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NEO

T hree days of travel and two days of gathering information found Neo hidden in the bulrushes of a riverbank, scrubbing dishes.

On the opposite bank, a raccoon hunched over the water, washing an orange Neo was pretty sure it had stolen from him. To add insult to injury, the raccoon gave him a reproachful glare as though Neo were the fruit thief.

With a sigh, Neo dipped the dirty plate in the babbling river and half-heartedly slid it back and forth. Ignoring the raccoon, he flicked his vision beyond the river to the swell of the hill where the bridge arched over the water. He had a perfect view down there .

Most people crossed the bridge without glancing down. They were in too much of a hurry to get to where they were going to enjoy the lush rolling hills or the song of the river, or to notice an incredibly long-legged young man washing a basket of dishes, being judged by a thieving raccoon.

Just for good measure, Neo took his eyes off the bridge to stick out his tongue at the raccoon—horribly immature—and a moment later, the air shifted.

The only way he could describe it was that it felt like a rush of sugar or the hazy-headed anticipation of a festival. His pulse quickened. There she was, in the flesh.

She strode across the bridge, shoulders high, footsteps ringing out as she walked. There was no mistaking her identity from the broad hat on her head, the blue feathers that sprung from it, the wide-legged trousers, the long braid that hung over one shoulder, and the tight vest that showed a little more of her curves than deemed appropriate.

But the best way to identify her was by the ukulele slung over her back .

Zula, the Blue-Feathered Bard.

Neo’s fingertips tingled, and he dropped the plate.

It fell with a splash, causing Zula to pause mid-step. Moving to one side of the bridge, she peered over, squinting at the water.

The raccoon finished washing the orange and fled, making the bulrushes weave and bounce in its wake. Her eyes lingered there, then shifted to the other side of the river, directly at Neo’s hiding place.

With a curse, he squatted further down, keeping his gaze on the dishes as though staring at them would keep her from seeing him.

Would she recognize him?

It had been months ago that he sat in the tavern, listening to her play and sing a bawdy tale. She’d played fast, rousing the patrons to feet-stamping, knee-knocking, and palm-slapping. The beer had flowed freely and the tips were generous. Even so, she was light with her fingers and tucked away quite a few extra sacks of silver. He’d even left a small pouch out, just to see what she’d do .

And that was the problem with Zula. She was a legendary thief, but people liked her. She was welcome in the villages, given free room and board and protected from the law, because when she played that ukulele, money flowed freely.

Neo suspected thieving was a game to her.

After a heist she’d disappear, sometimes for months, then suddenly reappear, blue-feathered hat on her head and ukulele in hand. It was almost like she wanted her name on everyone’s lips. But no one could catch her, and she was well respected among the citizens of the crown because she usually stole from the wealthy. A point that stoked Neo’s ire, because stealing was a crime no matter who one stole from, wealthy or poor. It was wrong, and thieves belonged behind bars.

He was determined to catch her, to prove that there was no longevity in seeking to outwit the crown. Besides, the merchants and wealthy land owners of the kingdom needed a guarantee that they could live without the fear that one day a blue feather would appear in their barns and they’d find themselves with nothing .

Neo opened one eye, just in time to see Zula’s shadow move. His shoulders sagged with relief as he watched her feathered hat disappear over the bridge. He stood tall and glanced balefully at the stack of dishes, then considered returning to camp for his men.

They’d be annoyed if he chased after Zula by himself, but he had concerns. It was broad daylight and she was already headed toward troll territory. Was she going to steal from them or simply scout out the location? He needed to catch her before the heist, not after, because then she’d disappear again and his efforts would be all for naught.

Weighing the consequences, he abandoned the dishes and sprinted over the bridge, slowing down so he could keep the blue feathers on the edges of his vision. She wandered down the path in no particular hurry. It was nothing more than a dirt trail, wide enough for a horse and carriage. There were ruts where it had rained and horse hooves had churned through the dirt. Not a pleasant road to walk on.

But Neo diligently followed, hanging back even more as the road straightened, then hurrying to catch up as it curved and dipped. Despite the muddy road, it was a beautiful walk with trees on either side, thick foliage that turned into a dense jungle. That afternoon it was alive with sound, bright parrots flying across the path, eyeing him. Monkeys shouting at each other, sometimes swinging above him. The sounds of jungle creatures bled into a chorus.

Neo tugged at his shirt as sweat beaded his brow. After a while, he realized there was no sign of Zula. How long since he’d last seen the blue feathers bobbing ahead of him? He took a deep breath, trying not to panic. He knew where the trolls lived and he needed to get a message to his men.

He spun around to retrace his steps—oh, how he wished he had a horse—only to collide with a small woman.

She fell with a cry and, tripping over his own two feet, he sprawled on top of her.

A thousand apologies rose to his tongue and then lay trapped in his mouth as he stared down at the woman. She wore simple clothes—pants, a vest, dark hair covered with a scarf—but he’d know that heart-shaped face, those bronze eyes anywhere .

Somehow, Zula had disguised herself, no doubt to prepare for the heist, and now Neo was lying on top of her.