Page 6 of Of Kings and Thieves

My heart hammered away in my chest, but I kept singing, putting everything I had into it. After a few intense moments, the slave’s hold loosened. I pulled away and backed into the wall. Just go to sleep.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding drugged. “Stop.”

I wanted to. As far as I was concerned, the half-goblin was innocent. My song wavered. If I put him to sleep, he would wake up with the merchant and his wrath, with no way to defend himself.

Warily, I stopped singing. “This is your chance to run.”

The slave glanced down at Harry, sprawled awkwardly on the floor and breathing deeply. “What did you do to my father?”

I blinked. “Your father? But...”

The eyes that met mine were cold. “How else do you think someone like me can live in Prismvale?”

I swallowed hard. He was right. People like us didn’t have many options. “So you’re not a slave.”

The male snorted. “Of course I’m a slave. My mother was, too. It doesn’t change that he’s my father.”

“All I need is the ring,” I said, disgusted as the half-goblin eyed me up and down.

“My mother was a goblin slave from the northern mountains. My father often took her to his bed,” the male said, his grin turning feral and making him resemble Harry. “And then she had me.”

“Harry doesn’t deserve your loyalty.” My stomach roiled.

“Who said anything about loyalty? I live an okay life here, better than it would be anywhere else. Or would you rather I whore myself out like you?”

Scowling, I moved away from the wall, keeping Harry’s body between me and his son. “Do whatever you want. But I’m leaving with that ring. So either step aside and let me take it, or you can take a nap next to your father.”

“That ring is our ticket into the magistrate’s good graces,” he said calmly.

Then he snarled and lunged at me, but this time I was too quick for him. I ducked under his arm and turned, singing before he’d even recovered. He was quicker than Harry, but still not as quick as me.

Drawing my dagger, I pressed it to his throat. The half-goblin blinked and narrowed his yellow eyes.

“Back up,” I said, and he complied until his back was pressed against the wall. I sang again, keeping him in place with my blade. My song took a few moments to bring him down, mostly because he fought the magic. But in the end, it worked.

Heaving, I sheathed my dagger and dug around in Harry’s pockets for the velvet pouch. I found it and opened it, examining the gleaming gold ring inside. It was beautiful, with intricate designs etched into the band and a shining ruby set in the center.

Col’s ring, the one that had belonged to his mother and that he had traded for the cloak I now wore.

The half-goblin groaned, already waking up. I stood to flee but froze as the door creaked open.

“Harry?” called a gruff voice. “I’m here for the ring.”

“Shit,” I mumbled, watching Harry’s son stir. If I’d just put him to sleep to begin with, I would be gone already. Now I had to alert more people to my presence.

I hoped not many knew about the ring, since Harry had extorted it from the clothier in the first place. The merchant had threatened her, she’d told me, and barely paid her anything for it. Feeling guilty, I’d given her a bit of the coin I had and then hunted Harry to his warehouse near the river.

Where I was now making a mess of a dangerous situation. Pull it together, Samara. It’s only one man.

But it wasn’t. The magistrate’s guard stepped into the light, followed by two others, one of whom was wearing a long black cloak with a hood and a silver mask that covered their entire face. The mask had a long scar carved into the side of it, as if to mirror the flesh beneath.

A Deviant, a mage in the employ of The Harrow and trained to hunt people like me. My song probably wouldn’t work on him, and I didn’t want to test it. My throat seized up in fear, and I shrank back into the shadows.

Something dug into my back—a doorknob.

I let myself into the small room and locked the door behind me. The space smelled of mold and mildew, and the walls were slimy and damp. The sound of rats scurrying across the floor made my skin crawl. There was a large crack in the wall where it looked like someone had taken an ax to the boards next to the door, as if they had been desperate to get out. The wood around it was stained dark, like someone had lost a lot of blood all at once. I shuddered at the implication.

There was no window.

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