Page 16

Slowly, I dab away the blood, though it’s already drying, just like he said. The cut isn’t too bad, and the bleeding’s stopped, but the swelling around it is nasty.

“Thank you.” His voice is low, the words a soft rumble from his chest. “For taking care of me.”

I pause, then shoot him an arch look. “I tied you up, and you’re thanking me.”

His grin is wider this time, more genuine, maybe the first real smile he’s shown since we met.

“I don’t mind being tied up, love, as long as you’re touching me.”

“Oh!” I slap his chest, heat rising to my cheeks. “Don’t start, or I’ll knock you out again and leave you for the rats.”

He shudders dramatically. “Not the rats. Anything but that.”

I roll my eyes, then reach for the salve. “Quiet, now. Let’s see if this thing is as good as you claim.”

I scoop out a generous dollop and smear it over his wound. I’m gentle, not wanting to hurt him more. He winces but doesn’t complain. I try not to think about the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers or how good he smells.

Feeling uncomfortably hot, I move on to his stab wound. The gash isn’t deep, but I can barely see it through the tear in his leather pants. His thigh is thick and muscled, just as powerful as the rest of him.

“You might need stitches.” I pry open the leather and dab the blood away with the handkerchief, then spread on the ointment. “Did they nick anything important? I can’t tell.”

“No, it’s fine,” the warrior answers.

His voice is rougher than before, and I glance up to find him watching me intently. The close scrutiny is unnerving.

“All done,” I murmur and shift back. “How does that feel?”

His throat bobs. “Better. It’s working. Can you feel it on your fingers?”

I glance down at my right hand. He’s right, damn it. My skin no longer itches or stings, and a soothing numbness is spreading out like cooling water running through my veins.

“Oh, fine.”

I sit back across from him and scoop more salve from the pot, then spread a thin layer over my raw, reddened skin.

The first touch stings, especially on my palm, where most of the blisters have popped from holding on to the rope.

I’d been too focused on fleeing and subduing the stranger to feel the full force of the pain.

But now, it rolls over me in waves, sharp jolts shooting up my arm.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. Still, I keep going, working the ointment in with careful strokes, avoiding the tender flaps of skin curling at the edges of the blisters.

I’ll need to see a healer before I leave the city. I’d go tonight if I thought any of them would help without questions. But I’ll wait. Just before the gates open, I’ll slip out and find someone to fix me up. I can’t risk an infection.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” the orc murmurs. “You shouldn’t be doing jobs like that alone.”

I jerk my head up, glaring. “And who do you suppose would help me?”

He shrugs, unbothered by the venom in my voice. “A partner. A friend. You don’t have a crew?” His gaze slides over me. “When you robbed me, I thought you might belong to the Ravens, but judging by your target tonight, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

I spread the salve down to my wrist, stopping where my sleeve begins. The edge is frayed and blackened, the fabric dotted with tiny holes. My jacket is ruined. I hadn’t even noticed earlier, too busy running for my life. It’s another thing Damen’s taken from me, though he doesn’t even know it.

The thought of his heavy coin purse and the necklace soothes something inside me. But the anger still simmers. None of this—my ruined jacket, the wrecked property, the pain—would have happened if he’d simply told me the truth about Lindie. Instead, he buried it, and now we’re both suffering for it.

“I’ve been working with the city watch,” the stranger begins. “I’m not employed by the duke, but my king has allowed me to remain here in Ultrup.”

I tilt my head, trying to read between the lines. “And you have reason to believe the Ravens are involved in kidnapping?”

He grimaces. “Hard to tell. They’ve been sending trading caravans out of the city, that much we’ve established. But whether they’re doing so legitimately, we don’t know.”

My spine stiffens. “They’re trading outside the city? Where?”

“The caravans leave through the Eastern Gate. The rest is unclear.” He lifts a shoulder, frustration tightening his jaw. “They’re good at covering their tracks. And when my colleagues tried tracing the carriages and carts, they were set upon by mercenaries hired to protect the caravans.”

I let the words settle, the weight of them sinking deeper as my thoughts spiral. Then I glance up again. “Are the mercenaries guarding provisions—or prisoners?”

