The Drowned Woods (35)

“I suppose you wonder how Renfrew and I know each other,” she said.

He cast a look at her. “I had considered that, yes.”

She inhaled, trying to ignore the stench of the sewer. “We both served Garanhir.”

He turned, the line of his shoulders mirroring hers. “You worked for the prince?”

“Royals take diviners,” she said. “As servants. As soldiers. As spies. That is why so many of us often try to go unnoticed. I was taken to Garanhir as a child, educated by Renfrew and trained to be a loyal spy. And I was, for a time. I went into the borderlands between Gwaelod and Gwynedd, where Garanhir wished to invade. He told me I would be using my power to find wells and other water sources for his soldiers. So I did.” She let out a bitter little laugh. Even now, the words tasted like bile. “And then he poisoned every single one of them. Countless innocent people died, drinking from those wells. It was a form of warfare—to take a land by destroying its people.”

In the years since then, Mer had tried to harden herself against those memories. She told herself the past could not be changed, that she had to move on, and all that mattered was the here and now. But she had never felt at ease within herself, caged within the body of a person she’d come to despise.

She hated Garanhir, yes.

But she’d always hated herself more.

“You didn’t know,” said Fane quietly. It was partly a question.

“No,” she said. “And when I found out…” She swallowed. “He tried to make it impossible for me to leave his service.” Her hand rose involuntarily toward her brand but she caught herself in time.

“And that’s why you took this job,” said Fane. “Because you wish to avenge yourself upon the prince.”

“Partly,” she said, because she wouldn’t lie about that. “But mostly—mostly I cannot earn enough coin by legal means, not if I want to disappear.” She exhaled hard, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I was arrested just after Renfrew found me. The only reason I’m not imprisoned is because he broke me out—and it made me realize I’ll never be free, not unless I have enough coin to escape the prince. This venture may be desperate, but it’s my best chance.”

To her relief, there was no judgment in Fane’s face. “I understand. People like us—we rarely have the luxury of choices.”

They walked for a time, ankle-deep in foul water and trying to ignore the rats. Mer reached out with her magic, followed the current of the water.

“So how are we to get down into the sea caves?” asked Fane. “We didn’t retrieve the key.”

Mer had been trying to avoid that question—but now it had been stated outright, she found herself turning it over from every angle. “We could try to pick the lock,” she said. “But many of the gates near the castell are magicked against that sort of thing.”

“Could we destroy it altogether?” asked Fane. “If we were to get hold of black powder…”

Now that was a good question. “I know little of explosions,” admitted Mer. “I’ve never spent any time near mines. But it seems… I mean, I wouldn’t try it unless I was sure the sewer wouldn’t just collapse in on us. And the noise would surely draw attention.”

“True.”

Perhaps it was standing in this sewer, so close to the memories of old jobs, escaping the guards, every step laced with a reckless remembrance. She recalled slipping through the streets of Caer Wyddno like a wraith, cold fingers twined with her own. The sound of a familiar laugh, the taste of stolen sweets.

Mer knew how to get that key.

But it would mean talking to her.

“I think I know a way,” she said.

“How?”

“I know the heir to the thieves’ guild,” she said.

Fane frowned. “A thieves’ guild is hereditary?”

“Not always.” Mer stepped over a pile of something that looked suspiciously squishy. “Nearly every kingdom has one. Sometimes they are run by families. Some even have blood ties to the nobility. The guild of Caer Wyddno—it is run by a pair of married women who are supposedly third cousins to some nobles.”

“And the prince allows this?”

“The nobles support him with their coin,” said Mer with a shrug. “So royals don’t really mind who thieves steal from, as long as it isn’t them. Merchants who wish to keep their shipments safe will pay the guild fees, and any pickpockets or criminals working in the city must pay taxes—or face the wrath of the guild. It means that mostly outsiders get robbed, which everyone seems happy with.”

“And who is this heir?”

Mer’s shoulders slumped. “She’s a thief. A very good thief.”

“But if this guild respects the nobility,” said Fane, “why would they help us go after the prince?”

“The guild will not,” said Mer. “But its heir just might.” She straightened, as if forcing herself to face a cold wind. “She owes me.”

He studied her. “There’s a problem, isn’t there?”

“There are three problems,” Mer said.

Fane raised his brows in silent question.

“First,” she said, “the thief in question… well. Let’s just say we have a past.” Her cheeks reddened and he seemed to understand.