs, even though I’m still a bit cranky about it.

Afterward we recovered Onyx and rode back through the tunneland down the mountain to Stormglen, and we started discussing the heist in earnest. I wanted to stay mad at Andor, but the more he talked about the supposed egg of immortality—which is mind-blowing in itself—the more I focused my feelings on the idea of getting revenge on the convent and Esland as a whole. Even if the whole thing turns out to be a wild-goose chase, it at least makes me feel like vengeance is in my grasp for the first time in my life. Even if the egg isn’t there, or it doesn’t have any special powers, just fucking up the convent will be good enough for me.

By the time the evening rolled around—Andor and I conveniently skipped dinner to avoid his father and uncle—we had gathered in Steiner’s lab with the rest of his siblings, tossing around ideas.

After that, the five of us would meet in Steiner’s lab every evening to strategize. The following week we started going down to Menheimr, where we would involve the rest of the crew, the same men who joined us on our journey to the Banished Land.

I have to say, these last few weeks have saved my sanity. It’s given me something to focus on, an action to take. Andor was worried I wouldn’t want to go back to Esland; he thought I would think he was using me to get the precious egg. That hasn’t been the case at all. I’ve thrown myself into the planning of this heist because without me, there is no heist. I’m the only one who has been to Esland, who has lived in Lerick, who knows how to deal with the Black Guards. I’m the only one who knows the convent inside and out, including where the egg would be kept.

None of this happens without me, which has made me crucial to every single meeting we’ve had, and in turn given me a sense of control.

But with the weeks of distraction, my grief has been shoved to the side. It’s been buried, compartmentalized, something horrible and dark that hovers just beneath my surface like a hole in the ground. It’s been waiting to swallow me alive.

And last night, as I lay in Andor’s arms in my bed, the ground opened up.

I cried and screamed and thrashed as the pain and sorrow ripped through me. Every moment of grief that I tucked away was unleashed on me at once. I should have known better. I knew I couldn’t escape it, I knew I had to make peace and look it in the eye every single day or it would try to destroy me.

Andor, bless his soul, held me. He simply held me when it felt like my body might shatter and I’d never be able to pick up all the pieces. He helped me stay intact and whole while the grief tried to eat me alive and spit me out.

Which is why he asked me this morning if I would have a session with Sae Balek, the Kolbecks’ Truthmaster. To be honest, the idea scares me. I’d only seen the holy man a few times while I’ve been here, and he’s always stared into me with those unseeing yet all-knowing eyes. I know that Torsten and Vidar have sessions with him several times a week, finding comfort or perhaps prophecy in the man’s chapel, but I have wanted to stay far away from anyone who had anything to do with the Daughters of Silence and the Esland government at any point, even if his spiritual guidance is benign.

But Vidar promised that the Truthmaster was good at helping people move through grief instead of burying it, and while Andor wasn’t a hundred percent sold on that idea, he did think the gold-eyed man could be an asset when it came to the heist. He might give us deeper info about the egg, about the details of the guard and government that I wouldn’t know, and more than that, I might be granted a vision that could help us with our goal.

“Are you ready?” Vidar asks me as we stand in the hallway with Andor, just outside the chapel. The sweet, heady smell of incense is already permeating the air through the closed door.

“I guess?” I say. “I don’t really know what to expect.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Andor says.

Truth is, I’m nervous. I would never admit that, especially not in front of Vidar, who has always been a bit of a grumpy enigma to me, enough so that I keep wanting his respect. Andor can tell, however, from the way he keeps reaching out for my hand and squeezing my fingers.

“It’s a very good thing,” Vidar says, briefly eyeing our hands before facing the door. “You need to keep your mind as open as possible.”

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