Page 7 of Realm of Thieves

I manage to get to my knees, then stagger up to my feet, off-balance and hollowed out. The stranger still has their hands on Lemi, though something is different. I swear I see Lemi’s tail twitch.

No.

Then it thumps in a lazy wag.

Once, twice…

“Lemi!” I yell, and start running toward him, hope rising inside me like a weed. I come to a stop beside the stranger and see Lemi’sside rising and falling in steady breath. There’s no longer blood around him and he looks completely unharmed, his shiny black coat untouched except by the stranger’s hands.

I fall to my knees beside my dog as the stranger straightens up. I meet their eyes briefly, golden and disarmingly bright and framed by the same black salve I use around mine.

“What did you do?” I ask them just as Lemi lifts his head and gives my arm a lick. Tears trickle down my face again, this time from joy. He’s alive!

How is he alive?

“He’s a tough dog,” the stranger says. A man. His voice is low but his tone light, as if we all weren’t just in a life-and-death situation.

Lemi continues to lick my hand until he gets up and shakes his body out from head to toe, drool flying everywhere, landing on both of us in gooey strips.

The man chuckles and holds out his hand, and Lemi goes to him for a pet, which he gets around his ears. Usually he’s wary with strangers but he isn’t with this guy, probably because he just saved his life. Or did he? Perhaps that dragon never really hurt Lemi after all. I swear I saw blood, but maybe I only thought I did in my hysteria.

But he did saveyourlife, I remind myself.

I get to my feet, wiping my hands on a patch of clean, dry armor.

“I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life,” I tell him.

The man continues to pet Lemi, though his golden eyes are fixed steadily on me. With the cloak still over his head and a mask that covers the bottom half of his face, all I really see are black brows and those gleaming eyes. They aren’t telling me much. If I could at least see his hair color I’d know what moon he was born under and get a hint of his personality.

“I’m sure you’d do the same for me,” he says wryly, as if knowing that I wouldn’t. “Lavender girl.”

I ignore the nickname about my hair. “I would if I had an arrow that could bring down an elderdrage,” I admit, twisting around to glance at the dragon that’s still lying on her side. She’s absolutely massive, seen from this angle, and a chill runs through me at the thought of how close to death I was, how close I was to losing Lemi.

I glance back at the stranger, frowning. “How did you do that, anyway? Is she sleeping?”

“She’s sleeping for now,” he explains warily. “She’s been tranquilized. We have about ten minutes before she wakes up. We won’t want to be here when she does.”

Tranquilized? In all my time doing this I’d never heard of any sort of potion or formula that could make a dragon go to sleep. How much easier my job would be if I had that.

“Where are you from?” I ask him cautiously.

“A small town called Stormglen Creek,” he says. “And you?”

Stormglen Creek. Creek. There are no creeks on Esland. The only source of water in our realm comes from two aquifers deep underground that are heavily controlled by the Saints of Fire. It’s only with their “blessing” that they allow people in the Banished Land to access it, but even then our rations are tight—when it’s not poisoned.

“It doesn’t matter where I’m from,” I answer, not wanting him to have any information about me, information he might be able to use.

His eyes flick over my face, squinting in amusement. “I see. Well, I’d say you’re from Esland due to your dialect but you don’t seem like a Soffer.” He uses the derogatory term the Freelanders have for Saints of Fire followers—interesting to learn that they’re known as that in the other lands as well.

Because I’m not a Soffer, I want to tell him, but I bite my tongue. If I do that he’ll know that I’m from the Banished Land, though I guess that’s already a given since I’m here stealing eggs.

He chuckles again and then reaches up and tugs his mask down around his neck so I can see a long straight nose and full lips that aretwisted in a half smile. “I’m Andor Kolbeck,” he says, extending his hand.

I stare at him, awestruck. It’s not just that he has the most charming smile with dazzling white teeth, but that his name is Kolbeck.

“From House Kolbeck?” I exclaim quietly.

He stares down at his gauntlet-clad hand, the one I’m not shaking. He takes it back. “I suppose the greeting customs of your people are different.”

---