Page 45 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

TWO WEEKS LATER

Ravager places his hand on the door of the Night Goose. “Are you sure you want to do this now? You just got the news about Candle yesterday morning.”

“You said the same thing to me last night, before the Tremlin job, and I handled that perfectly, didn’t I?”

“You did. Although you could have let me blow up that hideous statue in the Constable’s bathroom.”

“We didn’t have time, Ravager.”

“There was enough time.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again. We emptied his vault with no alarms raised, and we didn’t get caught. That should be enough for you. Destroying the statue would have been pushing our luck too far.”

“But you agree that it was atrocious.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“And next time, if I see something I absolutely hate, I get to blow it up.” He gives me a cocky smirk.

“I’m not promising you any such thing. If a piece of horrendous statuary can be destroyed without risking our safety, I’ll allow it. Otherwise…”

“Oh, you’ll allow it?” Ravager leans close, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who’s in charge of this team?”

“I allow you to believe that you are.”

“That’s right. I’m getting very good at fooling myself into thinking it’s true.” He gives me a swift kiss on the forehead. When he pulls back, his eyes are serious again. “But sweetheart, it’s been an eventful couple of days. Do you need to do this now, so soon after Candle?”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be in mourning tonight. But my last conversation with Candle two weeks ago wasn’t a sorrowful goodbye. It was a sweet exchange enlivened by her fiery spirit, brightened by her wishes for me and Ravager, and soothed by Witch’s kindness.

I wasn’t there when Candle passed, but that’s how she wanted it. She died quietly in Witch’s house, in peace and comfort, knowing that I’m safe with Ravager—as safe as any of us can be in this unpredictable world.

There’s a scar on my left ribs, one that I touch sometimes, when I feel like I’m losing myself.

For some reason, the memory of the time Ravager tried to kill me—and couldn’t do it—gives me a warm sense of reassurance.

He was beginning to love me then, and he loves me more now.

His affection and concern shine in his eyes as he offers me a way out of this moment, an excuse to avoid the confrontation that’s coming.

But I need this. I won’t be able to truly detach and move on without it.

“I’m ready,” I tell him.

“Then I’m with you.”

An impulse flutters through my heart, and I remember Candle’s words: Kiss that handsome boy whenever you feel like it.

I take Ravager by the front of his coat and pull him close, until his mouth meets mine. Sometimes his lips are a wild delight, a rough kind of bliss, a heady distraction—but right now, they’re a smooth comfort, the reassurance I need.

“What was that for?” he murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I just felt like it.” I smooth down the collar of his coat. “You know you’re the fucking love of my life, right?”

The smile that spreads over his face is like a torch flaring up in a dark street, like the sweetest kind of brilliant destruction. “I know.”

“Then let’s do this.”

He shoves the door wide, and we stride into the Night Goose together.

We wear matching cape-like coats, designed for us by Lace, the seamstress—who did in fact confess to me that she has Fae blood in her veins.

She seemed thrilled to finally be able to perform more obvious magic with her work, for a client who would appreciate her ancestry rather than judging it.

The pockets of these coats are bigger on the inside, and let us store vast quantities of supplies and weapons without adding any extra weight and bulk to our bodies.

As long as Ravager and I wear our coats, we’ll never have to carry a pack again.

Shocked murmurs erupt throughout the tavern as we enter.

According to my informants, the Javelins have been maligning me to anyone who will listen.

Their stories vary widely, but the one I’ve heard most often claims that I tricked the Javelins into pulling a dangerous heist in Faerie, during which I betrayed them and ended up being eaten alive by the Fae while they escaped, thanks to the ingenuity of Scriv.

I also learned that Scriv registered a forged deed with the city, giving him full ownership of the Hearth.

I can’t contest the deed without revealing my criminal activities and getting myself arrested, so I have no choice but to let the place go.

I’ll miss it, especially all the customizations we made, but the memories are soured now.

I don’t even want my possessions back. They’re tainted by betrayal, part of a life I’m leaving behind for good after tonight.

The patrons of the Night Goose make a wide path for Ravager and me, stepping aside or scooting their chairs out of our way.

The musicians in the corner stop their drumming and fiddling with a thump and a screech.

The usual chatter and laughter dwindle as we head straight for the round table where the Javelins sit, stunned and speechless at our approach.

Five weeks have changed them. They look more vicious, more disgruntled, and more disheveled than they ever did when I was in charge. I can tell by the flush on Boulder’s neck and the curl of Maven’s fist that they were arguing before we walked in.

As I stalk toward their table, Scriv moves his chair until Flex is between us. There’s a furtive caution in the way Scriv stares at me, like I’m a viper that could strike him at any moment.

“Devilry,” says someone from a nearby table, in an awed voice. “You weren’t eaten?”

“Far from it.” I flash the man a bright smile.

“In fact, my partner Ravager and I are doing better than ever—despite the treachery of the Javelins. And we’ve come to celebrate with you tonight.

” My eyes fix on the proprietor, Erda, who has come out from the back and is wiping her hands on her apron.

“Erda, we’d like to buy everyone here a round of drinks and some of your best maple sugar buns! ”

A cheer rises from the guests, and the musicians begin to play again, a jovial tune with a triumphant cadence.

