The Drowned Woods (45)

Some unspoken emotion flitted through his eyes. “My magic—the one that forces me to kill—has rendered me unable to maintain close friendships. I’m aware of how easily I could hurt someone through inattention. I dare not even embrace most people, for fear of bumping against them too hard. But you—you would not hesitate to kill me, if you had to. I find that comforting.”

She sputtered out an incredulous laugh. “You think I’d kill you if your magic went awry.”

“I think,” he said, “you’re the only person in this city who could.”

Of course. Of course, that was why Fane wanted her close. Because this was all Mer was—a weapon to be sharpened and used. The warmth she’d felt for Fane drained away and he must have seen the change in her expression because he leaned forward, concerned. “I said something wrong, didn’t I?” he said. “I apologize—if I gave offense—”

“No,” she said. “It’s fine. Most people keep me around because of my magic. It makes sense you would, too.”

A flicker of regret passed over his features. “Mer,” he said, and his voice was as soft as when he spoke to Trefor. It made her want to snap at him, to lash out because no one had offered her that kind of gentleness since she was a child. “If all I wanted was an executioner, I could find that elsewhere. But you’re the first person to accept me and all that I am since I left the mountains. I value that far more than your magic.”

She swallowed, unsure of what to say. She could have answered that she liked his company, too. Fane was quiet and undemanding. There was too much cruelty in the world, but he never added to it. But to utter any of this felt like prying away some of the armor she’d built up around herself. “I like your dog,” she said instead.

That startled him into a laugh. She found herself smiling in answer, but before he could reply, something sailed past Fane’s head and landed on the floor.

Fane flinched, whirling around to face the open window. Mer glanced down at the object, heart pounding, half expecting to see a bolt from a crossbow. They’d been found—they must have been found. They would have to run, have to—

It was a pebble.

Just a pebble. Mer picked it up, weighed it in her hand. She stepped up to the window and peered through.

Standing in the small courtyard was Ifanna. She was tossing something from hand to hand—probably another rock.

“About time,” she said. “Let me in, I’m starving.”





Ifanna sat at the dining room table and devoured a plate of griddle cakes while Mer introduced her to everyone. Mer kept any mention of her and Ifanna’s past relationship quiet; she merely introduced Ifanna as a former ally, the heir to the thieves’ guild, and the procurer of a key that no one else could lay their hands on. Emrick fumed and glared. Renfrew watched and waited. Gryf took two of the cakes for himself, smiling like he was watching a show and enjoying it greatly. And Fane said nothing at all.

“This cannot stand,” blustered Emrick. His spider-thin fingers waved through the air. “If we were allowed to bring in outside contractors, I could have—”

“Brought an army of scholars?” said Gryf. He sat comfortably beside Emrick, brushing crumbs from his fingers with a clean napkin. The beds of his fingernails were stained dark, Mer saw. As if by ink or dye.

Emrick sputtered, but before he could voice another complaint, Renfrew spoke for the first time.

“Where is the key?” he said.

Ifanna slouched in her chair, with all the insolence of a well-fed cat that had stolen its master’s supper. “Not here. I’d not risk any of you cutting my throat, taking the key for yourself, and getting all the treasure.”

Gryf opened his mouth, considered, then closed it again.

“What?” said Ifanna, eyes on the burly young man.

“I was going to say that we aren’t murderers,” said Gryf, “then I remembered that I could only speak for myself. And likely Emrick, although I cannot be sure he hasn’t bludgeoned anyone with some rare tome in a fit of pique.”

Emrick sniffed. “As though I would. Use a book, I mean. It’d be a waste of good parchment.”

“Glad to see your priorities are well in order, friend,” said Gryf.

“What bargain do you propose?” said Renfrew, ignoring them. His steady gaze never wavered from Ifanna. If she were a contented cat, then he had the sharp eyes of a circling hawk.

“An hour before you need to leave, send Mer to the Crooked Goat,” said Ifanna. “I’ll have the key, and we can venture down into the sewers.”

“What makes you think we won’t simply cut your throat down there?” asked Emrick. “Take the key, leave your body in the sewers?”

All eyes turned to him.

“What?” he said defensively. “I can’t have been the only one thinking it.”

Gryf let out a low laugh. “You’re making me regret I never had more schooling. If all scholars are like you, I missed a grand time.”

“Because,” said Ifanna, “I’ll have arranged a letter to be delivered to the guild. If I’m not back in two weeks’ time, they’ll have your names. I’ll sketch your likenesses. The entire guild will know you killed their lady. And it will be as though you stomped on a wasp’s nest. You will never know peace again.”