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ZULA

T reachery was the domain of thieves. After all, thieves were not to be trusted, and it was important to have a few tricks up one’s sleeve—just like a magician—in order to survive. Zula had learned long ago to only trust herself, regardless of what others promised, which was why, now, she stood in the heart of troll territory, playing her ukulele. But her heart wasn’t in it, and her fingers kept missing notes. Worse, tears pricked at her eyes and made her nose run. Impossible to wipe a dripping nose while playing. A vision of all that bright red blood from Neo’s head flashed in front of her face, the way he wavered and fell, as though he couldn’t see anymore. She’d had the opportunity of a lifetime, yet she was forced to toss it away .

A gentle snore tugged her from her misery. Under the shade of a hut, she made out a female troll and her child, curled in the shade, dreaming peacefully. A memory bloomed of being a small child herself, a woman, her mother, holding her hand, laughing, showing her the silver fish in the waters, the frogs that hopped among the lotus blossoms, the wide lily pads.

Zula closed her eyes and opened them again, reminded of Neo’s kisses, the way his fingers played with her hair, his hand on her hip.

Her fingers slipped from the strings and, tucking the instrument under her arm, Zula walked up the hill to the tower, barely limping. Because that was the treachery of thieves. While her ankle throbbed from time to time, she’d discovered she could put weight on it. But it wouldn’t do to be fully healthy in the palace, and she’d seen the way Neo eyed her ankle, believing she had a weakness. She couldn’t flee, couldn’t run from him, therefore he’d let his guard down.

It had worked, but she hated herself for it, misery a weight on her chest, guilt dragging down her limbs. If she were tossed into the sea she was sure she’d drown.

Instead, she stole the egg for the second time, planted her peacock-blue feather with the golden eye on it, and slipped away to the meeting spot where Scarred Joe and his band of thieves waited for her.

“ T ook your time coming, didn’t you?” Scarred Joe taunted as Zula limped into camp. He sat in the middle of his band of thieves, picking his teeth with a knife. He held out a hand for the egg. “Let’s see the treasure.”

Zula stepped around the men to hand him the sack. Scarred Joe’s thieves were rough on the eyes, hardened men, most of them slim, light on their feet, quick with their hands. Any of them could have figured out a way to elude magic and steal the treasure from the trolls .

She wasn’t sure what they gained from it, but she was certain she was the scapegoat for their devious plans, and it filled her with trepidation. She wished she had a weapon, other than her ukulele. A dagger to stick into flesh would send a better message than lulling the thieves to sleep with music.

“I’ve upheld my end of the bargain,” she said flatly.

Scarred Joe opened the sack and lifted the egg in the air, licking his lips as he held it up to the light. “Yes, fair is fair.”

He snapped his fingers.

One of the thieves tossed a pouch of gold at Zula. She caught it deftly and turned to leave, stepping out of the circle, but fingers wrapped around her bad ankle.

Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder, silently daring the man to let her go.

He didn’t.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Scarred Joe asked.

“To pay my friends,” she answered truthfully, thinking of Issa, who’d scouted for her, and the gang of thieves she owed a share of the cut. They could have the entire purse for all she cared.

“You still owe us,” Scarred Joe hissed.

Zula’s shoulders went stiff. So it was to be like this—one last trick. Stepping back into the circle of thieves, she faced Scarred Joe. “What do you need me to do?”

“It’s time to pay her a visit.”

And a hood was yanked over her head.

Zula clutched the ukulele as they led her through the jungle. Blindfolded, she often tripped over roots and ran into leaves and vines. The silent party led her deeper into the heat, pushing her ahead whenever she slowed down or tripped.

The sack over her head made the humidity worse. Soon, her curls were stuck to her neck, and she felt lightheaded, almost dizzy. She was sure it was their way of punishing her for the delay in retrieving the treasure, but she kept her patience by imagining how much she’d like to punch each one of them in the nose .

At last they slowed down, and with one more push, the sack was snatched off Zula’s head. She blinked, expecting light, not the dusky, dim room of a hut. Her skin crawled. The place was empty, but she had no doubt she’d been there before. The scent of old mushrooms lingered, black feathers lay in the corners, and great globs of mold crept across the ceiling, rendering the hut unlivable. Moss carpeted the floor, the jungle eager to take back the abandoned hut.

Zula held her ukulele tight, fingers buzzing, itching to play, to take herself far, far away. The air shifted with the acrid scent of power as a woman dressed in black walked through the wall.

Woman was a kind word for the witch. Her shape was vaporous, void, and wrong. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes were nothing more than pure black orbs devoid of irises. She glided to a stop across from Zula, maintaining her distance. Nevertheless, Zula felt her suffocating essence fill the room.

“I heard there was a bit of a mix-up with the sheriff,” the witch purred .

Her voice had a lulling note to it, and Zula felt like she was underwater, listening to someone speak above her. “There was,” she heard herself say, as though she were outside of her body and not actively part of the conversion. “But it’s over now.”

“Is that the story you tell yourself?”

Zula tried to banish memories of his kisses from her thoughts, unsure if the witch could read minds. “It’s true,” she said weakly.

“I hoped you’d say the opposite, that you were pining to return to life in the palace, for another invitation to a masquerade. Hopefully you didn’t ruin any of the precious relationships you built with them.”

A sinking sensation rippled through her belly, because she had ruined everything. “I stole the trolls’ treasure. I came to uphold my end of the bargain.”

“ You? ” The witch laughed, holding her side. “ You stole the treasure? You returned to uphold your end of the bargain? Those thieves practically had to drag you. You would have double-crossed me if you had the guts. I was deeply unhappy with your performance, allowing yourself to get caught like that. I made you who you are—the Blue-Feathered Bard, the legendary uncatchable thief! You’ve sullied your reputation and now the trolls will think twice before going to war against the kingdom, all because of that silly sheriff. So, no, you did not complete or uphold your end of the bargain. But I’ll give you one last chance. Bring me the buried harp, and you, and your father, will walk free. It is the treasure of all treasures, buried for thousands of years, so I’ll give you more time. You have thirty days.”

Rage boiled in Zula’s belly. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the wails and rants that rose to her lips. It was all unfair. Horribly unfair. “The buried harp has been lost for centuries. It’s impossible to find.”

“Is that so? You should ask your friends at the palace.”

Zula’s throat went dry. “How can I trust that you won’t go back on your word and give me another assignment?”

The witch glided toward the wall, waving her hand—if it could be called a hand. “You don’t have a choice, do you? ”

Zula’s shoulders sagged as the witch disappeared, and tears of disappointment stung her eyes. She wrinkled her nose, trying to hold them back, then burst out of the foul hut.

Neo had been right. She should have trusted him.