Page 64 of A Song of Thieves

“Silas who? And who does Silas work for?” I pry.

“You realize if anyone knows I’m telling you this, it’s my head.”

Somehow this knowledge feels powerful, like it’s is my ticket out of this. I try not to seem too pushy and desperate, bringing back the cheeriness from our earlier banter. “Then you better hurry before Onah wakes up. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty head.” I wink at him.

Reluctance crosses through him, looking as if it feels physically painful to both stay silent or to tell me what I want to know.

Just then, Onah rises from her wooden bed. A deep frown and blood-shot, bleary eyes accompany her as she sits up. My hope of answers smashes into a million pieces.

“Stop. I need to pee,” she rasps.

As Parker brings the horses to slow, I attempt to breathe in the scenery of the mountainside, letting this new information lose its edge. Large, rolling mountains give way to grand, jagged peaks in the distance. I stare at their beauty as my own craggily thoughts move from spike to spike. We stop on the side of a hilled meadow, the air slightly more cool than the day before.

Silas. Silas. Silas.I let the name roll through my mind. It may be the only lead I have, but I commit it to memory nonetheless.

Parker studies my face, concern covering his own. Not the kind of concern shown after he brought me back from my attempted escape. The kind that comes when you’re wondering what someone is thinking, or when you know you’ve said too much. I plaster a soft smile to my face to throw off the scent of my true thoughts.

I don’t know what I can do from here with only a single name. Parker is right, and I hate to admit it. I wouldn’t last a day out here if I did somehow escape. I’m supposed to be one of the most powerful women in Felshan, but I’m powerless to change the course these people have put me on.

At least my anger can be directed away from Parker. I don’t even know why I want my hatred funneled away from this man. People are usually kind to me, so that’s not necessarily something new. Maybe it’s just the comfort of his presence during a time of great alarm and fear. Or perhaps that his kindness is genuine and not because he fears a royal repercussion if he acts otherwise.

He did the physical taking of me from my home, yes. But from the way he spoke, it seems as if he himself was backed into a corner. Can I fault him for that? Maybe. Maybe not.

Silas. Onah. Parker. I repeat the names inside my head, my imagination running rampant at who the first man is and why he would want a princess. Onah because I know she isn’t the mastermind of this scheme, but she’s here— why? What is her motivation?

The last because, I just don’t know what to make of Parker Aldren.

28

Ari

It’sbeentwodayssince we left Fort Lowsan.

We aren’t yet to the highest peaks of the Prythan Mountains, the biggest obstacle between us and Thenstra. But we’ve hit their rolling foothills. And I can’t help but feel that each step brings us closer and closer to the princess.

The captain and I have hardly spoken of what Tamen said a few nights ago. He talked of overthrowing the throne of Felshan, basically unseating King Cassus in the process. With Silas involved as well, I can't help but wonder who else has had a part in this. Maybe someone else altogether has been pulling the strings?

Crane and his men have planned for almost a decade. Fort Lowsan was merely a stepping stone. Silas and Phillip Crane and whoever else are obviously the ones behind Princess Adalena's capture. But what does it all mean?

It's as if I've gathered all the necessary information, but I'm trying to navigate in the dark without a map. I'm struggling to make sense of it all. What do they gain from taking her halfway across our continent of Haythen? If all they wanted was to replace King Cassus, wouldn't killing her gain them less problems? Obviously, I would never condone killing an innocent girl. But it would make more sense than a kidnapping.

I don’t know Princess Adalena. But as time goes on, the more I think of her, the more her fictional place in my mind becomes a substantial presence. There’s a desire to see her safely home, but I’m still rumbling as to whether that desire exists outside the question,what’s in it for me?Maybe it’s the way the captain talks of her and her family, or simply that she’s taking the shape within a protectiveness I feel toward the people of Turin.

Night is approaching quickly, the chill of mountain air closing in. Pockets of brightness pop through the trees as the life of twilight bridges the sun and moon. The darkness brings with it the rhythm of a starry sky. And the voices of the mountain erupt around me in an exquisite cadence that paints the shadows with its harmony. The aromatic melody of fresh summer flowers and pine needles swirl through the air, but my mind is too jumbled to relish the dazzling scent.

Captain Montgomery sits across from me, rummaging through a bag before throwing it to the side with athump. The warm fire in the center of our camp casts an orange glow, its deep shadows accentuating his frown.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, my forehead wrinkled in genuine curiosity.

“I can’t find my straight-blade, and I need a decent shave.” He rubs a hand under his chin and around his face, the sound of his sprouting beard against his fingers getting lost across the crackle of our fire. “I always nick myself when I use a knife. I should’ve done it at the Santanas before we left, but I chose sleep instead of a clean face. Oh well. There are worse things I suppose,” he softly adds, throwing another log into our fire.

I shuffle around on my log perch, staring at the shadows and light dancing across his face. “Do you want some help?” I finally ask. “I wouldn’t say I’m the Four Kingdom’s gift to a perfect shave, but you might come out with fewer cuts.”

“Do you shave often?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

I roll my eyes, standing up and pulling my knife from my boot. “No I don’t shave often. But I do have some practice. I used to set up a shaving booth at Market to earn a few extra coins for the week. And by booth, I mean standing off to the side yelling at men as they passed. I got a few bites. Most of them turned out ok,” I say, twisting my knife between my fingers, my lips turning up in a grin.

The captain doesn’t relax his raised brow, pondering for a moment before waving me over. He lathers a soap concoction around his week’s length stubble, his jaw now covered in a thick, sudsy froth before turning his attention to me.

---