Page 38 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

“One more thing,” says Nocturis. “The Doras àlainn must be annihilated along with the fortress. Both it and the mapping table in the observation room were designed with the help of the same rare and dreadful magic. They cannot be permitted to survive. You’ve destroyed one, and the other must suffer a similar fate. ”

“But how will we get home?”

Nocturis holds my gaze, his eyes like silver arrows.

“The will of the god-star was that every human who came to Annordun would perish along with it, and that no witnesses would remain. That fate still stands for the rogue. But you have done particularly well, little thief, and I’m rather fond of you, so I will offer you this chance.

When the destruction is complete, leave the fortress by the front entrance.

You will see a circle of green in the blue grass.

Step into it, and you will be transported back to your city of Belgate in the mortal realm.

As your reward, I will let you take one thing with you, something you can carry alone. ”

I start to speak, but he raises an imperious hand. “Our time is at an end. I lay on you this curse, that you may not speak the substance of this conversation to anyone else until Annordun is destroyed. Do as I have said, or perish.”

He vanishes.

“I’m so fucking sick of people disappearing,” I mutter. I also want to say exactly what I think of Nocturis, but I’m afraid to voice the thoughts aloud in case he’s listening and decides I’m not his favorite little thief anymore.

The enormous significance of what he told me is almost too much to grasp. Closing my eyes, I replay the entire conversation in my mind.

Our presence here is part of an elaborate scheme by a god-star and some group called the Wild Hunt.

In Maven’s stories, the god-stars are the most ancient entities of Faerie, the deities whom the Fae worship.

And the Fae aren’t the only ones who revere such beings.

There are whole kingdoms in my realm who also worship the god-stars.

Their reputation is universal, and their power transcends realms. Which means I don’t dare act too boldly against them, or try to defy their will.

Somehow, Ravager and I ended up at the center of this. Both our crews were merely pawns in this game, which has political ramifications for both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. And we were all supposed to die here, as the scapegoats for the god-stars—the cover for their interference at Annordun.

I suppose that means the Javelins owe me their lives, first for wishing them away to comparative safety, and then wishing them back to the mortal realm. Thanks to me, they won’t perish along with the fortress.

The fortress… I have to destroy the fortress, and I can’t salvage any of its treasures—except for one single item.

As Nocturis said, I’ll need Ravager’s help—that much is clear.

But there’s no way he will agree to this, especially if I can’t tell him the truth.

No matter what story I might invent to convince him, he would never leave all the loot behind, especially not the Doras àlainn.

No thief would go through all this pain only to abandon the treasure when it’s sitting unguarded.

And that isn’t even the most dreadful part of the conversation I had with the green Faerie. Seven words weigh more heavily on my heart than any others.

That fate still stands for the rogue.

Nocturis gave me the candy to heal Ravager, but he didn’t do it out of mercy. He only did it so Ravager can help me destroy Annordun. After we accomplish the task, Ravager’s fate is to die here. And if I try to circumvent that plan, if I make one wrong move, I will die, too.

“Fuck that.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the wishing stone, expecting to see dots of light running across it, marking the countdown for another twenty-four hours.

But it has gone dark. Maybe it did have the capacity for three wishes, but the Fae-Hunter who possessed it before me must have used one, and I used the other two.

As I roll the stone between my fingers, it disintegrates into powdery black ash.

It’s just as well. I couldn’t have stalled long enough to use it again. Nocturis seems eager for us to finish the job quickly. Within a handful of hours, he said.

He also gave me a promise. As your reward, I will let you take one thing with you, something you can carry alone.

Within that promise, there may be a solution. I’m not sure it will work, but all I can do is try it, and cling to hope.

After wrapping the candy carefully in a piece of cloth and tucking it into my pocket, I take a quick look through some of Drosselmeyer’s things. I want more than a knife in my hand if I’m going to assist Ravager against the monsters of this fortress.

Within seconds I spot a pair of short swords jutting from a sheath assembly that I can strap to my back.

It’s almost as if I was meant to find them, like they were intended for me, and that sense of rightness only fuels the dread in my soul, the sinking certainty that the broad strokes of these events were fated, orchestrated by cosmic forces.

And yet there’s hope in the knowledge that we surprised them—the Wild Hunt, the god-stars, Nocturis, or whoever the hell. We did some things that they didn’t expect. We made our own choices, despite the machinations of entities far greater than we are.

No matter what happens, no matter what I have lost or gained in this terrible place, I am still Devilry. And I still get to choose my own path.

The razorwings have retreated along the hallway, farther from the site where Ravager burned part of their swarm.

They’re still cloaking the walls, blocking my way, and they seem far more active than before.

Maybe they’re getting hungry again. Maybe they’ve used up the sustenance they obtained from Grisly’s corpse, and now they’re interested in fresh meat.

I hate the way they crawl over and under each other in a shifting mass. I hate the shine of their wings’ sharp edges and the clicking sound of their tiny teeth. I keep shuddering convulsively at the mere sight of them, and my skin is stippled with goosebumps.

Peering beyond the tunnel of the creatures, I spot several more of their corpses littering the bare floor beyond.

Those corpses are charred just like the ones around my feet.

Did Ravager notice the creatures’ aversion to their own dead and use it against them?

Maybe he carried some of the bodies through with him, to keep the surviving razorwings at bay.

