Page 8 of The Omega Thief

Raz closed his office door and thanked the guards, informing them he was retiring for the night. He gazed at the window and realized it was already dark. They could eat, perhaps take a bath, and talk. He hoped for more, and there was the possibility that his bonded’s wolf would insist on the full joining, but he could wait.

Raz was eager to get back. His guards nodded to him as he reached his chamber door, and he slipped inside.

And came to an abrupt halt. The bed was empty, and Raz rushed to the dressing room and bathroom, but Attiker’s scent had faded. He knew his bonded wasn’t in his suite. Nearly wrenching his door open, he almost growled at his guards. “Has anyone been in or out of this room since I left myself?”

“No, Highness,” both guards replied. Raz wanted to scream.

“Call Thakeray and have him come immediately.” How on earth had Attiker gotten out? He stalked to the large window beside the bed and looked out at the darkened sky and the lights of the city below. He pressed one hand to the windowpane to rest his head and jerked forward as the window opened because it was unlatched. Horrified understanding washed over him. They were three stories up. Climbing the side of the palace and hiding from the guards would be impossible.

But not for someone capable enough of scaling the cliff face over the Patir Hills. Raz swore and ran from the room.

Chapter four

Attikerblinkedopenhiseyes and wondered for a second if he’d died. Maybe Gilbertson had done him in, and somehow his thieving had been forgiven, and he was in heaven. He sat up, and the room swayed a little. Was he hungover? That seemed more likely than his numerous sins being forgiven. He tried to recall the day. He was going to get his coin from Captain Chandler, pay Gilbertson, and then treat his friends to a pint, but surely he hadn’t drunk so much he’d passed out.

And where in seven hells was he? He shook his head a little and blinked, then tried again to cautiously open his eyes, hoping for a different outcome, but the same deep blue walls and pale cream ceiling blinked back at him. He turned his head and took a better look. At the same time as he registered being in the biggest bed he’d ever slept in, memory slapped him with the same force the innkeeper’s oldest daughter at the Curious Dog had used, the summer he’d turned fourteen and fancied himself in love.

Attiker groaned. He’d been arrested when he’d resisted the temptation to go anywhere near the damn purse. He’d sat in a cell for hours and answered way too many questions and then been dragged to see the prince.

Although technically seeing the prince was his fault.

Attiker groaned a second time and was tempted to bang his head against the fancy paneling, knocking some damn sense into it. He was old enough to keep his damn mouth shut. He breathed out a slow breath and tried to think. Had he become ill? But this was a grand room. Fit for a prince. He groaned a second time. Surely not? And even if he’d given in to temptation, surely the prince wasn’t so desperate to go bargain basement shopping when he had his pick of all the nobles coming to the palace hoping to become his bonded?

Unless that was it. Maybe the frustration had gotten to him, and a quick tumble had been stress relief? Attiker wouldn’t normally mind that sort of stress relief, but—he swore loudly—Chandler. He’d missed getting his cash, and despair washed over him. God what a financial disaster this year had been. First getting screwed, and not in a good way, by Jeremiah Grape over the Lapiz blooms back in the summer, then the visit from Gilbertson, who insisted his ma wasn’t pretty enough to get enough customers to keep her in fever white, and now he’d missed his payment from Chandler. He could just make the rent next week, or he could pay Gilbertson. It wasn’t any choice, though, really.

Cautiously, Attiker pushed the bedsheets down and sighed at being naked. He glanced around at furniture so highly polished he could nearly see his face in it but didn’t see his clothes. He looked over at both doors and decided he really didn’t fancy answering questions or going back to the cells. In Attiker’s experience, the best form of stress relief was absent when it wasn’t needed any longer. The prince had been kind enough not to throw him out, but he doubted he wanted a thief still in his bed when he returned.

Attiker put a shaky hand to his head. Either it was the lingering effects of whatever he’d drunk, or he was sickening for something because he felt downright odd. His skin had a strange tingling awareness, and he could smell the faint scent of the harbor which was a good three miles away.

Or maybe the room he was in was so clean that any other scent would be more noticeable. Attiker got up quickly, relieved the dizziness had faded, and glanced out of the window to the side. It was dark. He didn’t know how late it was, but judging from the lights in the city below, all the shops and inns were still open, so it wasn’t dead of night, and dusk fell as early as fourth bell past midday in the winter.