“Not only that,” puts in Ravager, “but we’d like to share the spoils of our latest job.

” He raises both fists, and when he opens them, golden stars shoot from his palms up to the ceiling, where they explode into tiny golden fireworks.

Amid the shower of sparks, we begin flinging handfuls of coins and gems to the crowd in the Night Goose.

The music soars with pure wild excitement, the patrons cheer, and my former crew sits darkly silent while Ravager and I fill the Night Goose with all the wealth of Constable Tremlin’s vault.

Well… not all of it. This morning, Ravager and I delivered a portion of what we stole to Lady Wemberly, an honorable noblewoman of Belgate who spends most of her own fortune saving young girls from the hessen dens and setting them up with new lives and careers.

Another portion we set aside for ourselves, to get us out of Belgate and off to Valigrad, a coastal city where we plan to live peaceably—with the occasional midnight raid on the ships or warehouses of hessen lords, predatory oligarchs, and other corrupt, wealthy assholes.

That future lies ahead of us, with all its danger and desire. For now, I’m floating on a tide of cheers and praise, uplifted by every voice in the tavern… except those of the four people who rejected me.

I bask in the goodwill for a little while, and then I turn to face the group at the table. Boulder won’t look me in the eye. Flex is sulking, and Scriv keeps darting glances toward the exit.

Maven meets my eyes, a hostile resentment in her gaze. “This is a vulgar display, Devilry. It’s not like you. Must be his influence.” She jerks her head toward Ravager.

“I hope you’re here to pay what you owe us,” snaps Flex.

I owe them nothing, but I don’t bother contesting the point.

“You want some treasure?” I say innocently. “Of course! Here you go.” I reach into my coat’s inner pockets and spill a few handfuls of coins and gems on the table. “Enjoy. Oh, and Maven—I promised you this.”

I stack three volumes in front of her. They’re leather-bound, intricately decorated, and filled with Fae lore.

She stares at them like she fears they might bite her. “Where did you get these?”

“Not from Drosselmeyer. Everything of his is gone, and good riddance. No, I obtained these from Wringer.” I lean across the table, grinning wider when Flex and Scriv cringe away, like they think I might stab them.

“Wringer is actually dead. There’s a glamoured Fae who’s been disguised as him, living his life.

If you have any questions about Fae lore or culture, ask him.

Though you might have to work pretty hard to convince him to share information with you—I told him a few unsavory stories about the Javelins.

In fact, I think you’ll find that from tonight onward, very few informants or clients will want to work with you.

Your credibility isn’t what it once was.

So sad. Anyway… enjoy your treasure! I’ll certainly enjoy mine. ”

I link my arm with Ravager’s, and he gives the Javelins a naughty wink as we turn our backs on them and head toward the bar.

We stay just long enough to knock back a drink each. When I spot Scriv heading for the door, I nudge Ravager’s elbow.

“I see him.” He nods. “You think he’s stupid enough to call the City Watch down on this place?”

“I think he’s angry enough to want a very reckless kind of revenge,” I answer. “If he does go through with it, he’ll be the one who got the Night Goose raided. Everyone will hate him, and they won’t trust his crew with jobs. Plus the Javelins will be kicked out of the Consortium.”

“You won’t be here to enjoy it, though.”

“No, but I can live with that.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go.”

Ravager releases more of his golden fireworks, and while everyone is occupied with the dazzling show, we slip out the back door of the tavern and hurry along the alley to the spot where we left our horses.

“I’ve never been a fan of riding,” I confess as we mount.

“It’s only until we get clear out of Belgate,” Ravager promises. “We’ll hire a carriage once we get to Sterneck, and it can take us the rest of the way to the coast—oh fuck.”

“What?”

“I just remembered something. Slaughter had a man tied up on the beach of Annordun. He was supposed to be our blood payment to the Rathad so we could get home after the heist.”

“Oh… he’s long dead now. I’m sure he died in that explosion. And if not, then he would have died of thirst. Unless the Stewards revisited the island at any point, in which case they probably finished him off.”

“Gods,” Ravager exclaims. “What kind of person am I that I didn’t remember him until now?”

“You were going to sacrifice him to get home,” I point out. “So I don’t think forgetting about him makes you any better or worse.”

“Slaughter was supposed to choose the most awful kind of people for the sacrifices, so it’s not like the man was innocent. I still feel shitty about it, though.”

“As you fucking should.” I side-eye him as I settle my hood over my hair. “We can’t be sacrificing humans like that anymore, Ravager.”

“It’s not like I made a habit of it,” he protests. “It was a one-time thing. Well… it would have been a two-time thing, there and back again… but that’s beside the point.”

“That’s actually very much the point. No more human sacrifice, not once, not twice, not ever.”

“Fine. And no more dealings with the Fae.”

“Unless we need our coats repaired,” I counter. “Then we come back here and have Lace fix them.”

“Agreed. No more dealings with Fae of any kind, except Lace.”

With that settled, we guide our horses along the alley and join the flow of the main street, heading out of Belgate.

As we ride, I repeat the words to myself like a reassuring mantra.

No more dealings with the Fae.