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That word again. The man had called me something similar. I forced another smile, prepared to question her on the word, but the girl’s innocent features twisted up into a crooked sneer.

When the girl spoke again, her voice was a deep baritone. It belonged to a damn man. “Pity you cannot tell the difference betweenofskyhallucinations and reality.”

I screamed when the little girl’s lips bubbled with fountains of blood. Her skin peeled off her bones until they crumbled into dark, ashy mist and fluttered away. From behind the cloud of mist stepped three figures.

Two wore cowls, another a simple scarf over the mouth. The one with the scarf appeared to be a woman with her flowing crow-black hair and defined curves. Across her shoulders was a long bow and a quiver of glossy, black arrows.

Based on the size and thigh width of the other two, I took them as men. One had a thick strip of fabric shielding one eye from view. The hawk from the tree shrieked, the sound boiling in my brain, then took up its place on the leather clad shoulder of the man without the eyepatch.

“Well done, Hakon.” The same gravelly tone I’d heard before crooned at the bird as the man handed the creature a limp mouse. “Not that it was all that difficult. I’ve never seen such a skittish battle mage.”

“Ah, but this is the Soturi who does not deserve the title.” Through the center of the group, a man stepped forward.

My insides backflipped. Built like that bastard from the star tent, he moved like a threat, heavy steps, yet lithe like the ground would bow to him should he demand it. Broad shoulders, strong arms, only now his face was covered with half a skull.

A cracked forehead, empty sockets, and the upper jaw concealed his top lip, and a black cloth covered what was left of his chin.

This was no Halloween disguise—the skull mask seemed to protrude from his flesh, like it was his own facial structure surfacing from the muscle. I couldn’t see his mouth, but on the side of his neck were beautiful lines of runes tattooed along his throat.

“You.” Pathetic, but it was the only word that seemed to match the frenzy of my brain and succeed in escaping my tongue.

The open skull eye sockets gave up little to the color of the gaze behind them, but when he tugged down the cloth over his mouth, his white teeth burned bright in the fading sunlight, a glistening, mocking threat.

“Me. We must stop meeting this way.” Skull Face tossed back the edge of a black cloak draped on his shoulders, revealing a belt laden in knives and a damn sword with boiled leather wrapped around a sturdy hilt.

I scrambled to my feet and tried to run, but an arm wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly against his firm chest. I kicked and thrashed and scratched.

He tossed me onto the side of the road, landing me in a patch of wildflowers. I had no time to move before the man with his horrid mask pressed his knee to my chest and leaned his hidden face close.

“By now, I’m aware, little thief, that you took something of mine.”

“According to you!” I grunted, desperate to shove his knee off my chest. Breath tightened the more pressure he added.

“I think it is safe to say, in present company, my word over yours will be accepted.” He chuckled. “Your second foolish act is passing through Swindler’s Alley unaccompanied, lady.” He slipped one of his gloved fingers under the strap on my satchel. “If you’d like to keep both your eyes, we’ll be needing you to pay your toll.”

CHAPTER 6

Kage

This woman was unsettlingfor more than one reason.

I often taunted the fools we cornered on the forest pathways, my words would not be out of place to the others, but beneath them was a heady dose of unease.

She’d followed me, which could be a stroke of bravery or stupidity. Time would tell.

Her mage markings stacked more onto my disquiet, for she did not even seem to understand when I called her a Soturi because of the defined rune of battle inked on the center of each hand. Wrapped in coils of gentler things, she was a battle mage who’d taken blissful vows with a partner or had crafted a fierce bond with a high-ranking bloodline.

There was no time to force open her fisted hands to read her tale and determine her bloodline house, but it would mean she was destined for greatness, or had already achieved it. It would mean she was more than an acolyte studying and honing her gifts.

She would already be a member of the court.

Perhaps that part made a bit of sense. If she’d been rummaging about the palace, it would’ve given her opportunity aplenty to steal my arm ring. A slight I’d not yet determined if it angered me, impressed me, or mortified me more.

To have such a skittish woman best me? I was leaning closer to mortification.

“You are a courtier?” I pressed, voice low and rough.

“Okay, I know what that is, but . . . I mean . . . what century are we in?”