He glanced around the room and saw an open door where he could see clothes hanging. Risking that the prince would prefer him to leave over minding the loss of some clothes, he searched for something small, coming up completely empty. He remembered the prince being a big man. He knew that was something to do with the size of the Fenrirs, and he paused helplessly. He spied the braided cotton that tied back the huge drapes over the window, and an idea formed. Quickly, he took some breeches, and he wound the braid around them to look like stockings. He used more braid to tie a shirt from the closet that was long enough to cover his knees.

There, he was covered. Rather an odd fashion, but he could sneak into his room without being seen and then go down into the bar and find Bartholomew. He was starving but didn’t dare spend any coin on food. Thank the goddess he hadn’t given his real address.

Taking a breath, he went to one of the closed doors and listened. He was quite surprised when he heard footsteps and what was obviously a guard changeover. He’d thought the noise would be muffled at best with the sturdy oak doors, but he heard them as clear as day. He obviously couldn’t get out that way, so he went to the other door and pressed his ear against it. This time, the voices were a little muffled, but he was sure he recognized the prince and the guard captain that had questioned him earlier.

He was just debating whether to risk opening the door anyway and taking a chance that anyone who’d let him sleep in that comfortable room wouldn’t be angry and likely to throw him back in a cell when he recognized the third voice and went cold all over.

He didn’t hear what the prince said, but the shouted reply couldn’t have been clearer.

“But he’s a thief! He’s a pickpocket and a slum-whore. His mother was exactly the same. You have him arrested already, and I demand restitution.”

Attiker stumbled back from the door. Jeremiah Grape? How in all seven hells was he here? Attiker thought furiously. Could this day actually get any worse? He had no intention of hanging around, and if he was quick, he could…Attiker sighed. How was he going to get out? He glanced at the window and walked over to open it. He gauged that the small ledge that ran under the window and the drop onto the next roof was a good eight feet, and he could easily mess up. Although if he fell to his death, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about an arrest.

Taking a breath, he slipped through the open window and eased his feet onto the small ledge. He’d spent a lifetime getting in and out of tight spaces, but for some reason, this didn’t feel as awkward. He should be terrified, but his fingers seemed to find tiny cracks he could hold on to, and his toes seemed to find a balance easier. He glanced down once when he got to the drop, and he’d landed effortlessly before he even questioned if it was a good idea to jump.

He shook off the strange confidence and concentrated, but he seemed to be so light on his feet the guards never heard him, and in just over five minutes, he’d scaled the darkest corner of the wall and was running down the alley away from the palace.

He had no idea how he’d done it. He shouldn’t have been able to find a handhold on the smooth palace walls, and there was another huge drop on the other side he managed soundlessly. He didn’t hang around to celebrate his good luck, though. He just hightailed it out of there.

In fact, come to think of it, when he got to the Two-Headed Salamander, he was barely out of breath and scaled the roof easier than he’d managed before, then dropped through the partially open skylight in his bedroom roof. He questioned if maybe somewhere he was still asleep on a cold cellar floor and having the weirdest dream of his life.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes to pull on some breeches and pack. All he had to show for three years of living here was a few clothes, a couple of books, and a pendant his grandad had left him. It was made of some sort of rough metal, probably the sort they fashioned pans out of, but it was his most treasured possession. Maybe his only possession. He’d moved so many times as a child and then spent more time on the streets that his life had never lent to gathering stuff. Possessions only got stolen, so it was better never to have them in the first place.

He could see if there were any short sails leaving down in the harbor after he paid Gilbertson. Some of the merchant boats were usually gone a week at a time if they were delivering locally, or there might even be a seeker’s task that could take him out of the way for a few days. He needed to stay away while the whole bonding thing happened, earn enough for at least a week’s rent, and then he could come back. Newly mated princes were way too busy to worry about the likes of him. He shivered as a memory of gentle hands suddenly tugged at him, but he shook it away.

He carefully counted out the coin he’d saved and sighed, knowing he didn’t have any choice. Even if he wasn’t going to stay here anymore, Bartholomew had been good to him. Always turned a blind eye if he was a few days short, trusting him to pay and often not charging if he finished whatever stew they’d served, saying it would just go to waste.

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