Page 8 of The Stolen Princess
But it was Officer Arco’s affinity for alcohol that clinched the deal. Alcohol wasn’t deemed essential, making it extremely difficult to find even in the under-the-counter market. Hoping to soften him to her cause, Myka had bribed him with some of her father’s private stash. She would like to think that she could get a guard to disobey her father with just a wink and a smile, but the truth was, Arco was in it for the liquor. And Myka was more than happy to steal her father’s alcohol and deplete his collection. He was too sick to notice that the bottles were gone, and she hated when her father drank. It was illegal, for starters, and as king, he should be following the Council’s rules. But more than that, when her father got drunk, he became a completely different person. Someone Myka didn’t recognize.
She pulled on Bronze’s reins, slowing the animal to a halt in front of the outer stone wall. She looked up at the white stone towering above her. Arco stopped next to her, swinging one leg over his horse to dismount. He worked to unlock the metal double doors that were built into the wall. It seemed weird to have a random door in the middle of a secure barricade, but past royalty had used the exit to make travel in and out of Tolsten House easier. Otherwise, they would’ve had to travel miles around it. Those royals didn’t seem to have had any rules on whether they could leave the grounds like Myka did.
The door was resistant in every form of the word, and besides that, it had three locks plus a chain around it. When Arco finally had everything undone, he pulled the heavy door open.
Myka gave him a quick nod. “I’ll be back in three hours.Beforedinner with my father.”
“And my payment?” Arco said with a smile.
Myka nodded. “It will be waiting for you in your room tonight.”
She prodded Bronze out the metal doorway, onto the open trail, then she dug her heel into the horse’s side, sending him lurching forward, leaving the Tolsten House grounds behind her.
The first half of her ride, she kept an even pace, sticking to the trail even though she knew the surrounding woods well. The afternoon sun glittered through the trees, highlighting leaves, giving them a magical quality in the sunlight.She relaxed into her saddle, nudging Bronze to pick up his speed. Strands of her dark hair came loose from the bun on top of her head.
Rommel and Joett lived three miles away, and before long, Myka found herself slowing Bronze to a walk down their lane. Rommel’s horse and wagon were gone, and instantly Myka felt a rush of disappointment flow through her. Had they forgotten that it was the sixteenth of the month? Maybe they hadn’t forgotten and would be back soon. She could wait for them. She had at least one hour before she needed to travel back to Tolsten House.
Myka threw her leg over the side of the horse, thankful at that moment that she had changed into her pants and t-shirt—the same ones she wore every month when she snuck out. If her father knew the Tolsten House seamstress had made her custom-fitting pants and a shirt like the kind people had worn before Desolation, he would have the clothes burned and probably the seamstress fired. But Marnie could easily be bought. The woman loved having the extra money Myka had paid her for the nonessential clothes. She had seven children to feed, and since they would both be in trouble with the king if he found out, they both were extra careful to keep the clothes a secret.
Myka slid to the ground, deciding she would wait inside for them to return. She reached for the horse’s reins to tie him up when the sound of water pumping stopped her. Maybe one of them was home after all.
She finished tying the reins and walked to the side of the house. She poked her head around the corner, fully expecting to see Rommel’s crooked smile or Joett’s bright eyes.
What she didn’t expect to see was a half-naked man pumping water from their well.
He had taken off his shirt and slung it over the saddle of his horse, a speckled grey and white stallion grazing next to him. The man’s brown hair was long on top, falling down over his forehead and into his eyes, making it hard for her to get a good look at his face. His muscled arms pulled and twisted as he pushed the lever up and down, gushing out spurts of water into the waiting bucket. Once the bucket was full, he straightened, showing off how tall and fit he was—the man looked like he did push-ups and sit-ups just for the fun of it. Then he dumped the entire bucket over his head and down his chest.
Myka might have thought the action extremely attractive had she not been so curious about who he was and what he was doing there. His fingers wiped at his eyes, and just before they opened, Myka retreated around the corner, pressing her back against the wall of the house. She stilled her breath, waiting to see if he’d noticed her.
Who was this guy, and why was he at Rommel and Joett’s house? They didn’t have any other friends besides Myka, and they lived so far outside of Denton that they never had visitors. Something was off. Myka could feel it in her bones. She bit the side of her cheek as she peeked her head around the corner again. His back was to her, and he trudged through Rommel’s garden, thumbing through the plants and rows of seeds. When he got to the end of the row, he reached out to one of the apple trees at the edge of the orchard and pulled a fruit off the branch. Myka’s jaw tightened as she watched the man take one bite and then throw it off to the side.
Waster.
That was a perfectly good snack. Anyone who would discard a delicious apple could not be trusted. Either that, or she was hungrier than she had realized.
He walked to Rommel’s shed and slid the door open, picking up tools and gadgets to examine them. When he found one he liked, he put it in his back pocket.
He’s a thief!
Rommel would not stand for anybody messing with his tools, let alone stealing one. This man was clearly a robber, and Myka had to do something about it. She searched around, looking for some kind of weapon. It would have been really convenient if she could’ve found a sharp rock—the kind of sharpness that could potentially slice the thief in half. Unfortunately, that kind of rock wasn’t at hand. There were other rocks, though. Rocks that she could use to smash his skull in, but she shook her head at the thought. That seemed pretty violent, and Myka wasn’t violent likethat.
Maybe she could go all David and Goliath on him and throw a smaller rock at his forehead. She had read that story in a book, but some serious details were missing. Like how large was the rock David had used, what was the exact distance you needed to throw the rock from for it to have the most impact, and where on the forehead was the best spot to strike a deadly blow? Did she even want to create adeadlyblow? That seemed like a harsh punishment for stealing a tool. She decided to settle for a large stick. Maybe she could hit him hard enough to knock him out.
The gun!She remembered.
When Myka was twelve, she had begged her father to let her learn how to shoot a gun. Guns were a newer weapon and only essential for soldiers, but Myka had read about Annie Oakley in the pre-Desolation “O” encyclopedia and if Annie could shoot a gun, why couldn’t Myka? Her father had been hesitant at first, but then he had decided that they both should learn how to shoot a gun to protect themselves. From that day on, Myka had had weekly shooting lessons deep in the woods surrounding Tolsten House. She’d gotten surprisingly good with her aim, but she didn’t need to hit the thief. She just had to scare him so he would leave.
She gently swung her backpack around so it rested on her chest. Slowly, she lifted the front pouch and pulled out the small handgun, careful not to disturb any of the cans inside. Then, she lowered the backpack to the ground. She didn’t need anything getting in her way. Her fingers slid over the metal until they felt the safety mechanism. She pushed the button, releasing the small piece of metal, so the gun was ready to fire—ifshe needed to fire it, that is. If he suddenly came at her with an ax or something, then she’d be ready. Both hands closed over the handle, and she stilled, taking in a steadying breath.
She poked her head around the corner and raised her arms out in front of her, pointing the gun at the man as he stepped out of the shed. His gaze must’ve caught hold of her because he immediately threw his hands up in the air, and his eyes doubled in size.
“Don’t shoot!” he yelled.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice trembled.
Get it together, Myka. You are Annie Oakley.
“I’m waiting for Rommel. I’m a friend of his.”
