Page 20 of The Flame and the Forsaken

Magnur stood quiet and rigid, like a boulder.

While Alessia educated the men about their unfortunate predicament, Mariel drew smoothly toward the road, and the wagon. She clipped her bow into her back strap and drew one of her daggers instead, stepping sideways until she was so close, she could hear the men’s labored breaths.

She caught Magnur’s eye. His face moved not an inch, but the single blink told her he’d seen her and was ready if the men turned.

Mariel held her breath and climbed carefully aboard the wagon. It was a mess of bags and ropes and trash, which would take longer to sort through than they safely had time for. At any point, Remy or Augustine could sound the whistle, and?—

And then it happened. Mariel strained, listening for which direction the sound had come from.

Remy.

They had two, maybe three minutes, to find the jewel and flee before whoever was on the road arrived on the scene.

Mariel calculated her options. The back of the wagon was a quagmire of scattered items and trash, a shot into the wind.If I were escorting a rare golden egg valued the same as the annual taxes on a small village, would I store it in such a sty?

Or would I keep it close?

She landed in the dirt and stepped quietly onto the road to shake her head at Magnur, who was tying both men to the tree she’d shot. His nose flared in aggravation, but he returned to his task.

“Is it you, big man? Are you the Flame?” one of the men asked. Terror edged his flippant tone.

“You’re wasting your breath and our time,” Alessia snapped. “Where is it?”

Mariel withdrew her bow and nocked another arrow, aiming at the men as she came around the side of the wagon. “Hand it over. Now.”

“We’re just poor merchants?—”

She smacked his temple with the arrowhead. “Give me the egg or you die here.”

“I wouldnae choose such a dishonorable death for myself,” Alessia spat. “Ye donnae ken that what they take from others, they take from you? Would you die for men like them?”

Magnus tightened the last bit of rope with a tug and a grunt. “There. Going nowhere.”

“Last chance, merchant,” Mariel warned. Her heart was itching to address the panic that they were mere moments from disaster, but she’d learned to tease it, to trick it into waiting for the moment to pass. “Hand it over or don’t. We’ll have our egg either way.”

Magnur caught Mariel’s stare over the men. He had a hunting knife pressed to one of their throats, and it would take even the most subtle nod to get him to use it. He wouldn’t hesitate... wouldn’t break her gaze either. But though they’d injured some in their dealings, and had certainly threatened worse, execution was not part of their agenda. The irony of killing men over a golden egg—men who were just as much victims as Mariel and her friends were—was not lost on her.

She’d abandon the heist altogether before she’d let that happen.

Mariel lowered into a crouch. “We have a tracker in the forest. He can smell you. Sense you. Follow your stench all the way to whatever family awaits you. Now, I’m sure he’d rather enjoy a hearty meal than burn a family home to cinders, so let’s agree it’s not worth destroying lives over a golden egg you’ll never benefit from either way.”

“Will ye at least feck us about? So we look like we put up a fight?” the driver asked. He tried to dig in his pocket, but his bindings prevented it.

Alessia snaked a hand down and did it herself, then withdrew a weighted golden egg the size of an aubergine. She winked at Mariel and then darted into the forest. Her sharp cries, signals to Remy and Augustine to withdraw, echoed after her. Mariel prayed Destin, wherever he was, was doing the same.

Mariel grinned at Magnur. “Seems like the least we can do. Aye?”

Magnur’s face brightened in amusement. “Aye. Won’t take but a moment.”

Erran watchedKhallum drop coins into the mugs of the four women he was recruiting to join him later, wondering where his friend would even find the stamina for such an ambitious endeavor.

Even though their entire crew had become either married or betrothed, Khallum still roped them into ending a party in a brothel.

Hamish, before meeting and falling ass over head for his wife, Yanna, used to join in the entertainment, but Erran never had, nor Samuel for that matter. Erran always had too much on his mind to let go long enough to forsake consequence—particularly the variety that had healers visiting Khallum every month or so to clean up his messes—and Samuel just didn’t believe in indulging in illicit distractions.

They’d always been an odd bunch, the four of them, but despite his discomfort in a hall of midnight repute—the shrill music and drunken laughter so loud, his ears hadn’t stopped ringing—Erran never felt more at home than he did with his three oldest friends.

“Look how they watch him. Every single one, dying for a coin in their cup.” Samuel shook his head and sipped his milk like a dainty madam.

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