Page 26 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

We’re both clean. Bandaged. Bundled in towels and tablecloths. Sipping Faerie wine and eating the provisions that belong to the Stewards we’re robbing. It might just be the wine, but despite my sore muscles and my injuries, I actually feel... happy.

Maybe it’s because I’ve survived, so far. Maybe it’s because my crew will return to me soon, and then we’ll finish this together. Or maybe it’s simply because I’ve had food and water, along with the reprieve my body needed.

Out of concern that the beast might return, Ravager and I chose the pantry as our haven, but we took plenty of linens with us and left the door open for warmth. The food might spoil, but the Fae can replace it… like they’ll have to replace a lot of other things in this fortress.

Ravager leans against the cupboards beside me, with his legs stretched out. They’re muscular, hairy, and much longer than mine. I like the way my slender feet look next to his big ones.

Okay, that’s definitely the wine talking.

“Aren’t you curious about Grisly?” I ask.

He shrugs. “A little. But I’m guessing he has found a place to hide.”

“Either that, or he’s dead,” I say flatly.

“You’re a vindictive little devil, aren’t you?” He takes another swig of wine, then nudges my foot with his. “You should get some sleep.”

I ignore the tenuous thrill that ran all the way up my leg when he did that. “I’m not going to sleep with you here. You might slit my throat.”

He presses his hand over his heart. “I swear I won’t.”

“And I should trust the word of a liar?”

“Liars we may be, but as thieves, we have a code,” he replies. “You’re part of my crew at the moment, which means you’re under my protection.”

“No, you’re part of my crew, under my protection.”

“Either way, I’m going to sleep. And I’d feel more confident about our chances of surviving that monster if you would catch a few hours’ sleep too. You need rest.”

He’s right, but I can’t help the resistance that rises in me at the idea of being so vulnerable, so close to him. “My mentor taught me never to sleep unless I’m in my own bed, in a place that’s secure.”

“Your mentor? Would that be the older woman who’s part of your crew? I heard about her when I was asking around about the Javelins. What was her name? Candle?”

Pain twists through my heart. “She was never my mentor. But I do admire her.”

“So this mentor of yours—what happened there?”

“He taught me a lot. And then he moved away.” I don’t elaborate further.

I’d rather not explain that Skull found a man he wanted to spend his remaining few decades with, or that he left me without saying goodbye, with only a note of explanation, because he knew I’d try to come with him.

Though he claimed to love me like a daughter, he didn’t care to keep me in his life.

“What’s Candle’s role with your crew then?” asks Ravager. “A bit past her prime, isn’t she?”

“Keep her name out of your mouth if you can’t be respectful,” I snap.

He raises his hands in a disarming gesture. “No disrespect intended. I was merely curious.”

Sighing, I take another sip of wine. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Candle doesn’t do jobs with me and the crew. She used to be an expert with fire, lights, and explosions, rather like you. But she’s nearing the end of her life, and she has forgotten much of what she once knew.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” I shoot him a severe look.

“I can see she means a lot to you.”

“Every person on my crew means a lot to me.”

“And yet, from what I’ve heard, they’re not loyal,” he says quietly.

“I don’t know where you got your information, but you’re wrong.”

“Perhaps. But if it means anything, I understand what it feels like to be let down by people you thought were friends. People you trusted to have your back.”

“They still have my back,” I say, though my tone isn’t convincing, even to me.

“Then where are they now?”

I’m too tired to concoct a lie that will convince him, so I stick with the truth. “I can’t tell you that. Just know that I didn’t kill them.”

“That’s comforting. Are you going to kill me in my sleep, Devilry?”

I purse my lips as if pondering my options. “Not unless you do something worthy of death.”

He scratches his head, a feigned look of concern on his face. “You might need to make me a list of things you consider worthy of death.”

“Well…” I make a show of thinking it over. “Calling me rude names, obviously. Pissing in places where you shouldn’t. Flatulence, of course, especially in confined spaces. Making suggestive jokes or sounds. Being overly inquisitive.”

“All those things will earn me a death sentence, eh?” He gives me a slow grin.

“Oh yes. Instant death.”

“You know, Devilry, I do believe you have a sense of humor.”

“Rumors and lies.” I hide a smirk by taking another swallow of wine.

“At the risk of committing a mortal sin, I have a proposal to make.”

“Tread carefully, Ravager.”

