Page 34 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

I don’t know how powerful the wishing stone is, or if it still possesses any magic. With my hands tied, it’s the only weapon I have at the moment. I need to try using it before I’m gagged again.

“Are you ready to talk now?” The smug malice in Scriv’s eyes seals his fate and theirs. It renders me merciless.

“I wish that you four traitors were all back in Belgate, with nothing to show for this journey, and that you’ll remain there when the wish expires,” I say.

A chill passes through the air, like a whisper of winter. Maven’s stricken face imprints on my brain right before she vanishes. Boulder’s bulk disappears from behind me. With his arms no longer there, holding me up, my body tilts aside, and I fall hard on my left shoulder.

Fuck... I should have wished myself free of the ropes as well. But it’s too late. Scriv, Maven, Flex, and Boulder are gone.

I’m hoping that my addendum works, and that when the next twenty-four hours are up, my crew will simply continue their lives in Belgate. When the wish expires, I don’t want them to show up wherever I am, or wherever the stone is. I never want to see them again.

Rather than trying to get loose, I lie motionless on my side, tears trickling silently over the bridge of my nose.

What hurts the most is that I sensed this coming, and yet I couldn’t really believe they would do it.

I thought I could forestall the impending split; maybe win them back, or at the very least, part from them amicably as we each took our own share of Drosselmeyer’s fortune.

I thought Maven would stick with me as a friend, at least, if not a business partner.

And now it’s just—over. Something that I spent years building, relationships I invested in so heavily—all of it shattered in the space of minutes. A mistake of mine that they misinterpreted, an explanation given but not believed, an apology made but not accepted, and it all crumbles.

Irreversible damage. Nothing left to reclaim.

They demanded something I wasn’t willing to yield, threatened to torture me until I gave it up, and forced my hand to that final wish.

Maybe I should have given them the location of the Doras álainn.

I could have told them where it was and warned them about the monster.

But I couldn’t stand the thought of them taking the treasure that should be mine and leaving me here.

And I couldn’t bear to relinquish the possibility of healing for Ravager, who, in the short time I’ve known him, has already sacrificed more for me than the Javelins ever did.

My own crew tied me up. They wanted to leave me in the hands of the Fae to punish me for their twenty-four hours of trauma.

As if I didn’t endure trauma of my own during that time.

They didn’t ask what I suffered while they were gone.

Didn’t show any concern about the injuries all over my body.

Didn’t question what I went through to get into this room.

They got off easy. A swift trip back home with nothing to show for their time and effort, but I could have wished far worse upon them.

“Fuck them,” I whisper.

“They didn’t deserve you.” Ravager’s voice is weak, but clear.

I suck in a startled breath and roll myself over so I can see him. Between the mottled bruises and the heat-seared flush of his face, he looks awful. The skin of his throat and upper chest is stark white, probably from blood loss, and the bandage around his hand is soaked through. But he’s alive.

“You’re awake,” I say.

“Somewhat the worse for wear.” He gives me a wan smile. “But I’m glad we both survived. You saved me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“Leaving me behind would have been easy. Saving me wasn’t. So… thank you.”

I squirm against the ropes, uncomfortable with his sincere gratitude and my own churning emotions. “How long have you been conscious?”

“The first thing I remember is you saying, ‘You’re back!’ But I felt too weak to open my eyes at first, and then, as things progressed, I decided my reawakening might cause more complications. Of course, if they’d begun to torture you, I would have done my best in your defense.”

“Scriv would have ordered Flex or Boulder to kill you immediately,” I say. “You were smart to stay quiet.”

“Contrary to what you might think, I do know when to shut up and when to listen.” He gives me a self-satisfied grin.

“Do you know how to untie knots?”

“Might be a little difficult, since I seem to be short a couple fingers,” he replies. “But I’m fairly sure I can cut you free. Turn onto your stomach and stay as still as you can, love.”

He starts crawling over to me—an awkward process since both his arms are injured now.

“I’m sorry about your team,” he says. “I’d heard the rumors of their dissatisfaction, but you seemed a pleasant enough crew when I saw you together at the Night Goose.”

“You were there?”

“A few nights ago. In fact, I came right up to your table. Poured you all a refill.”

