Page 11 of Realm of Thieves

“And so what?” she says, starting to slowly move around me in a circle, swords still drawn. “If the Dalgaards find out I went with you, it will be the same fate for me.”

“Except we can protect both you and your aunt,” I tell her. “We can get her out of the Dark City. So either you come with me right now and join our side, or you die the same way your father did, hanging from the gallows.”

She gives her head a small shake, eyes narrowing into something so cold I feel it in my chest. She’s a marvel, this one.

“There’s a third option that you’ve forgotten about,” she says quietly.

“And what’s that?”

“That I kill you.”

She grins. Sweet and deadly.

Then she’s at me faster than I can blink.

Chapter 4

Brynla

I’m not going anywhere withthis syndikat thief.

I do my best to catch him off guard. I launch myself low, knowing to kick him out beneath his center of gravity.

It works too, for a moment. My boots strike his shins at enough of an angle that his knees buckle, and I have both my swords raised, ready to pin him down to the ground.

But instead of collapsing, he rolls over the craggy volcanic rock, his armor protecting him from the jagged ground. He gets up on his feet just as I’m coming over him and he quickly twists at the waist and raises his fist, knocking my arm off-balance. My hands instinctively grip my swords, unwilling to drop them, though the impact makes my bones vibrate.

I quickly spin and move out of the way, trying to regain my footing, expecting the sharp claw of the sycledrage that he so flagrantly showed off to slice into me. But he’s sliding his weapons away into the inner folds of his cloak, as if he knows he doesn’t need them.

He thinks I’m some backward Freelander, I think as I hold out my swords. That my skills are so lacking he barely needs to fight. He’s trying to prove something.

My wounded pride becomes my fuel.

I fake a stab to his left shoulder before I drop to the ground, the rocks digging into my palms as I pivot on my upper body, swinging around and kicking at his ankles. It’s enough that this time he does fall back and I dive over him just as he makes impact with the terrain.

My shins press down on his thighs as I hold one sword against his throat, the other at the soft leather along his side, a weakness in the armor.

“I should kill you right now,” I tell him, pressing the sharp edge of the ash glass up into the crook of his chin. My voice is eerily calm, though inside I feel as if I’m caught in a whirlwind.

His amber eyes stare at mine for a moment and I think I see a shred of fear in them. Then he blinks. “My gods, you’re a stubborn little thief, aren’t you?”

I narrow my gaze. “You should be begging for your life.”

“On the contrary,” he says. His mouth curls up. The bastard is smirking at me. “You should be begging for yours.”

“You’re the one with two blades ready to end you.”

“And you’re the one I’ll be delivering to the Black Guard for your very public execution.”

I don’t want to kill this man, this arrogant product of House Kolbeck. I’ve never killed anyone before and I don’t want to start now.

But if it means saving my own life, I’ll have no choice but to slit his throat.

He grins at me, egging me on, and before I can react he moves with a sudden burst of energy that knocks me backward.

I go flying onto the hard ground, stunned, the air knocked clear from my lungs, and I’m trying to take in a breath just as he comes around me and puts his forearm across my windpipe, yanking me upward and into his lap, the back of my head against his chest.

“You can’t fight me and win, Brynla,” he says gruffly, my throat burning. “Now what will it be? Your execution? Or your servitude?”

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