Page 21 of Realm of Thieves

“Moon is very adept at seeking people out. She can fly faster than any ship can sail. She’ll find your aunt and relay the message.”

“And if the message falls off?” I say, thinking of the passenger doves we have back in Esland that will fly to certain areas with tiny scrolls attached to their legs. Not to mention the difficulties a bird would have flying in the underground caverns.

He looks at me with bright eyes. “It can’t fall off. Moon speaks her message.”

“You have a talking bird?”

“You have a shifting dog,” he counters.

“So is it like a parrot?”

Andor shrugs and keeps the tooth whirring back and forth on the chain. “Something like that.”

The sound of the pendant is starting to grate on me. I frown at him. “What areyouso worried about?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“You keep fidgeting with your necklace.”

His hand immediately drops away, his palms splayed on top of his knees. He looks out the window at the passing trees and then his leg starts bouncing. NowI’mstarting to get anxious.

The rest of the journey takes us through rolling fields and deep forests, the red-barked trees with the trunks the size of this carriage reaching high into the canopy above, and Andor is strangely silent the whole time, save for his fidgeting. By the time the coach turns off the main road, the late-afternoon sun is hidden away by the towering trees and far-off mountains, and we haven’t spoken another word to each other.

The road we’re on now is different from the mud and ruts of the main one. It’s paved with tiny pebbles, with a neatly trimmed strip of grass between the wheel tracks. On either side the land has been cleared into a meadow, making it easy to watch the curve of the road as it heads through iron gates and climbs up a small hill to a castle at the top, half-hidden among umberwoods and other trees.

“Welcome to Stormglen,” Andor says as the carriage rolls underneath the arch above the gates that boasts the name of the estate in ornate cursive.

“I thought you said it was heavily guarded,” I say, looking around the rolling fields and seeing nothing in sight except small yellow flowers. Even the woods seem far away now.

“Just trust me,” he says. “There’s a reason everything is so open around Stormglen. We can see the enemy coming from a mile away.”

“And do you have many enemies attacking you?”

“We did at one time. My father believes that time has come again. Everything is a cycle in this world.” His expression grows serious for a moment, his lips set in a hard line, his black brows furrowed together. “Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel like everything in this world is moving toward some sort of new end?”

“I don’t worry about things like that,” I tell him, leaning forward as the carriage pitches up the hill. “I’m too busy trying to survive. Must be nice to be able to sit back in your heavily guarded castle and worry about the end of the world.”

He takes my comments in stride, running a hand through his hair. “Fair point. But if all you care about is surviving, then the end of the world concerns you too.”

I shrug and turn my attention back to the window, though I have to admit I’m curious.

Soon the carriage plateaus on the top of the hill, rumbling through a path of sculpted trees until it comes to a stop. Gudwale opens the coach doors for us and puts out his arm for me to take. I glance at Andor, who gestures for me to go forward.

I hesitantly take Gudwale’s arm and step out of the carriage, my boots echoing on the stone ground. And that’s when I’m glad I’m holding on to him, because the sight before me nearly makes my knees buckle.

Stormglen sits around us like a lion, a sprawling estate of a castle as long as it is tall, seeming to swallow up the entire hill. We’re standing in front of massive wooden doors that are closed, an iron grille of portcullises above them, with stone garrisons that rise up on either side of the gates. There looks to be space behind it, perhaps a courtyard, before it rises up three stories with two semicircular bastions on either side of the gates. The castle itself is made from some sort of iridescent black stone that shimmers silver in the waning sun, and trails of green vines climb up the walls in places, making it look less austere. The windows are arched with gilded frames, and there are stained-glass windows covering the arrow slits along the bastions and parts of the tower, as if the place is torn between being a castle and a fortress.

Lemi sniffs my hand and I can feel him wanting to run forward and explore, perhaps pee on many of the various potted trees that lineup around the outside of the walls, but I make a motion with my fingers for him to stay still.

Just as the large wooden doors swing open and a tall, stocky man with a thick neck and long dark hair steps out, a scowl on his face, a large mug of what looks like ale in his hand.

He fixes his black eyes on me. Looks me up and down, wrinkles his nose, and says, “Who in damnation is this?”

Chapter 8

Andor

I had hoped that whenwe arrived at Stormglen, my uncle would not be the one to greet us. Though “greeting” usually conveys niceties. There are no such things with my Uncle Kjell, especially when he’s had a few drinks.

---