“That’s the question,” he agrees. “Now, I’ve told you my part. Want to tell me what you stole tonight?”

I chew the inside of my cheek, debating what to tell him. He’s given me a lot to think about, and more, he’s given me a lead. If Damen sent Lindie out of the city as part of a larger caravan, I might finally have a way to find her.

And this stranger could help me.

It’s tempting to let him in. To admit I stole part of the ledger.

To ask for help decoding it, because I haven’t even looked at it yet, but I know Damen.

If I were the leader of the largest gang in Ultrup, I’d protect my business by more than just a safe.

Chances are, the entire thing is written in code.

“What will you report to the duke’s people about tonight?” I ask, sidestepping his question.

He hesitates. “I’ll tell my superior the truth. That another thief, unconnected to the gang, broke in and stole…whatever it is you stole. The major is a good man. He could help you. You could come in with me and…”

I push to my feet. “Ah, no, thank you. What do you think the city watch would do to someone who admitted to breaking into that house and stealing?” I smirk, though there’s nothing humorous about this situation.

“If you think Damen doesn’t have people in the watch on his payroll, you’re a fool.

He’d know I was there within the hour, and then he’d kill me. ”

“The major could protect you if you had significant information,” he insists, sitting up straight. “You’d get a fair trial?—”

“A trial?” The laugh that escapes me is harsh. “How often do people survive trials where you’re from?”

He pulls back, dark eyebrows furrowing. “Most of the time, actually. King Gorvor is generous and just. He wouldn’t?—”

“ He wouldn’t be the one passing judgment on me, would he?” I snap. “And ‘most of the time’ isn’t good enough for me. I’ll take my chances, thank you.”

I’ve tarried here too long. I should’ve left the stranger the moment I bashed him over the head. But I did learn something useful from him, so perhaps this wasn’t a complete waste of time. His honor and loyalty to the letter of the law are entirely misplaced, though.

“Don’t leave,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I can help you.”

I shoot him an incredulous look. “No, you can’t. You’re the type who’d do the right thing over doing what’s necessary, and when it comes down to it, you’ll report me to your superiors because you think what I’m doing is wrong.”

He scowls. “You know nothing about me, thief.”

“See, there you go, calling me that.” I cock my hip, putting up a front to mask how much his words sting. “You don’t know anything about me either, and yet here we are.”

His body is tense as a bowstring, the muscles in his shoulders bunching under his damp cloak. “Are you saying you didn’t steal from me? Or the Ravens?”

I shrug, already backing toward the other exit. “Oh, I did. Doesn’t mean you get to judge.”

He exhales through his nose, then calls, “Take the salve.”

That stops me. “What?”

“You already stole my soap,” he says, that crooked grin resurfacing. “Take the salve as well. You should use it until your skin heals.”

A moment ago, he was definitely angry, and now he’s offering help again? I can’t figure him out, which makes him dangerous. He’s in control of his emotions and skilled at hiding his true thoughts.

That doesn’t mean I won’t take him up on his offer. I rush forward, snag the pot from the floor, and retreat again. He doesn’t move to stop me, just watches, his dark gaze tracking my every step.

“I’m sorry for hitting you in the head,” I call as I duck through the opening and shut the door behind me.

A grunt sounds through the wood, so I lift a board I’d found earlier and wedge it in, barring the door. Given how big he is—and how easily he hauled me to the roof—I know it won’t hold him for long. But I only need a minute to disappear.

A strange sort of regret washes over me as I slip through the back door, scramble onto the slanted roof of what must’ve been a pigpen, and haul myself up to a second-story window in the neighboring building.

It’s a solid escape route. Challenging enough to deter most, with a far more obvious path leading down to the courtyard that any normal person would choose.

I glance over my shoulder one last time, half expecting him to already be on my trail, but he isn’t following.

I smother any emotions I might have about tonight’s events and duck out of sight.

He helped me tonight, which was unexpected, but our conversation betrayed his agenda, to get me back to the city watch.

I’ll have to leave Ultrup in the morning. The gates open at sixth bell, and I’ll be ready. I only need to read the pages from Damen’s ledger to decide my next step. I’ll follow Lindie wherever she went, whether she went willingly or not.