The thief limped and stumbled from the middle of the platoon, pulled along by a rope tight around her wrists. Her boots scuffed against the dirt, each step uneven and painful. The fire in her eyes, the defiance she’d shown at every turn, had faded to something hollow. Mask gone, her face displayed a patchwork of blood, bruises, and swelling.

  The sun rose on the horizon, casting a fiery glow across the landscape and illuminating the line of soldiers that moved steadily away from Palenwood.

  Venic watched from the shadows of the city walls, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened beneath his weathered gloves.

  He should have expected this.

  When he’d left Valerlanta to deliver the artifact, he should have known she wouldn’t simply wander around aimlessly, waiting for him to return. No, Valerlanta wasn’t the type to wait around for anyone.

  ‘This is what you signed up for,’ a voice in his head reminded him coldly.

  The plan had gone as smoothly as the king predicted. Venic had retrieved the artifacts, survived the whole journey, and delivered the member of the thieves guild. Everything should be over now; finished. He had done what he was meant to do.

  And yet... something inside him twisted, an unrelenting knot lodged beneath his ribs, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

  Valerlanta stumbled again, collapsing into the dirt. Her legs had given out completely this time, her body crumpling like a puppet who’s strings were suddenly cut. The soldiers didn’t stop. They dragged her limp form along the dirt road as if she were nothing more than cargo.

  Venic’s chest tightened painfully, the knot inside him pulling taut.

  ‘Think of Dafelis.,’ he told himself. ‘Think of all your plans; your dreams!’

  Dafelis. His sister. His only real reason for doing any of this. If he failed now, if he didn’t follow through to the end, everything he had fought for would be in vain. Dafelis would be in danger... if she was even still alive. His pulse quickened at the thought, a sickening fear gnawing at the edges of his resolve. He had no way of knowing for sure after both sides marked him as a betrayer.

  The day the king caught Venic rifling through those royal letters — grasping for any valuable information to please a kingdom he barely remembered — his life had been forfeit. However, instead of execution, the king had offered Venic a chance; a twisted, impossible quest for redemption. It would paint him as the enemy, force him to fight his own friends, but even so, it was a quest he accepted.

  Now, it was all done. He could live like a knight once more — enjoy the feathered beds and the lavish feasts — free from the filth and desperation. What was more, was that after the coming war was done, the King had promised his sisters safety and freedom.

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  It was kinder than Venic deserved.

  And yet, here he was, rooted to the ground, unable to turn away.

  What had he been thinking? That Valerlanta would simply disappear back into the wilds after all of this? That she could outrun a kingdom’s wrath with nothing but wit and stubbornness? No. He had led her here — into this trap, into the jaws of fate. This was always going to be the end for her.

  ‘Valerlanta is not your problem. She never was. She’s just a part of the plan.’

  The platoon crested the hill, their formation precise and unyielding. Valerlanta’s limp form grew smaller with each step, her outline blurring in the distance.

  After several days travel, they’d reach the king, and then…

  Venic sucked in a sharp breath and turned away…or at least… he tried to. Some force held him; a pull that yanked his gaze back to the west, to the hill where the platoon had vanished.

  The life of a knight — the wealth, the comfort — were all at his fingertips again, so why was the only thing in his mind an urge to be by the campfire with Valerlanta again? Sitting in the glow of the flames, her quick laughter filling the silence, her smirk defiant even when the world was crumbling around her.

  “Blast!” The word tore from his throat, startling a bird from the trees.

  He was a knight.

  He was a spy.

  He wasn’t some forest-loving peasant.

  He wanted the feathered beds. He wanted the feasts. He wanted—

  He wanted….

  “Oh, for fate’s sake!” he snarled, making his way toward the forest, each footfall heavy with frustration.

  This was stupid. This was worse than stupid; it was suicide. He’d be giving up everything for a thief, a forest folk who wasn’t even meant to survive. It would risk Dafelis and destroy any hopes of piecing together the shards of his prior life.

  Despite all that, despite every rational thought in his head screaming at him to let her go, Venic found himself heading back toward the treeline, where his belongings waited.

  He was going to get his thief back.