Page 26 of To Sway a Bard
Shoulders sagging, she nodded, and then, in the softest, most contrite tone he’d ever heard, said, “I’m sorry, Neo. I’m so sorry.”
He let his hands hang by his sides, unsure what to do with them. His men were in the woods, likely with crossbows drawn, ready to shoot Zula if she tried to harm him again. It also made him feel awkward, aware they were listening to their conversation.
He had to speak calmly, with control, as though Zula weren’t his undoing. “I thought you might betray me. I sensed it.” He shrugged. “It’s only what thieves do.”
Zula’s face crumpled and she hugged the ukulele to her chest. “I . . . I should have trusted you, but Iwanted to do things my way. I’m used to being in control, to ensure everything goes right. But they double-crossed me, and worse, the witch gave me another task. It’s too late to throw myself at your mercy, but I have to save my father.”
Neo nodded, which only made his head hurt. He’d expected as much. Where was the honor among thieves? He should make her suffer, make her sweat, because her actions didn’t just impact him. Her actions threatened the crown, the kingdom, and all the people living within it. “What do you want from me?”
Zula stared at the ground, her words barely above a whisper. “I have thirty days to find the buried harp and deliver it to the witch, or my father’s life . . . ”
She choked, unable to go on.
Neo’s throat went tight. The buried harp was nothing but a legend. In the beginning, there was no magic until a god chose to dwell alongside mortals. All who heard the music of his heart were blessed, and a quickening began in their blood, and magic flowed from their fingertips. All was well for a time; most used their magic to contribute to the growth and expansion of their world. Eventually, there camea rift, and those who were magical disagreed on how they should rule the world. War broke out for the first time, and the god, in his grief, decided no more gifts, no more magic, and so he buried the harp where no one could find it and vowed no one would find it, not until the mortals could learn to live in harmony. Treasure hunters sought it out as the ultimate magical relic, an instrument many believed would allow one to control magic.
Neo forced the next words out, harsh as they were. “Is this another ploy, another trick? A ruse to gain my trust and steal from me?”
“No! I’m aware there’s nothing I can say or do to regain your trust, but you’re the only one who can help me, the only one who has told me the truth. I don’t deserve it, but I’m backed into a corner with nowhere to turn. Don’t do this for me. Do it for my father.”
Neo’s heart softened as he watched the tremor of her lips, heard the heartbreaking agony in her tone. She was sorry because nothing had gone her way. Would that change when she was no longer desperate?
“Zula. I’ll tell you the truth: the mission never changed because you tricked me. It was always totake your father out of reach of the witch. Even as we speak, he’s on his way to the palace, guarded by my sister.”
Zula let out a cry and sank to her knees.
Neo resisted every urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her. His station in life called for him to be above temptations of the heart, to deny himself for the good of crown and kingdom. He’d gotten carried away at the masquerade and again traveling with Zula to the jungle. Her actions helped him see reason, and now she kneeled before him, contrite. He’d come to find her, to take her away to prison and lock her up, to put an end to the yearning of his heart.
Except somehow, his longing was worse than ever before. He wanted to gather her in his arms, kiss away her tears and reignite that fire in her eyes, to chase her as she strove to escape, to hunt her down, claim her, and make her his own. All thoughts a sheriff, let alone a prince, should not have for a thief.
His jaw tightened, which only made his head hurt worse. But it was the least of his worries, because the witch knew about the buried harp.
24
ZULA
Zula did not see Neo again for two weeks. After the incident in the jungle, he left, and guards escorted her to a prison. At least she assumed it was a prison, a tower of sorts set in the middle of a lake where the shore was just a swim away. But Zula did not attempt to escape, because she felt undeserving. Besides, she wasn’t sure where she would go. Back to the jungle, where everything had gone wrong? Or start a new life without being sure what had actually happened to her father?
Most frustrating of all was the loss of Neo’s company. She felt the ghost of his presence as she worked in the garden, pulling weeds, or washed dishes in the kitchens, or mended clothes on rainy days in front ofthe firelight. All tasks she was not good at, tasks that made her feel as though she was only good at stealing. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what to do next.
Deep within, she knew that Neo had gotten under her skin, and if she’d trusted him instead of setting him up for an ambush, she might be in a very different situation. Guilt ate at her and she thought of escape, she thought of her father, she considered the buried harp, but she knew if she left, she’d be under the power of the witch again, without protection. She’d lived so long for herself, laughing in the faces of her enemies, enemies who might have become her friends had she not stolen from them.
All along, she’d chosen the wrong alliances for the thrill of the heist, for the praise she heard whispered in corners, gossiped about in taverns. She’d achieved fame, stolen wealth, but for what purpose? She had no one to rely on, nothing to return home to.
Whereas Neo, the prince, had everything. He had an important job, a family, a beautiful home, people who cared about him, friendships, everything she wished she had. He was famous, powerful, butwithout the rotten attitude that often haunted those who had everything at their fingertips.
And he liked her.
Might have even been in love with her.
And she’d thrown it in his face, discarded his affections as though they were worthless.
Was she always meant to push people away, to steal their joy and replace it with frustration, anger, and unhappiness?
And so, for the first time in her life, she didn’t steal, nor did she plan an escape. She let the realization sink in that all her heists, all her thefts, counted for nothing. Life was much more than stealing.
Was it too late to change? To live a life worthy of a prince? Impossible, but she wanted to try. Her fingertips danced over her lips as she recalled his sure, steady kisses, his hand on her hip, and the way her heart fluttered.
It was him, possibly had been him all along, who made her want to change.
