Page 32 of Realm of Thieves

I clear my throat. “I prefer to speak for myself.”

“Good,” Torsten says. “Then we can agree on something to start. Tell me, Brynla”—he pauses, measuring me with his eyes—“what the blazes are you doing at my dining table?”

Andor sucks in his breath and I feel his eyes on me but I don’t dare look away from his father.

“Your son captured me while I was collecting eggs on the Midlands,” I tell him.

“Captured you, you say.” He arches a gray brow. “I would love to hear how my son would capture anyone. Poor boy can’t even catch a fish.”

His uncle snickers at the end of the table. No one else laughs.

“First he made me an offer, which I refused.”

“And the offer was?”

“That I stop stealing eggs for House Dalgaard and steal them for House Kolbeck instead.”

“And why did you refuse?”

I glance at Andor, his eyes intently focused on me, much like everyone else around the table.

“Because I don’t know Andor. Because I don’t know House Kolbeck.”

“Because you’re part of House Dalgaard.”

“No. I am not part of their house,” I say, unable to keep the sharpness off my tongue. I know what he’s trying to get at. He wants to paint me as the enemy. He wants an excuse to kill me here and now. “My skills are for hire. Dalgaard happens to be the highest bidder. I have no connection to them otherwise, no allegiance.”

“And yet you said no to House Kolbeck.”

“As I said, I don’t know Andor. Better to trust the evil you know than the evil you don’t.”

Torsten’s smile is wry. “You’re taking a large risk trusting it either way.”

“Like I said,” I remind him, “I didn’t choose to come here. I was taken by force. I might be at your dining table, wearing your daughter’s clothes and drinking your estate’s wine, but I keep being reminded that I am a prisoner in this house and that as nicely as I’m treated, there is no escape for me.”

“Or your dog,” Kjell says snidely.

“Ah yes, my brother filled me in on our other guest,” Torsten says, leaning back in his chair slightly to eye Lemi by the fire. “Andor neglected to tell me you had a hound. I suppose it was his bleeding heart that let you take him.”

Andor clears his throat. “The dog is partly why Brynla is so successful.” Then his gaze narrows on me thoughtfully. “Perhaps the dog is the whole reason why Brynla is so good at what she does.”

I stiffen, the hairs rising at the back of my head. I manage to hold Andor’s gaze. “Lemi helps me. I help Lemi. He will never work without me, no matter how hard you try. He will shift to a place that you have never seen and he will never come back, not without me.”

In other words,Don’t you fuckingdaretry to take my dog away from me.

“So you take her dog away, and then what do you have?” Kjell says, putting his goblet down with a loudthunk. “Just a purple-haired whore, with a stink you’ll never be able to wash off, no matter how much soap you use.”

Andor erupts from his seat and moves fast, so fast that he’s a blur until he appears behind his uncle, a sharp knife in his hand, the shining blade pressed against Kjell’s throat.

“Andor!” Torsten chides him.

“Prisoner or not, you will treat Ms. Aihr with the respect a lady deserves,” Andor says into his uncle’s ear, his voice seething. “Do you understand?”

His uncle scoffs, seemingly not concerned, until Andor presses the knife in harder, enough to draw a thin drop of blood.

“Andor!” Torsten says, getting to his feet. “Control yourself, for the sake of the gods!”

“Andor,” I whisper to him. “Please.”

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