Page 1 of The Warrior Priest (After the Rift #1)

I first met Rhys Mayhew when he plucked me out of the path of a runaway horse with one hand, a half-eaten apple wedged between his teeth.

He told me later that he could only spare one hand because he didn’t want to put down the tankard of ale he held in the other.

He didn’t spill a drop during the rescue, nor when he shoved me behind his three companions standing side by side near the entrance to the inn.

The first and only drop fell when my pursuers arrived.

I watched through the gap between two burly men sporting the symbol of the warrior priests’ order on their belted, knee-length brown tunics as Rhys pointed the tankard in a southerly direction.

He removed the apple from his mouth. “He went that way.”

“Thank you, Brother,” one of the constables said as he ran off.

The fatter constable stood with hands on hips, his chest heaving as he sucked air into his lungs.

Rhys handed him the tankard. “You look like you need this more than me.”

The constable gulped down the contents with the same enthusiasm he’d shown for pursuing me. He gave the tankard back and swiped a gloved hand across his mouth. “Merdu bless you, Brother.” The constable set off.

Once he and his colleague were out of sight, I turned to run.

Rhys grasped me by the back of my doublet again. The leather was so thin, the seams so old, that it began to rip.

“Let me go, oaf!”

Rhys released me to the sounds of his priest brothers chuckling.

He gave me what remained of the apple. “Walk with me. I have a business proposition for you that will put an end to your need to steal. It’ll even put a roof over your head.

” He gave his friends a look and they wordlessly entered the tavern.

I fell into step alongside my savior, although I suspected he shortened his strides so I didn’t have to trot.

His offer intrigued me. More than that, I knew what it could mean—a way out.

When a warrior priest made you an offer to end your starvation, you took it.

Famous for their discipline, sacrifice and rigid adherence to their oaths, including celibacy, I felt safe assuming he didn’t want me for my body.

I greedily ate the apple, hardly swallowing one bite before taking the next.

“Slow down,” he said. “You’ll give yourself a stomachache.”

I didn’t slow down. I finished it, core and all.

We turned the corner and I realized we were in the inn’s courtyard.

A groom led a horse into one of the stables while its rider strode to the rear door of the inn, a worn leather satchel under one arm.

Another groom swept the cobblestones, while a third sat on a bale of hay, watching a boy struggle to roll a barrel across the uneven ground.

No one paid us much attention. Our conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“A little spying here and there.”

“Why?”

“Because you rarely make a mistake like the one you made today.”

He was right. Today had been different. I’d seen my mother’s uncle for the first time in almost a year.

While I was confident I’d done enough to change my appearance since then, seeing him again had brought back ugly memories.

Panicked, I’d fumbled then dropped the carrot I’d stolen from the costermonger’s cart.

He’d noticed and shouted “Thief!”, drawing the attention of constables who’d happened to be passing by.

I studied the priest. He was classically handsome with his tanned skin, short brown hair and clear blue eyes, but it wasn’t merely his face that would have the women of Tilting lamenting he’d chosen a life of celibacy.

Tall, even for a Glancian man, and broad across the shoulders, I would have guessed he’d be capable of wielding a sword even if I hadn’t seen his order’s badge on his tunic.

Yet it wasn’t his good looks or impressive physique that made my heart flutter.

There was something else, something I couldn’t quite define.

The spark in his eye and tilt of his lips made it seem as though he went through life in the best of humor, as if nothing troubled him and never would.

For someone like me, whose life had shrunk to living in dank sewers and stealing scraps to survive, Rhys was magnetic.

I learned later that he was only twenty-four when we met. That age never quite felt right. It seemed too old for the mischievous, youthful air that clung to him, and too young for the responsibilities that would one day burden him. But I didn’t think about that until much later.

“You’ve been watching me,” I said, a challenge in my voice.

“You’re quick and nimble. I’ve seen you steal a bag of nuts at the market without the stallholder noticing, or some ells from a man’s pocket, also unnoticed.

You have light fingers, and being small helps you slip away easily, or simply to blend in.

Despite your poor attempt at a disguise, people usually take you for exactly what you want them to see—a boy. ”

I resisted the urge to touch my cropped hair and instead settled my feet further apart, as I’d seen lads on the cusp of manhood do. “I am a boy.”

