Page 18 of The Omega Thief

It was the last thing that happened that had every hair on the back of Attiker’s neck stand up. Azrael was behind him, pinning the breeches for Ruby to alter, when he felt the young man’s fingers brush his pocket. Every other person would probably have missed it, but Attiker had grown up a thief. He knew how to pick pockets and was guarded against the same trick being tried on him. He didn’t respond, though, basically because his pockets were, of course empty, so that meant Azrael wasn’t taking something, but passing him something.

After an hour, Attiker was escorted back to the same chamber he’d woken up in yesterday. As soon as the guards left, Attiker slipped his hand into the small pocket and drew out the cheap scrap of parchment, the sort merchants used for orders. Definitely not the good stuff found in the palace.

If you want to stop more deaths, meet me at the Bluebell at third bell past midday. If you come with company, the whole town will burn. I just need to talk.

Attiker stared at the badly penned note.Well, shite. Now what did he do?

Attikerwentthroughthewindow. Less surprised than before, even though his mind was still officially blown. He had a wolf?

How had that happened?

Neither his mother nor father had one. They wouldn’t have been so poor, for starters. The Fenrirs were the undisputable ruling class, no question. But there were other wolf shifters. Not many, but those that were generally settled into the army as generals or some posh trade. Not left begging for scraps in the gutter.

He wished he’d known earlier. Might have been able to help his ma.

No. he knew nothing would have saved her. He also knew if his wolf had been there when he was scaling the Patir Hills, he wouldn’t have gotten into such a mess. So what was he? A reject? Did he have a reject wolf? Attiker could feel a stirring protest in his mind but ignored it and climbed down the wall of the palace like he’d been doing it all his life. He supposed his wolf was responsible for the change in his hearing and sight, as well.

That time he almost felt a sense of satisfaction.

So, the note? He wasn’t an idiot. He knew—guessed—where the note had come from. He also knew that a war was coming. One in which a lot of his friends would die. Maybe if he talked to him, they could come to some sort of understanding? No clue what, but it had to be worth a go. He had a thought about it being a set-up, but for what? Attiker wasn’t worth anything. The son of both a whore and a dead man. He might have been once upon a time, but he was pretty sure once the prince got over his temporary obsession with a commoner—wolf or not—he’d come to his senses and marry some hoity-toity like it was expected.

Wasn’t sure why he kept calling him his bonded. He didn’t even know what that meant.

They hadn’t even done the flag thing while they were dressing him in his finery this morning. Not that he had a flag to join. No, Raz was probably with Pinkerton and Carter, trying to work out how to bury the whole incident. He’d barely looked at him when they’d returned, which just showed how he was regretting it. Well. They’d get no objection from him. He wanted to forget this whole incident.

Do I?

It was a nice dream, but in his reality, princes didn’t marry paupers. He chuckled, but it sounded forced to his own ears, and he tried to ignore the twisting pain in his gut. The regret.

The Prince and the Pauper? Good name for a play that. Maybe someone would write it one day.

In the shadows, Attiker nipped through the alleys that led him to the docks. He had no intention of being seen, and for three bits, he bought a cloak smelly enough to cover his new clothes. He’d enjoyed wearing them for a couple of hours, but he could get a lot of coin for these duds once he visited the market. He didn’t mind dressing in rags. Would just miss the feeling of being clean.

He had to find out what Eryken—and he’d bet it was him—wanted.

He slid hidden, amongst all the unwashed bodies, into the Bluebell and stood in the corner, taking everyone in. It was teeming. The sabbath eve, most people went home ready to earn a coin come the next day, but maybe because there’d been no announcement obviously, folk were hanging fire, seeing what might happen.

He recognized the other traveler wedged into the corner by the fireplace, hidden enough that no one else did, and stopping discreetly for an ale. After a sip, he wished he hadn’t bothered and made his way over.

He took a seat without being invited and made a show of taking a draft of more ale, even though he knew it would probably rot him same as fever white. At least it wasn’t addictive. People drank here seeing as how it was dirt cheap. They didn’t come back if they could afford to shop somewhere else.

Eryken studied him for a time, and Attiker let him. “You’ve betrayed your people.”

Attiker snorted loudly, showing what he thought of Eryken’s opening gambit.

“There’s plenty of folk that’d put you in the same marker.” Attiker would. He was certain Eryken wanted riches and power, same as most everyone else. Too stupid to get it himself, he relied on winding up others. Unfortunately, it worked.

“So what? You’re going to look after all the poor people when you get to be bonded?”

I’m already bonded, you cretin. Attiker thought that but didn’t voice it. Which brought him up a little short.

He was bonded. What did that actually mean? In his head, he’d had visions of sorting whatever Eryken was planning, then getting a long sail. He needed a fresh start.

He totally ignored the discomfort—a lesser man might call it pain—that seemed to clutch his chest. Maybe he was hungry? “Why did you want a meeting?”

“Because, for the first time, the common folk might get some representation. Someone rooting for them.”

Attiker looked at him incredulously. “Like Abergenny?”

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