Vow of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 2) - Page 130

“That’s enough, Ballenger,” Montegue called. “Pass her over and walk back.”

I kissed her forehead, my lips lingering, then handed her to Mason and watched him walk away with her. I wiped my eyes. My nose.

You’re going to be fine. Maybe some lies, maybe most of them, were lies we only told ourselves.

My gaze shifted to Kazi. Her eyes were wild, scanning the soldiers, rooftops, Banques, everything, like she was searching for something.

Once Mason had Jalaine safely back with the others, I turned. The archers’ arrows were all trained on me to make sure I kept my part of the bargain. A guard stood next to the king with shackles ready.

“Patrei!” Kazi called out. I looked back over my shoulder. She craned her neck, and her chest rose in heavy breaths. I waited. “Blink last!” she finally said and tucked her chin toward her chest.

I nodded uncertainly, still eyeing her, and then turned back to face Montegue.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

KAZI

“Put your hands behind your back,” the king ordered.

Jase’s eyes locked on Montegue. With Jalaine out of the king’s grip, the game had changed. The brokenness and love that had filled Jase’s face just seconds ago when he held Jalaine had vanished. It was replaced with something burning and dangerous, like a beast had come alive inside of him.

“Now,” Montegue repeated. His chest puffed out. He was breathing in this moment like the air was made of honey and gold. Jase challenging him only made it better. This was what Montegue had always wanted, as much as control over any continent. This was the consummate moment he had waited for—the Patrei answering to him.

The rage in Jase only fueled him. I watched him savor it like sweet nectar served up in a goblet. I imagined it was all part of the story he had constructed. His bitter battle and shining victory delivered by the gods. Or maybe Montegue was one of those gods by now.

“We’re going to kill that bastard,” Priya whispered. Her chest still shuddered from sobbing over Jalaine as Mason rushed her to the back lines, where she would be safer. Now Priya stood on the front line next to me, fingering one of Imara’s throwing knives tucked behind her back, vengeance blazing in her eyes.

Synové noticed. “Twenty yards. Out of range,” she whispered. “Besides, the Patrei is in the way.” We each had two of Imara’s small knives tucked in our belts. One rule of a throwing knife was you only threw it if you were certain it would hit its target. Otherwise you were giving the enemy another weapon to use against you.

“The archers,” I said, because right now their eyes were on Jase and they were closer to us.

Wren sighed. “Fifteen yards. Still a stretch.”

Synové sucked on her teeth, thinking. “But not impossible.”

“There is always a way to make the impossible, possible,” Priya whispered, reciting

a piece of Ballenger history. “We will find that way.”

In unison, we all edged imperceptibly closer.

The guard grabbed one of Jase’s wrists and secured a shackle onto it. Jase turned his head slightly, looking sideways at me. He tucked his chin close to his chest. Our gazes burned into each other’s like a lit fuse connected us. Did he get my message?

“Wait,” I whispered to the others.

The guard reached for Jase’s other wrist, but in that same moment Jase twisted away and a sword was flying through the air.

JASE

Blink last. Her chin tucked. Watch. Be ready. I got Kazi’s message. I was so focused on Montegue I wouldn’t have looked at Truko at all. But his eyes were locked on mine and then he blinked and I knew. The bastard blinked for the first time in memory.

There was a moment of confusion when the sword he threw flew through the air and landed firmly in my hand. I whirled, swiping it behind me, making the guard stumble back, as Truko vaulted out of their reach, over to my side.

The archers stood, stepping forward, poised to shoot, but Montegue waved them back. His eyes were wild, like a dog who had caught the scent of a rabbit. “You fancy yourself a swordsman, Ballenger? You’re only a two-bit trader at best, with no training as a soldier. You really want to take this on? Let everyone watch the Patrei get cut into little pieces in the middle of the street by a true swordsman and soldier? Would that put an end to this?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want, Montegue,” I answered. “Let’s not shed everyone’s blood. Just mine and—” I surveyed the soldiers behind him. “Who’s going to do this cutting?” I cast a mocking eye at his polished breastplate and pauldrons and smiled. “You?”

He bristled, like I had thrown a gauntlet across his face—which I had. His hand flew to his sword and he pulled it free, his chest swelling and his nostrils flaring as if the battle had already begun.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson Dance of Thieves Fantasy
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