Page 11 of Of Kings and Thieves

I wanted to run before the Deviant woke, but all will to move had left my body. There was only pain.

I thought of Col, and with the last bit of strength I possessed, I touched the velvet pouch in my pocket. My hand trembled as I fumbled it open, the cold metal of the ring biting into my fingertips. With a deep breath, I slipped the ruby ring onto my finger, feeling its weight settle against my skin.

As the golden band settled into place, a jolt sparked through my body. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart hammered wildly against my ribcage. A strange sensation enveloped me, like tendrils of energy wrapping around my heart, connecting me to something—or someone—else.

Samara? Col’s voice echoed in my mind, his tone laced with shock.

“Col?” My voice trembled.

What happened? Where are you?

His voice sounded far away; I must have been dreaming.

“Head... hurts.” I could barely whisper the words.

Where are you… Where are you, dammit!

Prismvale. I didn’t know if I said the words or thought them. My breath was coming in gasps now, but the spike of pain in my head was fading. That couldn’t be good. Don’t leave me.

Hold on, love.

Col’s comforting voice eased some of my fear, and I relaxed into the sensation.

I barely registered my horse going wild, or the footsteps that approached. And when another Deviant leaned over my paralyzed body, I felt nothing, not even fear, as he began to chant softly in another language.

The Deviant was tall, wearing a cloak the color of oil. The shadows that clung to his skin were deeper than the darkest night and carried the scent of burnt roses. His mask was carved in the shape of a snarling beast—a truly powerful mage indeed.

And that was the last thing I registered.

CHAPTER THREE

I jolted awake, a bright light in my eyes, the face of the Deviant still lingering in my mind. I lay on the cold ground, but I was draped in warmth from my cloak, its fur tickling my ear. Strangely, I felt safe and secure, as if the last few days hadn’t happened, and I was still traveling with Col.

Just a dream.

No, it isn’t, said Col’s voice in my head, further sealing the idea that I was dreaming or hallucinating.

My head pounded like a creature had been trapped inside my skull and was trying to get out, making it difficult to think, but I remembered the last few days. Of leaving Col, of getting the ring.

Eventually, my eyes adjusted to the bright light—a fire.

I groaned as I turned my head and tried to look beyond the flames, catching a glimpse of thick trees overhead. The biting chill of the night air clung to my skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth radiating from the campfire. The sensations were real, not a dream, becoming more vivid as I took everything in. Where the fuck was I?

Struggling against the pain in my head, I focused on the fire, its tongues of orange and yellow licking at the wood that fed it. The scent of embers and smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the smell of wet earth, sweet grass, and a hint of forest florals.

“Samara.” Col’s voice broke through the haze of pain clouding my mind. With effort, I turned my head.

Col sat beside me.

Yes, a dream, but a good one. Col was leagues away by now, on his way to Iron Deep, but it was comforting to think of him beside me.

“Don’t try to move,” he said, his voice clearer. “You have a bad head wound.”

I blinked, and he came into better focus. His strong features were lined with worry, brow furrowed and dark hair falling around his pale face. He was too pale, like he had seen death. “Col.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thirsty.” My eyes closed, and the next thing I knew, water was at my lips. I drank greedily while Col supported my head. His scent was unmistakable—musk with a hint of forest in summer. His hand was rough against my cheek. It felt so real, but it couldn’t be. Col was far away, and I was alone.

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