Page 4 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Dorset

T here is another path…

If there was, I could not see it. Five nights.

Five nights, I was trapped in that cramped cell, desperately trying to find a way out.

With each passing night, hope dwindled and fear rose.

I knew what would happen to me were I to return late from my mission.

Mourn would never trust his back with me again.

Shade… would simply act on suspicion. I would be a drowned tom before the night was over, especially if I returned with empty hands.

Time was precious, and with every interrogation, with every droplet of half-truth I fed the duke, I shored up my strength.

I would need every ounce of energy to escape the maze of Baywaters, the reach of the duke, and the wilderness beyond.

Already, I was mentally making my way past each door and heading north to the marshes and the empty forests and plains beyond.

At the same time, I took care to remain demure, follow every instruction, and keep my head down.

A picture of dejection and submission, my demeanor was certain to allay their fears.

As hoped, before long, my guards let their tails down, and I was allowed to walk in the enclosed yard at the back of the manor with only cuffs on my wrists.

Cuffs are merely trinkets easily handled.

Any thief and rogue worth their coin know how to stifle sounds, mark the spare key to their cell, and slip the keyring into their breeches’ pocket.

On the sixth day, I finally managed to lift the keyring off the third guard.

After they locked me in, I waited until the early morning of the seventh day.

Then, as the sky pinked with a brilliant sunrise, I slipped out of my cell and bolted.

No sooner had I got to the edge of the kitchen garden than I realized that a pair of watchful eyes were following me out of the yard.

Watchful eyes that belonged to two kits—a slight lad and a plump little maid.

Both had dark brown hair and light brown eyes above rounded cheeks and pert noses.

Their short stumpy ears and thin tapered tails spoke to their relative youth, perhaps only several winters old.

Glancing back, I glared at them silently. A warning that they had better not be thinking of following me. The two kits gazed back at me with curiosity but did not shout or call the guards. Rather odd, but I had no mind to linger.

I walked faster, heading for the field I knew to be more abandoned than most this time of year. Picking up speed, I moved toward the river that would lead me to the windmill I had visited days ago and the marshes beyond.

After that… What then, Dorset? The question nearly brought me to a stumbling halt.

Why would I harbor such doubts now? Surely I can explain everything to Mourn.

Shade would listen to reason, perhaps. I shivered as I imagined what would happen if he were in a temper.

My ears flicked back uneasily, and my unruly, tatted tail shivered.

Huddling against the sharp wind frisking off the ocean, I tried not to think about the warm blankets and the home cooking I’d left behind.

And the Duke. I snorted at my idiocy. Of all the foolish things to conjure up.

Still, I could not help but think about the Duke, Lord Gareth. Gareth. He didn’t deserve any respect.

Even as I thought that, my heart rebelled.

Just saying the name felt… comforting in some odd kind of way.

It felt right. Was it because he had shown me a fair amount of kindness?

He hadn’t allowed his guards to touch me in any unseemly way.

No tomcat had grabbed my tail or accosted me. That was all thanks to him.

Certainly, I was sporting a fair share of bruises, but overall, Gareth and his guards had been rather clement. No doubt the duke had hoped to lure me in with false promises.

I offer protection and a chance at another life.

The memory of that deep, husky voice offering one of his illusions nearly had me slipping on the wet, gray rocks that edged the rushing river.

As the dark water rushed over my scuffed black boots, soaking me to the skin instantly, I shivered again.

That voice had filtered more than once into my thoughts.

It had lingered in my dreams, offering me another life, a happier life perhaps.

Happiness promised by the flicker of desire in the depths of his dark brown gaze.

I will be able to grant you clemency, protection from your previous masters even.

Nonsense and lies and illusions , I thought as I recalled his words. That life isn’t for me. The sooner I get back to Mourn and Shade, the better.

This path leads only to darkness, little one. Meryn’s soft voice filtered into my thoughts. There is another that leads through shadows to light and life.

Such promises. Illusions, Dorset, illusions , I reminded myself sharply, battling back a surprising wave of emotions.

I had not felt such sadness in a long time.

Not since I had been a kit myself. Why was I feeling this way?