“You must think I’m an idiot to fall for the girl-disguised-as-boy trick.”

I gave in without a fight. For some reason, I wanted him to know. “In my defense, people usually are idiots.”

“‘In my defense?’” he mimicked. I’d never quite been able to lose my upper-class accent, and with him I’d barely even tried to hide it. “The child speaks like she just stepped out of her tutor’s schoolroom.”

“I’m not a child. I’m seventeen.”

He scoffed. “Nice try. You’re thirteen, fourteen at most. Tell me, why is an educated girl living on the streets as a boy?”

“None of your business.” It was a pathetic response, but it was all I could think of at the time.

He’d unbalanced me with his assessment. He was right—I was educated, a girl, and living on the streets disguising myself as a boy.

He only got my age wrong. I was seventeen.

Perhaps if he’d studied my figure more closely, he’d have noticed, but he kept his gaze firmly fixed on my face.

“What’s your name?”

“Jac.”

“Short for Jacqueline?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “My name’s Rhys Mayhew. I’m a brother in the Order of Merdu’s Guards.” He tapped the badge depicting a sword crossing a blazing sun stitched into the tunic at his chest.

“I noticed.”

He removed a small pouch from his pocket, tossed it in the air and caught it.

The clinking of ells had me salivating. The apple had been my only food that day.

“An advance payment.” He dropped it onto my outstretched palm.

“There’ll be more if you meet me back here tonight when the temple bell strikes eleven. ”

I stared at the pouch. “How do you know I won’t run off with your money and not come back?”

“You won’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He smiled, revealing a dimple in each cheek, and signaled to the ostler to bring his horse.

Weeks later, Rhys admitted that he hadn’t known, he’d simply gambled on me being desperate enough.

Once again, he was right. Even though my thieving kept me from starving, I was tired of always looking over my shoulder, tired of living in squalor, and sleeping with one eye open and my back to the wall.

His offer was the best thing to happen to me since I ran away from my great-uncle’s home.

I had no choice but to accept, if I were to survive.

Before the ostler could bring out Rhys’s horse, the two constables walked past the entrance to the yard and just happened to look through the archway directly at us.

“There he is!” shouted one, pointing at me. “Brother, you’ve caught the thief! Thank you. Now hand him over.”

Rhys regarded the advancing constables as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

In truth, he didn’t. It was me who’d be thrown into prison if I were caught, not him.

All he had to do was reassure the men that he had indeed caught me and was about to take me to the sheriff’s office.

He could claim I escaped on the way. The lie would keep his reputation pristine and me free.

Instead, he spoke to me under his breath. “I feel like having a little fun. Do you, Jac?”

The constables strolled toward us, swords still in their scabbards. They weren’t worried about me attacking them, and they were entirely unprepared for Rhys working against them. “If your idea of fun is saving me, then yes. Do you have a plan?”

“Of course.” He clapped me on the back, grasping a fistful of my jerkin as he did so, and marched me toward the constables.

My stomach plunged. He was apprehending me, after all.

Although I didn’t say a word, he must have felt me tense beneath his grip. “Have faith, Jac.” The laconic drawl defined the carefree twenty-four-year-old Rhys Mayhew. His words, however, would one day haunt me.

Faith would tear us apart.

“Slip past them while I distract them,” he went on.

“ That’s your plan?”

“You underestimate how distracting I can be.”

“Ha! Nobody underestimates that.”

His grip loosened. “Good sirs! The lad is a slippery fish, but no one outwits a brother of Merdu’s Guards.” He angled us between the constables and the exit, then released me. “Here you go.”

I ran.

Behind me, I heard the constables shouting at me to stop, then at each other to go after me, then at Rhys for blocking the way. “You’re obstructing us on purpose!”

I didn’t hear Rhys’s response, or perhaps he didn’t give one. The next moment, as I sprinted down the street, he drew up alongside me. “Turn left,” he directed. “Get lost in the market.”

The market was always busy, and it was easier to disappear as long as you darted around carts, stalls and people without knocking anything over. Easier, that is, if you were small and nimble. Rhys was surprisingly fleet for a large man, but he wasn’t in the least unobtrusive. Everyone noticed him.

I risked a glance behind us. “They’re still following.”