Page 14 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Dorset

T he first day of our trip to the capital city of Sumarene, Rimefrost, was uneventful.

Although the clouds hung low and gloomy, the rain held back.

When we arrived at the midway point, a small town with a bustling inn, Gareth called a stop.

According to him, he intended to set an easy pace to the city, but given concerns about safety, he hoped for a shorter two-day journey than the usual three.

Just the way Gareth’s dark eyes darted around the inn room had me worried.

Before I was allowed to exit the vehicle, Gareth had made me put on an over-sized dark brown cloak with a hood that he drew up over my head.

It completely hung down over my eyes, blocking off much of my sight.

Within the cloak, my hands were cuffed with less bulky irons.

Most might balk at such treatment, but I was relieved, truth be told.

Should Mourn or Shade notice me, the irons might signal that I was far from being in Gareth’s good graces.

Once coin crossed the palm of the overworked girl who served the tables, Gareth and I were escorted to a large room along one of the walkways. Inside there, I was allowed to push off the hood. I drew a deep breath of relief.

“You’ll wait here while I get dinner,” Gareth said. “There are a few too many ruffians out there tonight. I’ll look around while waiting for dinner. Hopefully, the coast will remain clear for the rest of the evening.”

I nodded. A dozen and then some questions crowded in. Why had Gareth not hired a guard? Where were Gareth’s guards…? His scouts? Were we posing as bait? Gareth considered me thoughtfully for a second as though weighing a decision. He shook his head and left, locking the door behind him.

With Gareth gone, I shoved off the cloak as best I could and wandered over to one of the two beds.

Unlike the cheaper rooms, this inn room boasted a natty purple and green rug by a small fireplace, two beds covered with colorful pieced quilts, a standing, latticed pine wood screen, and a cramped separate privy with washing stand.

Two chairs and a table stood in the middle of the room, while at the far end of the wall, the beds stood by a large window, curtained with thin blue lace.

Sitting on one of the beds, I removed my shoes and then curled up to wait for dinner.

If I was Gareth, I would use the time to scout around and look for any signs of trouble.

My belly clenched and rumbled a little. I sighed.

Dinner couldn’t come fast enough. I closed my eyes, imagined the mouthwatering fare I had enjoyed at Baywaters, and drifted off into a light doze.

Little one… Little mouse…

A quiet chink and creak of metal woke me. The door to the room eased open. I sprang up.

“Dinner—?”

The words on my lips died when I realized that the hood figure before me was not Gareth.

How long had I been asleep? Judging by the dull glow of a rainy sunset that still tinted the windows, I realized I had probably only napped for some minutes.

Instantly, my heart began to race. I stared at the hooded figure.

All I could see was the edging of a thick dark beard and a faded tan.

They’ve come. My time—Gareth. Gods. I thought disjointedly.

Mutely, I raised my wrists even as I slowly moved to the edge of the bed.

“Move it, Thief,” growled the intruder.

“My wrists,” I mumbled, scrambling for a reason to delay.

“Fukken idiot,” spat the Blade. “Move them legs. Yer free already.”

Slowly, I slipped my feet into my shoes.

What do I do? I wondered. Should I go with him?

What waits for me? If this had been Mourn or even Shade, I might have had a chance to talk, to figure out what my chances for survival were.

As it was, this faceless Blade was another anonymous voice.

For all I knew, leaving with him would sign my death warrant.

Judging by the tense posture and the glint of a steel dagger at his belt, I wouldn’t have much choice either way.

Leaning forward, I awkwardly tied up the laces of my boots and walked over to where my cloak hung.

What do I do?

Patience. The soft voice that had always guided me brought strength to my resolve. He comes.

The blow that came out of the shadows knocked the Night Blade further into the room.

I skipped backwards, falling onto what I had designated mentally as ‘Gareth’s bed’.

At the same time, Gareth whipped into the room.

The door slammed shut. The Blade rushed at Gareth, pulling out his dagger.

Gareth parried the first thrust with his own short blade, a curved, wicked-looking dagger.

I knew that that Gareth also had a second blade in a sheath at the small of his back, and two throwing knives in his boots.

Gareth and the Night Blade circled each other.

Each time the Blade lunged forward, Gareth parried him and followed up with a riposte.

Their fists and hands, when they met, pushed and shoved, but neither fighter could be distracted nor disarmed.

Gareth’s breath came slow and even. His sharp eyes were fixed on the Blade, attention tunneling down.

I could step in. No doubt the Blade was wondering why I did not. A self-serving thief, such as myself, would not likely step in, especially weaponless. Nevertheless, I could start throwing things at Gareth as a distraction at the very least. I did not.

The path opened up for me, then and there.

The crossroads was now behind me. I had chosen.

Breathless, I watched as Gareth continued to press forward.

The Blade, realizing that I was not about to help, dodged Gareth’s next attack and attempted to side-swerve around the taller tom.

Gareth pounced, taking advantage of the opportunity to press his advantage.

His curved blade caught across the tom’s upper arm and shoulder, slicing through cloth and cloak.

The Blade cursed, growled, ran for the door, nearly pulled it off the hinges, and disappeared into the shadowed hallway beyond.

Gareth raced to the door, hesitated, glanced back at me, and then disappeared after shutting the door.