A thief, a rogue, a Nightblade did not harbor a heart.

Yet, I found myself struggling with loss, as though I wished those words were spoken true.

The day Mourn found me huddled in the alley, starving and begging for scraps, he had promised nothing.

He had simply offered me a chance. From Mourn, I learned that promises were wisps of wind, and the life of any catkin smoke on the breeze.

It was all an illusion. Those words. That life.

This life. My life, whatever it had become.

“Heeellp! Belllaaaa!”

Screams jolted me to my senses. I glanced around. My eyes widened. Standing like a fool in the middle of the river, I had allowed the two young kits to catch up. I had not thought it possible, but the lad and the maid were now at the river’s edge and likewise attempting a crossing.

The lad, older and perhaps more experienced, was balanced precariously on a rock.

His brown tail’s short hairs were all fluffed up in shock, and his voice screeched high and loud in the wind.

Leaning down, he attempted to grasp the hand of the maiden who had fallen into the river and now desperately clung to the rock.

I was impressed by her tenacity, but I knew the pull of the river would undo her grip ere long.

“Hells’ bells,” I growled.

Swearing, I strode further into the river, struggling to keep my own footing as the tug of the water reached my thighs.

Arriving at the rock, I grabbed the girl’s hand just as she lost her grip.

The jolt threw the both of us off balance.

She swept forward. I went down even as I pulled her to me.

In a dizzying swirl, the two of us rocketed through a small set of rapids.

Cradling her to my chest, I attempted to keep her shielded from the worst of the rocks.

Without warning, the two of us were dumped out of a tiny waterfall into a smaller, shallow pool.

The maid, Bella, as she had been called, kept her head.

No sooner had I begun to tug her toward the edge, she found her own footing and half-swam to the rocks.

At the same time, several guards burst out of the bushes, pounced on me, and pushed me face first into the mud and stones of the river’s edge. The boy’s voice cried out again.

“Stop it!” The kit raced forward to hit one of the guards in the chest. “He was saving Bella!”

“Master Rhenn,” said one of the guards gruffly. “Pray desist—“

Ugh. Master Rhenn? I huffed to myself. A lordling? Had I just given up my freedom for some spoiled kit?

“R-Rhenn’s right,” whispered the girl through chattering teeth. “The nice-nice tom saved me. Or tried to. I was alright once I went over the f-f-falls.”

“Hm.” The guard grunted, giving me a hard glare that promised all sorts of punishments.

Like the girl, I was shivering. My arms had gone numb. I couldn’t even feel the rope as they lashed my wrists behind my back.

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” protested Rhenn.

I turned a little to look at the young kit. It would be so easy to say something, to teach him the hard truths of life. To learn him a lesson. To show him how deceptive illusion can be. When his earnest gaze met my own, however, the words died on my lips. Tears glimmered there—and worry. For me.

Biting my lip, I turned my gaze away. The guards jerked me to my feet just as Gareth—Lord Gareth—burst through the bushes on a black charger.

Expertly handling his horse, the duke circled about.

His gaze swept the scene: Master Rhenn, looking shattered; the maid Bella, huddling within a guard’s cloak; and myself, sagging from the bruising grip of two exasperated tomcats.

“We found ’im, milord.”

“You mean we found him!” the young female kit spoke up from the folds of the dark green cloak. “We saw him creeping out—and we wanted to pretend to be Blades and catch him ourself! But he was too fast, and then we got stuck in the river… and he saved us!”

“He could have ignored us,” Master Rhenn added, glaring at the guards, “but he helped fish Bella out.”

“Not that I needed help,” said the young miss loftily.

“I shall get to the bottom of this myself,” the duke said quietly. “Loften, get the two to Mrs. Malmsey and send word to my sisters both. Have dinner brought. As for our prisoner, escort him back to his room.”

“That we will, yer Grace,” one of the guards said gruffly, shaking me warningly.

“And, Loften,” His Grace said warningly, “be sure to keep his fingers in sight at all times… and ensure that he’s bundled and warmed up well. We wouldn’t want to let our little mouse catch cold.”