“My proposal is this. Since we both need sleep, yet you don’t appear to feel safe with me, perhaps we should get to know each other better before we rest.”

I frown, unsure if he means it in a sexual way. “No.”

“It couldn’t hurt, though.” He sets down his cup and moves to sit on the opposite side of the pantry so he can face me. “You seemed fairly full of questions earlier. I’m ready to answer. Ask me anything.”

I tip my head back against the cupboard, savoring the warm haze of the wine. “Very well, let’s get to know each other. Professionally, not personally.”

“Deal,” he answers.

“First thing you ever stole?”

“A chicken.”

“A live one?”

“No, roasted. I was in the city park, and a couple of servants had laid out a fancy picnic lunch for their lord or lady. They were squabbling over something—the arrangement of the cushions on the picnic cloth, I think—and while their backs were turned, I plucked the roast chicken right off its platter, tucked it into my jacket like it was a newborn baby, and ran. I was skinny and fast. Cut through a nearby thicket and from there down an embankment. I sat under a footbridge and I ate that chicken down to the bones. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. ”

“Roast chicken is the fucking best,” I say fervently.

“I’d love a good chicken leg right now. In fact I can only think of one thing I’d like to taste more.” His eyes are focused on my mouth at first; then his gaze darts much lower. “Well... two things.”

I flush and look away, pretending I didn’t catch his meaning. “I can beat that story. The first thing I ever stole was much riskier and more expensive than a roast chicken.”

“Deflection and distraction,” he murmurs, smiling. “Fine, I’ll bite. What did you steal?”

“A ring. It was so big and purple and sparkly, and I just… wanted it. I craved it worse than anything I’d ever desired in my whole life.

I pretended to fall down in the street, right next to the lady who was wearing it, and when she helped me up, I slipped it right off her finger.

I’d noticed it was loose, see. As she walked, she had to keep adjusting it with her thumb to get the big, sparkly stone to stay on top.

I slid it right off and she didn’t catch me.

I was gone before she realized it was missing. ”

“How old were you?”

“Five.”

“Fuck.” He laughs. “You were a precocious and talented child. Of course you were.”

“How old were you when you took the chicken?”

“Eleven, and desperate. Starving, in fact.” He laughs again, and suddenly I understand him better. Why he jokes and laughs so much. Why he never seems to take anything too seriously. It’s a layer of protection he has built between the world and his feelings. Humor is how he guards his heart.

His way of coping with life isn’t the same as mine, but I can understand it. My heart softens a little toward him, in spite of myself.

A confession leaves my lips. It’s unintended, but it feels as natural as breathing.

“When I took the ring, I wasn’t desperate.

Not yet. But that’s the day I remember truly hating my mother for the first time, because when she found out I’d stolen the ring, she took it.

Not to give it back to the owner, but to pawn it and buy herself hessen seeds. ”

“My mother was an addict, too. Died in a hessen smoking den. I never knew my father.”

“My parents are both alive, both assholes. I’m better off without them.

” I don’t elaborate further. I don’t explain that my father was imprisoned in a country to the north for selling young women to rich men.

Nor do I describe how my mother, along with her latest lover, robbed travelers crossing the western mountain ranges, thereby earning her own prison sentence.

“You’ve done well on your own,” Ravager says. “I know what I said before—that you’re incompetent, and all that—but your reputation is quite the opposite. You make a fine criminal.”

He intends it as a compliment, but his words touch a sore spot. “I’m not just your average criminal. I don’t steal from the vulnerable, only from those who can afford it.”

“Ah, so you think you’re better than me.” He chuckles, then coughs, holding his bruised ribs. “Miss Moral Compass. Lady of Principles.”

“I am better than you, at a lot of things.”

“That cocky attitude again. You brag about your fighting skills, and yet every time we’ve sparred, you’ve failed to kill me. Either you don’t actually want to kill me, or you’re not as good as you claim.”

With a scoff of derision, I get to my feet. Even with the wine softening the pain, my whole body aches, and I almost sit back down, but I’d hate for him to perceive me as weak. “Come on, then. Let’s go again. I’ll finish you off this time.”

Ravager stares at me for a few seconds in sheer disbelief. “Do you have any idea how bad you look right now?”

“Fuck you. You’re the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen.”

“Now don’t get your panties all twisted. I said you look bad, not ugly. As in, you’re exhausted and injured.”

“Thanks to you and your cronies.”