Page 3 of Thief of Dreams
Nobody would miss any of them.
And there's a fair chance no one hasseenany of them.
The courts keep to themselves, after all. The Seelie Hegemony still stands, but that doesn't mean the Blessed Courts don't hold a dagger to each other's throats even as they're promising smiles.
"It's still incredibly risky," I breathe, though my mind is whirring with thoughts and plans.
The Wraith King holds up one of the glittering soul-traps he wears around his neck. Inside it glows that silvery pale spark, an amorphous wisp of shape trapped inside its crystal prison.
Stolen from me the day I was cut from my fae mother's womb.
"Bring me back the Dragon's Heart," he purrs, leaning forward on his throne, "and I will grant you the rest of your soul."
Freedom.
He'll never be able to wield it against me, never hold it over my head again. I sense Soraya's head turn sharply to track me. She too is bound by such a trap. She too hungers.
Now I know why she wanted the job.
"Done." The word is on my lips before I can even think it through.
Soraya shoves to her feet. "A dangerous task to risk on someone so unworthy. Perhaps you think her the best for the challenge, but to send Zemira alone could be dangerous. Let me go too—as her maid perhaps. They'll expect at least one attendant."
And she'll be there to steal the job the second she gets a chance.
"Your skills at dissembling are meager at best," I shoot back. "You'll give me away before I take two steps—"
"So we're to pin all our hopes on you?" she sneers.
"Tell me again: Howisthe Lord of Mistmark? Still alive? Still breathing? Why is that?"
Soraya takes a step toward me, fists clenched, but I face her just as determinedly. All the bloody years between us rise like vengeful ghosts. Sisters are both your greatest strength and greatest weakness. Only she can get close enough to deliver a merciless strike, because some part of me will always let her, every time. She's broken my heart a dozen times, and I, no doubt, the same.
But this time, I can see the blood drawn is hers.
And that makes me wonder, just a little, about the Lord of Mistmark.
Who should be dead.
Because my sister speaks the truth.
She is the best. She does not fail.
Raesh examines us both, a small smile crossing his mouth. "An excellent proposition, Soraya. You will attend your sister, though you will not hamper her." He tilts his head to me. "This is why you were born," the king replies. "Don't fail me."
I wouldn't dare.
Because Keir is not the only dangerous trap I have to avoid.
Now I have Soraya to contend with too.
2
"You said it wouldn't kill her," I hiss, as the sound of someone dying floats down the stairs of the inn in Hawkesbury Shrewd.
"Her ladyship's retching. Not dying," Soraya replies. "And her guards will bring the local herb woman to tend her. She'll recognize the smell of Monksflower and diagnose her with a nice peaceful two weeks in bed to recover. Perfect amount of time for us to get into the court, steal the Dragon's Heart, and get out."
"Oh, of course. An easy little trot," I reply snidely. "Nothing to worry about at all."