I should do the same, but I don’t know if I can manage it. I don’t want to lay a single finger on one of those creatures. Another chill runs over me when I think about touching them.

“Shit,” I whimper under my breath.

And then I realize that maybe I don’t have to touch them with my actual skin.

I reach back over my shoulder and draw one of the short swords I took from the pile of Drosselmeyer’s things.

The hilt is oddly shaped, and the crossguard looks as if it’s made of separate pieces folded together.

There’s got to be some kind of trigger mechanism to unlock whatever secrets the blade is hiding.

Retreating farther from the restless swarm, I push, tug, and twist at various parts of the sword hilt until I discover a gem on the pommel.

When I press it firmly, several needle-like branches unfold from the crossguard of the sword, like attachments that complement the main blade.

When I push it again, they start to spin alarmingly fast, so I press a third time, and they quietly cease spinning and fold themselves away.

Using the twin swords and their attachments, I’m able to skewer a number of the dead razorwings.

I carry their corpses through the passage like the banners of an invading army, and even though my skin crawls and I can’t help squealing in sheer disgust several times, I make it through.

When I reach the hole leading up to the first floor, I pry the tiny corpses off each blade with the other sword, never letting the razorwings touch my skin.

I’m so fucking glad to leave the crawly creatures behind.

The swords come in handy for getting up through the hole, as well.

I use them like climbing spikes and emerge from the opening just in time to hear Ravager yelling, a note of true terror in his voice.

There’s a concussive sound that I recognize as the hand-cannon firing, but no explosion follows the blast. For some reason, his shot didn’t work.

I run toward the last screamed “Fuck” that I heard, and I reach Ravager just in time to plunge my swords into the beast with all the voices.

I’m not sure what I’m yelling at him—I think I call him my partner, and an idiot—both true.

He’s a mess, broken and nearly bled out, scarcely able to function.

For a moment, I’m truly afraid he will die right in front of me.

But once he eats the gumdrop Nocturis gave me, his body heals rapidly, flawlessly.

Again I feel a twist of resentment toward the Fae for their selfishness.

Their magic would make such a difference in our world.

But if the routes between the realms were open wide, dark things would come with the good magic—terrible curses and monsters like the ones we’ve encountered here.

Humanity isn’t prepared to deal with the awful parts of this world and the extremes of its power.

“Did you find that candy in the room with Drosselmeyer’s things?” Ravager asks me.

“Sort of.” I avoid his eyes, trying to keep my expression nonchalant, but of course he notices my discomfort.

“Talk to me,” he says.

Discussion is usually something I’m good at.

For the past few years, I’ve been a leader, and I’ve given many orders—but they were always based on feedback and ideas from a group, not solely on my own judgement or experience.

I’m used to analyzing information with the help of others, and I want nothing more than to talk to Ravager about what we’re facing.

But talking is the one thing I’m not allowed to do.

“Ravager, I need you to do something for me, without asking questions,” I say.

“Anything.”

A weary laugh escapes me. “I really hope you mean that. Because I need you to help me destroy Annordun and everything in it.”

His expression shifts. There’s surprise, confusion, and yes, suspicion, overlaid with caution. “Everything?”

“Everything. We’re not taking anything with us.” Except the one thing I can carry, as a reward.

“And I can’t ask you why?”

“No.”

He’s a thief to the core, like I am. We are children of pain, raised with almost nothing of our own.

From a young age, the harsh world trained us to take what we can, when we can get it.

Leaving loot behind, abandoning a job when the treasure is literally at our fingertips—it runs counter to our very nature.

It’s the antithesis of everything that we are.

And the fact that I’m asking him to do it without questioning why—it’s absurd.

There’s no way he would ever agree. He couldn’t possibly trust me that much.

And yet, if he doesn’t agree, if he refuses to trust me, the Doras àlainn will disintegrate or vanish, and we’ll both die here when the Stewards arrive.

If only I could tell him that. If only I could explain. But when I try to form those words, I physically can’t. My tongue has been locked down with magic, and my conversation with Nocturis is off limits.

I struggle against the magic for a minute, trying to find a way around it, trying to form phrases that will enlighten him. But there’s no trick that can circumvent this curse.

Anxiously, I look at Ravager again. He’s watching me, eyes narrowed, like he noticed my struggle.

“You really can’t tell me,” he says. “So I have to assume something happened to you while we were apart. Something magical, something so important and frightening, it put that desperate look in your eyes. You need me to do this. You’re asking me to trust you implicitly, with my fortune and probably my life. ”

Biting my lip, eyes downcast, I nod.

He chuckles softly. “Done.”

My eyes flash up to his. “What?”

He smiles. “I’ll do it. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” I whisper.

“But I do trust you completely. And you can trust me. I know it might take you years to believe that, but it’s true.”

I want to tell him that we don’t have years—we have a few hours, a scant space of time in which we need to figure out how to create an explosion so large that it immolates an entire magical fortress.

But I can’t talk about the deadline, nor do I want to think about it right now. There’s something I need, and something I want to give, in case it’s the last time. But I won’t do it with the magical eyes of the fortress watching me.

“Come into the kitchen.” I seize his arm, push him in front of me, and propel him down the hallway, through the kitchen door.

“Gods, Devil,” he says with a chuckle. “I was just healed, and now you’re going to rough me up again, is that it?”

“Yes.” I slam the door behind me, seize two fistfuls of his open shirt, and shove him against the wall. “That’s exactly it.”