Page 41 of Dance of Kings and Thieves

My skin prickled in heat. I did not want to imagine such things. But I had just enough decency to honor the man’s request and imagine tossing Malin, my child in her belly, at the feet of Ivar.

I wanted to retch.

“I have not forgotten the risk you took for me, and I never will. It is a debt I will always carry,” I said. “But do not make the mistake of thinking I am unaware of the risk each of us will take until this ends. Malin’s head is the most sought after in this entire bleeding kingdom. I know what it feels like to risk it all.”

“Inge is my lifeline,” he said through gritted teeth, taking a step closer.

“I know.” I softened my voice. “Hob, Iknow. I will not let harm come to her. No plan or scheme is worth losing your lover. I swear to you.”

He didn’t want to concede. Fire still blazed in his eyes, but slowly, Hob dipped his chin. “See that you keep that vow.”

With nothing more to say, he turned away and stormed deep into the corridors of the ruins.

A soft hand touched my arm. Inge stood beside me, but her wet eyes followed Hob’s retreat.

“He has lost everyone in his life to illness or the prisons,” she whispered. “Malin was his first connection to someone since his granddaj died when Jakoby was only ten turns old. Now he has a chance at a new family.” She placed a hand over her stomach. “He knows this is necessary, but if it isn’t too much to ask, let him stay close. You all have become our family, and . . . I think it would be good for him to be surrounded by others.”

It hadn’t been in the plan to have Hob at my side, but before I thought better of it, I nodded. “As you say. It’s time.”

Inge lifted her chin. Her dark hair was braided down her back. Malin and Elise had painted her lips and cheeks, giving her a flushed, but polished look. The sort she once had when she still worked as a seamstress before living amongst thieves.

“I’m ready to take the first step.”

Of many, no doubt. Each more dangerous than the last.

* * *

“Gods,are you a Kryv or a bleeding oaf?” I narrowed my eyes at Gunnar when his boot went through the trellis on the side of the longhouse.

“Sorry,” Gunnar hissed back and continued until he reached the thick sill of the loft window. Without a sound, he eased each leg over the ledge and disappeared into the darkness of the upper house.

One by one, others followed. Not many, but Raum was with us, Herja would perch with her bow next to Gunnar, Tor with his fire magic, then me and Hob. The trees around the small goat farm and commune of four smaller houses were filled with Northern warriors and the remaining Kryv, held at bay by Halvar and Sol.

Misty trees that hadn’t been there before littered the yard. Thick grass and divots of earthy mounds sprouted up like blossoms after the frosts thawed. Ari was hard at work creating illusions to disorient our marks.

A bit of straw from the roof fluttered over my face. Before I followed Raum through the window, I glanced up into the gleaming eyes of Malin. She leaned forward on her stomach, carefully maneuvering down the sloped edge without a sound.

Ari hadn’t oversold his ability. If I had not already known what his illusions had done to her features, I would not know she was my wife. Her hair was silver like Eryka’s, her skin almost blue like a Southern fae, and her freckles no longer dotted her nose.

But her eyes, those could not be changed. As if the union of our vows impeded any other magic, the gold and green still melted together.

“Fight to the end, Nightrender,” she whispered close to my mouth.

I stretched on the rung of the trellis and kissed her. Long, deep, a little desperate. Malin kissed me with matched desperation. Her hand gripped the back of my head, her tongue brushed over mine like she wanted to hold onto the taste of us until this was all over.

“You make this difficult,” I said in a breath once we broke apart.

“As do you.” She slowly eased back to the rooftop.

In careful, silent movements, I entered the loft of the house. It took up the entire upper level. A double straw mattress was shoved against one wall. A few knives and axes hung on rungs beside it. Draped over the back of a wicker chair was a gambeson with the filigreed design of the raven of the Black Palace.

A skydguard uniform.

Herja and Gunnar were already positioned on either side of the ladder leading from the loft to the lower level. Raum crouched behind the bed with Tor. I flicked my fingers, directing Hob to take his place in the shadows, but where he’d be able to keep his eyes on the front door.

Palms up, I dragged shadows from the corners and nooks of the loft, darkening the space as far as I could before the thick blanket would be seen as unnatural, then waited until a rapid knock sounded on the door, followed by a rough growl from someone outside. “Open the bleeding door, Edvard.”

From the back of the longhouse, a grunt and a few curses grumbled out of a thick, bearded skyd. He’d dressed down to nothing but trousers. Even his boots were kicked off in the corner of the hall. Head shorn with runes inked on the side of his scalp, his position in the guard was high. A notch down from a nobleman.