Page 38 of The Sorcerer's Thief
But what if his isn’t? What if he doesn’t want me as I want him? The first rejection still stings. I can’t take a second so soon.
Unsure what to do, I grab my bag and dig through the contents randomly.
“Cricket?”
“Julian.”
“Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Really? Because you never use my full name.”
“You prefer Jules?”
“I’ve come to when it comes from your lips.”
The coin has gone silent. Still cold, but no longer a frozen shard, sharp and deadly.
I fluff a section of hay and spread my bedding atop it. He likes the nickname. He worries if I’m okay. He wanted to kiss me just now, but something scared him off. He blames the coin.
Stupid coin.
One more chance. “Why do you want the coin, Jules?”
His silence stabs at my raw nerves. He knits his brows, concocting his next story. But I don’t want another story.
“The truth this time, or nothing at all. Please.”
He lets out a long breath and goes still, choosing to give me nothing. Time yawns, but then he lifts his head and looks me in the eye.
When his words finally come, they’re careful. Spoken softly. Not like his stories, which are bold and brash, but like he’s telling me a secret.
“A powerful seer told me I would need it to complete my mission. ‘There’s only one,’ she said, ‘and only the one will do. A coin will guide you.’”
I deflate.A seer?It’s hard to imagine Julian trusting anyone, much less someone who trades fortunes for money. “That sounds like another lie.”
His mood has gone dark. “It isn’t.”
“What mission?”
“Justice.” He growls out the word and balls his fists. Though I’ve gotten used to the appearance of his hands—missing fingers and all—clenched fists look strangely out of place on him.
I’m beginning to believe him. “You seek to punish those who harmed you.”
“Not only that.”
“What more, then? To kill them?”
“Yes. To kill them, those they love, those who helped, those who knew and did nothing to stop it. All of them.”
An icy chill races down my spine. The Guild of the Dark Waters, he’d said. Julian’s weird disguise, with his face all wrong. The guildsman I spoke with at The Merry Goblet some weeks back. Was that silver-haired fae one of them?
Did I have a casual chat with a fellow capable of torturing another man? He’d seemed so normal. And he was headed to Willowood, not Irondale. We’ll be passing through Willowood in a few days time. It’s on our way. I hope the fae from The Merry Goblet is gone by then.
I need to know more. “Who are they?”
“I’ve already told you that.” His velvet voice has grown harsh. “I won’t discuss it further.”