“You were the brawny barmaid!” I exclaim.

“The brawny barmaid. That’s actually a decent name for a pub.

” His laugh is cut short by a grunt of pain as he settles into place at my side.

“Yes, that was me. I followed you afterward and tried to break into your lair to steal the Doras àlainn. But my little charade at the Night Goose wasn’t the first I’d heard of this job, or of Annordun.

I got my original information from a fellow called Wringer in South Hive. ”

“Wait.” I twist around to look at him, alarm bells ringing in my brain. “Did he tell you that Midwinter’s Eve would be the best night to pull the job? Did he ask for a tenth of the take?”

“Yes.”

“That little bitch,” I hiss. “He said I was the only one he told.”

“He said the same thing to me.”

“Shit. Where did he tell you he got his information?”

“From his cousin, who hid in a wardrobe while the Fae just… talked openly about all of their plans within earshot and never checked inside the wardrobe…” His voice trails off. “Fuck. This was some kind of setup, wasn’t it?”

“It looks like it,” I concede. “But what would the purpose be? To capture us? Kill us? Why would the Fae leak information to a shady human in Belgate, with orders to give that information to the two of us, specifically?”

“Maybe because we were desperate,” Ravager mutters. From what I can tell, he has managed to get his knife positioned beneath the ropes binding my hands.

“Speak for yourself.” But he’s right. I was desperate.

I was panicking at the possibility of losing my crew, so I was too anxious, too eager.

Too foolish to see that I was being played, led along, funneled into the exact place where someone wanted me to be.

And why? That’s what bothers me the most. “Why would anyone set this up? There’s no clear motive and too many variables. It doesn’t make sense.”

He’s sawing at the ropes now. His actions feel slow and clumsy, and his breathing is labored.

“Maybe we foiled their motive, whatever it was,” I muse. “Maybe we did something they didn’t expect? Changed the game?”

“We blew up a lot of stuff. Released those fast-breeding, flesh-eating razorwings.”

“We did do that.” I wince at the pained catch in his breath as he works to free me. “I’m going to have Witch fix your hand as soon as we get back.”

“That’s kind of you, sweetheart. But let’s not worry about healing or mysterious motives just now. Let’s focus on leaving this place with as much loot as we can carry. We’ll need that device your former friends wanted—the Doras àlainn. Where might that be?”

“It’s on the third floor, in the room where I left the two observation spheres. I wedged it behind a cabinet.”

The sawing motion against my ropes stops.

I attempt to get my wrists free, but the ropes are still secure. They haven’t been cut yet. So why did he quit?

“Ravager?”

He’s rising from the floor. Moving away from me. I can hear him shifting the packs and the box away from the hole I blew in the wall.

I told him the location of the Doras àlainn. And now he’s leaving.

My voice is a faint, broken thing. “Ravager… what are you doing?”

“It’s better this way,” he says.

Desperate rage flames through my chest. “Cut me loose, you motherfucker!”

“I can’t have you following me, Devilry. You’re safe here. Just wait, and don’t yell or you might attract the razorwings.”

“You vile bastard. You fucking asswipe, you raging cunt.” Wriggling and twisting, I manage to shift my body around so I can view the crawlspace. I’m just in time to see his legs sliding out through the hole.

Much as I want to scream at him, he’s right about my voice potentially attracting monsters, so I stay quiet.

What did he mean by wait? Is he double-crossing me? Or is he going to get the Doras àlainn by himself, out of some misguided desire to keep me safe? Doesn’t he realize that we have a better chance of fetching it if we stick together?

We should have gone with my first plan and headed for the upper floors.

We might have encountered the beast with the voices, but maybe we’d have been able to find a different route to Drosselmeyer’s storage area, one that avoided the razorwings.

We could have turned off the shield protecting the door.

And we could have made a detour to collect the Doras àlainn.

We could have brought it down here with us.

But I didn’t trust Ravager enough for that. I didn’t want to be carrying the Doras àlainn in his presence. I didn’t want him to know where it was, in case he decided to betray me. And now I’m paying the price for confiding its location to him at exactly the wrong moment.

Yet another mistake to add to my ever-growing list.