Page 31 of Realm of Thieves

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I was hoping I would meet your dog.”

There’s a tiny flare of surprise in his eyes. “Feral? He’ll be down once he smells the food being served.”

“I thought he might get along well with Lemi,” I say, gesturing over my shoulder.

Vidar looks around my chair, brows rising once he spots Lemi by the hearth. “I see. The prisoner-guest has a dog.”

“I’m the prisoner, my dog is the guest,” I tell him, allowing myself a sip of wine.

I swear he nearly smiles at that. Must be a trick of the eyes.

“And what do you think of the wine?” Andor asks me, leaning in slightly. I catch a whiff of his scent, like a mixture of warm amber andthe umberwoods. I close my eyes for a moment, his smell making my stomach flip. Must be the nerves.

“It’s good,” I manage to say. “Though I don’t have a lot of experience with wine. We don’t normally drink it.” And by that I mean, I think I’ve had it once, stolen from my aunt’s canteen when she wasn’t looking. It tasted like poison.

“What do you normally drink in the Dark City?” he asks.

“Did you just say the Dark City?” Vidar says sharply.

“Yes,” I say, straightening up in my chair and meeting his eye. “That’s where I’ve come from.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had someone from Esland at Stormglen,” Vidar remarks in a low voice. “I don’t think I’ve even met anyone from Esland.”

“And for good reason,” another voice, louder and sharper still, booms across the room.

The Sjef of House Kolbeck has arrived for dinner.

Chapter 11

Brynla

The man who could onlybe Torsten Kolbeck appears, followed by his scowling brother, Kjell. Torsten stands behind Vidar’s chair and eyes me with quiet disdain, his chin raised. He’s older than I expected, taller too, and lanky, with thick white hair and golden eyes like Andor. His clothes are black and tailored to him; the decorative pads at his shoulders made of leather dragonscale give him the look of someone about to go to warandsomeone who commands the war.

I feel Andor’s foot press against mine under the table and I know he’s warning me to behave myself. I push my foot back against his, letting him know that I read him loud and clear.

And I’m not going to say anything if I can help it. I can see that Torsten is a man who would toss me in the dungeon without a second thought, and I’m not sure anyone in here would come to my aid. Above all else, I don’t want to put Lemi in harm’s way.

“So this is your prized thief,” Torsten says, glancing briefly at Andor with the same disdain he seems to give me. “I’m not sure what I pictured.”

“She didn’t look like that when she was brought in,” the unclesays; his lip wrinkles as he goes to sit at one end of the table and Torsten takes his seat at the other end.

“Well, then,” Torsten says gruffly, unfolding a napkin and placing it over his lap just as Belon comes over with the wine cask. “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, we can eat. Where is Steiner?”

“Right here, sir,” says a young man who quickly strides into the room. Tall and skinny, the youngest Kolbeck has a distinctive jaw; thick, wavy black hair and bright blue eyes that light up briefly when he sees me. But he’s a slip of a man, bordering on a boy, and his presence is so slight and quiet that he nearly disappears in front of my eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he sits down beside Solla. “I was—”

“Yes, yes, we know,” Torsten says, picking up his goblet. “Studying plants or the mind or the minds of plants.”

“Well, actually—” Steiner begins, but he is silenced by a sharp look from his father.

“Let us be mindful that we havecompanydining with us,” Torsten says, fixing his cold gaze on me now, reminding me of the water hawks that used to perch at the end of the docks in Lerick, searching the sea for fish. They never hurried, they always took their time, and they always caught their prey. “I’m sure our guest wants to listen to neither your science nor your magic.”

“Why is she here, boy?” the uncle says to Andor, slurping loudly from his goblet. I try to hide the disgust on my face. “If she’s your prisoner, she should be in the dungeon. In chains. With only scraps to eat. Not sitting here like the rest of us.”

“Now, now, Kjell,” Torsten says, his tone mocking. “Andor has promised us he has a plan for her. Well, thief, has Andor filled you in on this plan, or has he failed to run that past you?”

“Brynla is—” Andor begins.

“I wasn’t asking you,” his father interrupts. “I was asking her. Well? Does the girl speak or do you do all the speaking for her?”

---