Page 47 of Heirs of the Cursed

“I’m just taking a walk in the woods.”

By the Triad, he was so irritating.

“Don’t play dumb. People don’t have much to live on here. If you want to steal somewhere, go to Camdenn or Bellmare, where people waste and live in all sorts of luxuries.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, gorgeous.”

“Don’t you understand how hard it is to live in a city where no one can afford three meals a day? Where children must beg in the streets just to get a few vramnias to feed a whole family. Where they must work from a young age to survive . . .”

“Are you speaking for the children or for yourself?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, that’s for sure. But I notice a tone of familiarity in your speech.”

Darcia didn’t give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t explain to him what she’d survived or what she’d done for it. Although her life seemed settled—loved by a gentle, sweet father and blessed with a stepbrother who provided for the family through his business—it was far from perfect.

There had been a time when she hadn’t even had Gion, a time her mind had erased and whose memories now remained blurred by shadows that protected her. But even so, caring forthose she loved had become a second nature to her, and the people of Dawnfall shouldn’t have to pay for the selfishness of someone like Alasdair.

“The people of this city matter to me,” Darcia replied sullenly.

“People you don’t know?”

“People who, if they were to die, no one would know they were gone. Those who have money can afford a funeral, people can be mourned. But many of us will disappear into oblivion and no one will notice our absence.”

The bitter taste of bile rose in Darcia’s throat. It pained her to think of herself in that way, but why would her death be any different from the rest? Her father and friends would mourn her, spending all their money to give her a proper burial, only to be left to starve in the streets.

“Perhaps stealing is a matter of life and death,” Alasdair said.

“If you were, you wouldn’t steal from people in the same situation as you.”

“I value my life much more highly than the lives of others.”

“You have no heart,” Darcia spat in disgust.

“That may be true, but if it keeps me alive, I’ll remain heartless.”

Darcia rolled her eyes, annoyed at his selfishness. She approached him swiftly, but as she tried to snatch the dagger from him, Alasdair raised it above his head, a smirk glinting in his eyes.

“Give me my dagger,” she commanded.

“Why?” Alasdair watched the blade gleam in the moonlight. “So you can try to stab me again?”

“I will.”

“You’re extremely violent.”

“Give me my dagger,” Darcia repeated.

The darkness of the night grew more suffocating, and the sudden howling of wolves froze the thief in place. They werenearby, watching over someone in their pack. Darcia almost smiled. Still, he didn’t seem to fear the wolves. She noticed a strange familiarity in his expression as he listened to them.

Alasdair turned away from her. “I think I’ll keep it, until the next time we meet.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Have a good night, gorgeous.”

Before she could think of her next move, the Midnight Thief vanished into thin air.

---