I sat there, stunned, trying to process what had actually happened.

I had nearly been ‘rescued’, and then I had been rescued.

Truly rescued. The fact that I thought of it in that light told me one thing. I had made my choice.

Staring down in shock at my cuffed hands, I barely noticed the time tick by.

I only stirred when the door opened again, this time revealing Gareth accompanied by a servant with a tray bearing food.

At the scent of beef and vegetables in a savory broth, my stomach rumbled again.

Gareth smiled, hurried the servant out, and then released me from my shackles.

“He was gone,” Gareth explained. “There was a young scout, I think. No one else. We were lucky.”

“They will come.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not safe,” I said. “They’ll return.” I looked over at the shackles he had thrown on the bed. “Now they know.”

“They know?” asked Gareth.

“I didn’t help him.”

Gareth’s fork hovered over his beef steak. Then, he grimaced.

“You—!” I gasped, dropping my own fork. “Y-you guessed!”

“I had to know,” he said. “They were certain of you. Even after all this time. They only sent one. One, Dorset.”

“You used me as bait!” I said, outraged.

“Annnd…” Gareth winced, finally meeting my gaze. “I had to know, Dorset. You had to know. It was time to make a choice. And you made it.”

“I’m in so much shit.”

I rubbed my face, forcing my hands to not betray my fear with trembling. Gareth was right. I had made my choice. It was time to face whatever was to come. When my hands fell to the table, Gareth reached over to cover my hand with his own. He offered me a lopsided smile in apology.

“I will be here for you. Always.” Gareth’s eyes hardened then. “And I’m going to protect you no matter what. I am sure that we won’t survive if we remained here for the night. Get ready to leave.”

I will be here for you always. Those were Gareth’s words. In the moment, I snatched at hope, imagining Gareth staying at my side forever. A day later, as I plopped heavily down onto the narrow cot in the cell that had been prepared for me, Gareth’s words sounded hollow.

Honestly, Dorset , I sighed as I looked around the dark cell with the thick iron and oak door now locked behind me.

What was I thinking? That he’d have me up in his rooms?

I’m a prisoner. A turncoat. I’m hardly going to be the guest of honor.

After all, I consorted with the Blades and conspired against the king.

Even if Gareth harbors goodwill for me, his friends and his king must view me with suspicion.

Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wound my arms around my knees, rested my forehead, and prayed that I had not made an entire fool of myself over a tom.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I choked back a sob.

In the dark prison cell with only a tiny slit for a window, an empty bucket, and the ancient cot, I sat and prayed to Meryn.

Have faith…

Those were the only words I heard from her. Cold comfort in these circumstances. Hardly the affirmation that I had chosen rightly. Time seemed to crawl, and with the minutes came foreboding thoughts. I was on my own.

How long I sat there, I did not know. At some point, I passed out and then woke up hungry. The sky was a pale grey. Morning? It was hard to tell.

Have faith…

Bam! The door blasted open. Two grizzled guards in uniforms with helmets and face guards stomped into the room, shackled my wrists, strung me up from the ceiling, and proceeded to ‘interrogate’ me. Gareth’s words rang in my ears.

I will be here for you always.

Will you? I thought hazily as the first blow slammed into my lower back.

I gasped, refusing to cry out. I gritted my teeth.

With each punch, each blow, pain shot through my body.

My wrists ached. My shoulder screamed. A pounding headache coursed through me.

What little I could puke, spattered over the floor.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a pause. I hung there, passing in and out of consciousness. In the back of my mind, a tickle itched at the edge of my awareness. Something wasn’t right.

Something’s not right, Dorset. There had been no questions about my masters. Surely Gareth and his people wouldn’t send two rogues to tenderize me? I didn’t understand. Why hadn’t they asked questions? Get going, Dorset. Get out of there, Dorset.

I could not move. I could not even twitch. I simply hung there, head fallen back, gazing through slits of swollen flesh at my bloodless hands.

Is this it? I wondered. They got to me after all. After all you promised, Gareth.

A distant voice. Talking in low voices.

“Hm. I was hoping for more time. He’s had his ass, I’m sure of it. The lad’s fu-”

“No time for that nonsense,” snapped another. “Get a move on.”

Heavy footsteps. Broad rough fingers dug into my scalp, pulling my head back further and pulling heavily on my wrists. My vision began to blacken. A growl hissed in my ear, dank and rancid.

“Mourn sends his love, Thief. Next time, you’re a dead tom.”

Then he was gone.

I hung there, a pillar of pain. Helpless, unable to break free, I scrabbled for some footing in hopes of easing the weight on my wrists. As my vision spotted with darkness, I wondered whether Gareth would remember me. I was a dead tom, now. I had been betrayed. No. Abandoned.

Are you not always abandoned? A dark voice whispered.

Little one, Little Mouse, even in the dark...

I struggled to remain conscious. My worst fears preyed on me.

I sobbed quietly, wishing it wasn’t true.

They always leave you , my dark self reminded me.

And why not? You aren’t worth fighting for.

Who is going to come for you? A lordly tom who no doubt prefers his world of illusions? Who is going to come — ?

A gust of air. The slam of a door.

“Dorset!!!”

Even in the dark, I am here.