Page 1

Chapter

One

TESSA

The weathered tiles clink quietly beneath my feet as I move toward the edge of the roof. They’re still warm from the sun, though twilight is falling, the sky turning a rich, deep purple. I glance down, making sure I’m safely perched before I peer into the street below.

Ultrup bustles around me, the city too large to ever fall completely silent.

There’s always someone about—the revelers from the night before often meet the bakers and cooks already moving through the streets, those who rise early to serve the city’s elite.

At this hour, though, there are enough people around that any sound I make will go unnoticed.

Across the narrow alley, a three-story inn is alive with light and music.

I’ve never tried to run tricks inside The Heron because the owner employs his own guards, beefy men and hardened women who would turn me over to the city watch without blinking if they caught me trying to steal from the patrons.

But I’m not here to rob the taproom tonight.

I’m hunting an orc warrior.

I settle into a comfortable crouch and take a bite of my apple, my hood pulled over my head despite the warmth of the autumn evening.

Unless I draw attention to myself, there’s little chance of anyone noticing me now.

People rarely look up without reason. They’re all too busy with their own business to bother with others.

All the better for me.

Two of the rooms on the second floor, right above the taproom, are brightly lit, their occupants getting ready for a night out on the town.

A woman is braiding her hair in front of a vanity mirror while her husband bathes in a large copper tub.

In the other room, an elderly gentleman hunches over a desk, writing a letter by candlelight.

These rooms are large, opulently furnished, and no doubt the best in the inn.

The higher the guests have to climb, the lower the price of their accommodations.

That means the orc residing on the third floor is wealthy enough, even if he’s chosen warrior leathers that fit him like a glove over silk and velvet, preferred by the guests on the floor below.

I’ve been watching him for two days, ever since I first noticed him casing the headquarters of Damen’s gang. It was a strange coincidence—I’d been watching the Ravens since the disappearance of my best friend. He must know what they really are.

If it weren’t for Lindie, I’d never have worked with them. But she always made sure I got my fair share of the loot, so I’ve become their go-to whenever they need someone for light-footed jobs.

Now Lindie has vanished. I could have warned Damen that he was being watched. But since he’s refused to tell me anything, I’m not inclined to help him. If his guards haven’t noticed the large warrior lurking near their mansion, that’s their own damn fault.

But I noticed. At first, I thought he was simply waiting for someone—a tall, broad-shouldered stranger in a light wool cloak standing on a corner.

He stayed only a few minutes before moving to a different vantage point, never hurrying.

His movements were controlled and smooth, and despite his height, he blended into the evening crowds with ease, slipping this way and that under the cover of darkness.

He reappeared on the opposite side of the headquarters, sitting on the temple steps beside the entrance to the orphanage.

His hood was drawn up, a beggar’s tin clutched in one gloved hand.

I recognized him only because something in his movements drew my eye, and I studied him long enough to catch sight of the end of his long braid.

Orcs have frequented this city for years now, and the orc king from up north has reportedly done good business with the Duke of Ultrup. Their clan differs from the one in the east, where all the old stories about marauding orcs originated. I haven’t heard much about them lately.

But these orcs keep their secrets close to their chests. They pay their staff well, keep decent hours, and protect their belongings fiercely. I haven’t tried stealing from them either. There are far easier marks in the city. I’d be a fool to target a house full of warriors.

This stranger is well-trained, too, and more interesting than Damen’s thugs. So when the warrior finally swapped places with a human man, I followed him instead, right to this inn.

I take the last bite of my apple, then drop the core by my feet. The local crows and I have formed an uneasy truce—they don’t make a ruckus when I climb through their territory, and I leave small bits of food for them to enjoy from time to time.

My surveillance has revealed that the orc reports to a grizzled old major wearing the Duke’s colors. The human soldier he swapped places with belongs to the same unit, and they’ve been keeping an eye on Damen’s crew for the past couple of days.

It’s quite a coincidence that I’ve been doing the same.

