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CHAPTER ONE

C old seeped into her fingers as she followed her target into the shadowy confines of the surrounding woods.

The carriage rumbled off the main road, its wheels crunching over frost-covered ground as it veered deeper into the dark, days from the nearest village

This far away from any other prospects, she had to make sure this score hit big.

Winter was coming, and she needed enough coin to find somewhere to stay until her next heist.

A few more jobs, and she might make enough to finally return home.

Using the cover of night, she floated over to a nearby tree, Wiley gliding through the sky next to her. Her father’s elemental wind ability had been a fortunate inheritance. She didn’t need a horse or carriage to get around—her heels floated on the wind in a silent dance.

They landed on a sturdy branch, Wiley scampering onto her shoulder.

The flying squirrel had been her companion for the past month, and she had to admit, the companionship had grown on her.

He held an intelligence far beyond that of an average squirrel, and he seemed to enjoy stealing as much as she did.

Settling on the branch, Tavia pulled her cloak tighter against the biting chill of the night breeze.

This was her last heist, and it had to be flawless.

After winter, she’d return home and convince her parents to leave their tiny, broken-down cottage. They could move to the village, be around other fae, and stop living like hermits.

She handed Wiley a nut from her pocket while chewing on a piece of jerky, her gaze fixed on the guards below. The driver had one guard with him, but Tavia suspected there was another inside the carriage. If the driver couldn’t fight, she’d only have to deal with two men .

Easy.

Using the shadows for cover, she nestled into the leaves, thankful that not all of them had fallen yet. She watched the guards make camp, waiting for the right moment. They parked the carriage and started a fire, their voices too faint to carry. Not that their words mattered.

Though they appeared like ordinary travelers passing through, their finely made weapons suggested otherwise. Maybe mercenaries. Whatever they were, they were no match for her.

Tavia checked her weapons: darts for the hand crossbow strapped to her wrist, throwing knives, a dagger, and a second crossbow. Killing wasn’t her style, so she pulled out her signature trick.

She retrieved a small jar of paralyzing balm from the black magic bag on her belt. One by one, she dipped her bolts into the substance. It would immobilize her opponents for hours.

She’d be long gone by then.

A cool breeze carried a reminder of how close winter was.

This heist carried more risk than her usual pick-pocketing ventures in nearby villages, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. After two days of tracking this carriage, she wasn’t about to let fear stop her.

She waited, hours slipping by.

When two of the guards fell asleep, leaving the third to stand watch, Tavia descended silently from the tree. The wind cushioned her every step, making her as silent as the breeze itself. Cloaked in shadows, she moved with precision.

She aimed and fired.

Thump.

The first dart struck its target.

Thump.

The second guard collapsed.

She scanned the area, searching for the third guard, her gut tightening. He couldn’t have gone far, but she couldn’t hear or see him.

Was he as silent as she?

Not willing to waste the moment, Tavia darted toward the carriage. A wooden plank secured the back door. She lifted it carefully and pushed the door open, its creak slicing through the still night.

Moonlight spilled inside, revealing a single object: a coffin.

Wiley chirped softly, a warning in his tone, but Tavia’s curiosity pulled her forward. She crept closer, inspecting the black coffin. A golden seal glinted faintly in the light, its runes etched with intricate precision.

She ran her fingers over the glowing runes. Whatever lay inside was worth a lot. Life crystals—perhaps the most precious gems in all of Saol—were embedded within the seal. If she could break it, the treasure would be hers.

Digging into her magic bag, she pulled out her lock-picking tool—a golden key that had cost her dearly. A year’s worth of jobs had paid for it, but it had never failed her.

She examined the key, its elegant craftsmanship gleaming in her hand, before pressing it into a circular indent on the coffin. The runes glowed brighter, and a faint vibration thrummed beneath her fingers.

The seal unlocked.

“What have you done?”

The voice startled her.

She spun around to find the third guard standing there, sword drawn, his face pale with terror .

Before she could answer, the coffin exploded.

The force knocked her back, and she shielded her face from the debris—a scream cut through the night—a bloodcurdling wail—followed by a strange hissing.

When Tavia looked up, a figure crouched over the fallen guard.

Silvery hair spilled across its back, and pointed ears peeked through the strands. The guard lay still, his lifeless eyes wide open.

The figure straightened, long hair catching in the moonlight, and turned just enough so that she could make out his face. Blood dripped from his lips, staining the tattered edges of his shirt.

“Vampyre,” Tavia whispered, raising her crossbow.

The vampyre smirked, his glowing red eyes locking onto her.

Before the monster could attack, she lunged, wind magic propelling her forward. She kicked the creature in the chest, slamming him to the ground. Her heel pressed into his throat as she aimed her crossbow at his head.

“Don’t move,” she commanded.

“I wouldn’t dare, darling” he replied smoothly, his voice like velvet. “How about we talk—fae to fae?”

“You’re a vampyre,” she spat.

“Yes, that’s true. But I’m also fae—and a very wealthy one. Let’s make a deal.”

Tavia narrowed her eyes. “What could you possibly have that I’d want? I just saved you from a coffin.”

“Yes, and I’m very thankful for that,” he said, his grin widening. “Which is why you’re still alive. Now, how about moving that lovely boot of yours off my neck and putting away that cute little crossbow?”

Reluctantly, Tavia eased her foot off his throat, though she kept her crossbow trained on him.

He sat up, tilting his head toward the moonlight. Blood still splattered his face and shirt, but his presence exuded a strange, regal confidence.

“Now, my pretty dove,” he said, his red eyes dimming to a deep emerald, green, “let’s make a bargain.”

Since leaving home, Tavia had made her share of foolish decisions, but this might be the riskiest one yet.

The icy wind nipped at her, reminding her what was at stake, and the blood drop hanging from his bottom lip should have warned her away .

But she was desperate, and if there was one thing she had learned from the past two years, it was that a desperate thief was a dead one.

Tavia had no other options.

She’d either risk a bargain with a vampyre or die in the cold.