Vow of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 2) - Page 51

Neither Montegue nor Banques cared when I fell back with Paxton. I had a plan brewing in my head. It was as perilous as cuddling with a viper. It screamed of failure, but I’d had it since I visited the cemetery this morning. It had seemed impossible then. To accomplish it, at the very least, I needed an ally.

And now I had Paxton.

Was he really an ally? The recurring worry thrummed in my head. He was a man Jase had loathed and a man I didn’t truly know. But as I had learned so recently, people could be many things they didn’t seem to be. Even Jase had turned out to be someone far different from whom I had imagined. Should I take a chance on another Ballenger? Or did Paxton have other motives than what he had told me?

Most people did. Our wants were rarely all wrapped up in one neat package. Even mine weren’t. I knew I had to get a better sense of Paxton first, before I brought him into my confidence. Was a short ride back to the inn enough time to build trust? It had to be. I had an overwhelming sense of time slipping away. At every turn, the game changed, the people changed, the stakes changed. His sights are set on other kingdoms. I feared time was running out for everyone, but especially Lydia and Nash. Until they were safe, I could do nothing to help anyone.

I glanced sideways at Paxton. I had never brought anyone else into my plans before. It created a whole new kind of fear inside me.

We let the distance between us and our entourage grow longer, and with the wind in our faces, it became safe to talk. The arrogant tilt of his chin, the flip tone in his voice, it was all still classic Paxton. But beneath the façade, another side emerged, a side much more serious and reflective that he had worked to keep hidden. When I steered our conversation into the personal, I watched him hesitate, squirm. He shook his head when he admitted that he was ashamed of what his drunken great-grandfather had done, ashamed of the scheming of his own father and how he had colluded with other leagues to get Tor’s Watch back, but he was just as angry that his cousins, the Ballengers, could never forgive the trespass of an ancestor and visited retribution upon all the spawn who came thereafter. His mother had worked to teach him the family history, saying it was his too and he should hold his head high.

“So that’s where the arrogant tilt of your chin comes from?” I chided.

His eyes narrowed, and he grinned. “Something like that.”

“What about your run-ins with Jase? They’re legendary.”

A single brow arched. “Are they?” He huffed out a pleased breath. “I was hot-tempered back then—but so was he. And maybe sometimes I took it too far.” A frown pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I threw him down a well once,” he admitted. “He was sixteen. I was eighteen. I told him to cool off. I thought it was an amusing metaphor he would appreciate. I also thought someone would come for him, but he nearly died. He was stuck down there for two days.” Paxton shrugged. “He’d done as bad to me. But I did regret that stunt. I think it pretty much killed my chances with Priya.”

“Priya?” I said in disbelief.

“How could you think you ever had any kind of chance with her at all?”

Perhaps I was too blunt. His temples tinged with color, and he shrugged. “Long-held infatuations are resistant to logic, I suppose. I’d had a crush on her ever since I was a gawky, tongue-tied thirteen-year-old and she was a mature, sophisticated fifteen-year-old beauty. We had finally met formally, at a funeral. It seems that’s the only way us Ballengers ever get together. While she was grace and stars and glitter, and smelled like fresh summer blooms, I was a stumbling oaf, and that’s being generous. I tripped over every word I said. I even accidentally spit on her. It was a disaster. Our paths crossed in town from time to time after that, but she always made an obvious point not to look my way. I imagined that one day maybe she would appreciate my finer qualities. Truth is, I still get a little tongue-tied when I’m around her. Funerals and such. They’re not really conducive to good conversation.”

“You’re still infatuated with her?” Again, maybe too much disbelief was evident in my tone, and he adamantly shook his head to dismiss the notion.

“No. Of course not. We’re not children anymore. But the king was making me nervous. For a while he latched on to the idea of sparing Priya’s life and taking her as his wife—marrying old with new—appeasing everyone. Two kinds of royalty, he called it. A crazy idea, but it greatly appealed to him until recently. Now I think he may have moved on and set his sights elsewhere.” His gaze rested on me.

“Because he knows Jase wanted me,” I said.

“But couldn’t have you.”

I understood. “He wants to best the Patrei in everything.”

“Something like that.”

When we arrived at the inn, the king had already gone inside with the children, and as we dismounted, Banques told Paxton to escort me to my room. “You’re having dinner with the king tonight,” he said to me. “You’ll find some appropriate clothing in your room. I’ll send my lieutenant to retrieve you. Be ready.”

Retrieve. Like I was a piece of baggage. Maybe that was exactly how Banques viewed me—baggage he’d like to be rid of, especially if the king got too close to me. Banques was possessive of his attentions.

The appropriate clothing turned out to be an elegant evening dress that raised both Paxton’s and my brows. We talked as I washed up and changed, not knowing when we would get a chance to talk privately again. We both agreed that until Lydia and Nash were out of the king’s and Banques’s hands, we were helpless to stop their grander schemes. I laid out my plan to him. He balked.

“No. No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “It won’t work. They’re only small children. They would panic.”

“They’re stronger than you think. They can do this—as long as you can.”

He bit his lip, thinking it over. He had no better plan, and he knew it was better to stay ahead of the danger instead of reacting to it. We had to do something. Soon. He sighed, conceding, but still hesitant. “I have my two men that I trust with my life—and with Lydia’s and Nash’s. All right. Tomorrow.” He rubbed his neck, still trying to get his mind around it. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “It was Jase who kept me alive, Paxton. When I thought it was impossible to go on, I heard him telling me to keep going. You can do it, he said. Just a little farther. That’s what we have now. Just a little farther to go. This will work. And once they’re free, so are we.”

A small moan rumbled in his chest. “All right. I’ll take care of it on my end one way or another. In the meantime, work on your limp.” And with those few words, I watched the shifty side of Paxton emerge again, coming out of hiding, and I welcomed it. I didn’t need the fearful Paxton—I needed the unscrupulous one—the one willing to throw his cousin down a well to teach him a lesson.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JASE

Caemus had never said anything about a general. Soldiers, yes, but a general meant something more. It meant something larger and more organized than a league leader seizing power and throwing a few weapons into willing hands. I had already added up how many soldiers Paxton, Truko, and maybe Rybart could pull together by pooling their resources. Maybe a mismatched lot of two hundred at the most.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson Dance of Thieves Fantasy
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