I don’t like coincidences. An unprepared thief gets caught—something I’ve learned well in the years since I joined the lowlifes and crooks of this city.

I could break into the old major’s office, but that would be suicide. Unsurprisingly, the city watch’s quarters are always teeming with guards. Even I’m not arrogant enough to try and pull off that kind of job alone.

I need to find Lindie before something bad happens.

She’s always been there for me, so I can’t let her down now.

She might be perfectly safe, working some job for Damen that’s required her to lay low or leave town, but she usually tells me about those kinds of things beforehand.

We last spoke a fortnight ago. She’d seemed distracted, but I didn’t have time to ask about it.

I’d been heading out of town myself to fence two stolen necklaces in Morav.

When I returned six days ago, I learned that Lindie was gone.

The light flares in the warrior’s bedroom, and I jerk to attention, then lower myself immediately, cursing my stupid reaction.

It’s quick, sudden movements that draw people’s eyes, even if they’re not actively looking for danger.

I hold my breath and scan the street below for any sign that I’ve been made, but the gathering darkness has protected me once more.

My shoulders drop a notch when no one shouts, and the city watchmen patrolling the busy intersection farther down stand chatting calmly, their postures loose, not primed to chase me or attack.

Only when I’m certain I’m not in danger do I allow myself to focus on the bedroom again. But the orc who entered the room is just as oblivious to my presence as the people in the street, so I breathe a sigh of relief and squint to follow his movements better.

He undoes his thick black braid with slow movements, then brushes out his long hair. He rests the bone comb on his desk and reaches up to grab a handful of his linen shirt.

I should look away, but I don’t.

He tugs his shirt over his head with one pull, and even though the windows are closed, I can imagine a soft groan of relief falling from his lips.

And there he is, in all his shirtless glory. I trace his wide, rounded shoulders with my gaze and note the swell of his muscular arms. When he turns to put away his shirt, I stare at his broad back, rippling with shadows in the low light.

I’ve seen naked men before, of course. I’m no virgin, and the people I associate with aren’t exactly a modest bunch.

But his is the first orc chest I’ve seen, and somehow, I can’t tear my gaze from him.

Heat rises in my cheeks as he walks over to the basin by the door and pours water into it from the pitcher.

He washes with quick, efficient movements, and I wonder what his soap smells like.

Is he using a plain one that the inn provides to all its guests, or did he bring a bar from his home, from faraway lands?

Yesterday, he’d dropped his pants as well to wash himself.

That’s when I ducked behind the edge of the roof and gave him privacy.

Apparently, my impropriety has its limits, and seeing his linen underwear was too much for me.

I’d waited, hunched over and trembling, for what seemed a reasonable time for a man to wash, then peeked at him again and was spared the sight of his naked ass.

If I experienced a small twinge of regret, I tamped it down viciously. This man was a mark at best and a danger to me at worst, so I couldn’t get distracted.

That doesn’t explain why I’m watching him wash again today. I tell myself it’s to learn how he spends his time. Knowing a person’s habits makes it easier for me to rob them.

I haven’t studied him long enough to be certain of how he spends his days, and I don’t like it.

But if I weigh the small chance of getting caught against the very real possibility of missing any clue regarding Lindie, I know what I have to do.

So I wait patiently in my perch, watching him.

He puts on a clean shirt, braids his hair once more, and sits on the bed to tie his boots.

Then he reaches under the bed and pulls out an iron lockbox.

I perk up, though I’m careful not to jerk upright.

He takes a small key from around his neck and unlocks it, places a folded sheaf of papers inside, and locks it again.

This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

I knew I’d have to search the room—and honestly, under the bed is one of the first places I would have checked—for any clues about why he’s been watching Damen.

Now I won’t have to toss the place, which means I’ll be in and out faster, lessening the chance of discovery.

This is why I’m the best in the business.

I bite my lip and stretch out my legs so they don’t cramp, all while trying to keep my preening to a minimum. It’s not a good idea to get complacent, even if this is starting to look like one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever done.