Page 114 of Realm of Thieves

“Daughter of Pain,” she croaks to me. “I have been waiting for this moment.”

“I bet you have,” I tell her, brandishing my sword. “I’m flattered that I’ve been on your mind all this time.”

“And I’m glad I’ve been on yours. How long has it been, Daughter of Pain, since I’ve been at the forefront of all your thoughts? Since I became the scapegoat for all your anger? How many years have you tried to start a new life in the Dark City, corrupted by your aunt?”

I swallow hard. She’s just guessing now.

“Ah,” she says with a knowing nod. “You really think we haven’t kept tabs on you all this time? You thought you could escape into the Banished Land and we would be done with you? We never forget one of our own, my dear. You know that. We don’t let our daughters become so easily corrupted, especially by Freelanders. It’s taken time, of course, to build a case against you. For us to realize what you had become a bloody thief. Stealing dragon eggs, the most punishable, blasphemous offense that ever was, especially for you. You of all people should have known better. Spreading magic throughout the syndikats. It wasn’t until our spies in the Dark City were able to home in on you that we were finally able to bring our case to the Black Guard and have you dealt with.”

She pauses and I feel like I’m drowning under her words.

“It wasn’t Sjef Ruunon or the Dalgaards who had your aunt killed.” A smile. “It was me.”

My knees are about to give out, shock rolling through my body.

I had suspected it could have been the Black Guard that came after us, but I never thought that the Harbringer was the one behind it.

Now, of course, it’s all too obvious.

I let myself believe I was worth nothing to them, that once I was in the Banished Land they would forget me. There was always another daughter to take my place.

I swallow the dust in my throat. “You let Ellestra go when she escaped the convent,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Why bother with me?”

“Because your aunt isn’t you,” she says. She tilts her head, though my gaze drops to the bolt-thrower in her hand, still aimed at me. Hergrip seems more relaxed. Perhaps I have a chance to get her before she gets me. I start calculating how fast I can throw this sword and if it can wound her first.

“Your aunt doesn’t have your blood,” she adds, her words more measured now. She frowns. “You don’t know, do you? She never told you.”

This is a ruse! She’s luring you into a sense of security! Don’t play into it!

“Tell me what?” I can’t help but ask, licking my lips. Curious until the day I die.

Which might just be today.

“You never thought you were different?” she says, raising a gray brow. “You never questioned things about yourself?”

I can’t even form the words.

“We called you the Daughter of Pain because of your grief inside, your anger, and the monthly pains in your desolate womb,” she says, her eyes piercing into me. “And for the truth inside you’d not yet realized. Oh, no wonder you’re here, trying to exact some sort of revenge. You’re lashing out because you want to blame someone for being lied to all your life. You want to blame someone for all the things your parents never told you. The truth about your mother. The truth about what you are.”

“And what am I?” I whisper.

“A false idol,” she says. “One that should have been struck down long ago.”

At those words, everything goes into slow motion.

She pulls the trigger.

I throw my sword.

The arrow hits the sword in midair, halfway between us. The impact deflects the arrow to the side of my head; it redirects the sword to the bedpost, where it lodges into the wood with a crack.

I start running for the Harbringer, pulling my other sword out, coming at her like lightning as she reloads the bolt-thrower.

I leap into the air, robes flying, my sword poised and ready to plunge into the old crone’s heart.

And then I hit something.

Hard.

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