Honor Among Thieves Read Free

hold
ancient and dangerous magic.”
    “If such magic is bad, why would any adept want to
possess it?”
    “Why indeed?” he said darkly. “That is an important
question. It is not, however, a question that can roam free among
the general populace.”
    “So you are protecting this adept, even though you
suspect him of doing wrong.”
    “I am protecting Sevrin,” he snapped. “The Council of
adepts stands between the city and any who might use sorcery
against it. Can you imagine what might follow if the people
believed one of the adepts was smuggling weasels into the henhouse?
Muldonny cannot be accused. Your elven trinket must be acquired
unofficially.”
    “Stolen.”
    A smile flicked the corners of his lips. “Yes,
stolen. I know of a thief who’s elusive enough to handle the job
and foolish enough to take it on. For reasons that will soon become
clear, he must hear of your need from your lips.”
    She noted the twitch of chagrin on the adept’s face
as he spoke of this thief and began to understand.
    “I get the knife, you get the thief.”
    Rhendish bowed. “Succinctly put.”
    “And if I refuse to betray a man who would do this
simply because I ask it of him?”
    “I don’t believe you will,” he said hesitantly, “but
that is a question we both need to answer.”
    He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. One of
the window hangings slid open. The clockwork servant emerged from
the curtained alcove and clanked toward her, leaving the curtain
pushed to one side.
    The hideous thing approached unheeded, for she could
not tear her gaze from the windows lining the curving wall of the
alcove, and the late summer garden beyond.
    This could not be. The judgment circle had gathered
on Midwinter Night. How could season after season slip away
unnoticed?
    And what was wrong with her, that she retained her
winter colors?
    “Take the meadow sprite in your hand,” Rhendish
said.
    His voice broke the spell. She dragged her attention
to the small metal cage the servant thrust toward her. Inside a
tiny winged creature cowered, its blue and yellow wings
trembling.
    The silver-grey cloak that could make the sprite
appear to be a simple butterfly had been torn away, revealing a
slender, winged maiden no taller than a child’s thumbnail.
    The elf looked at Rhendish with horror in her eyes.
He nodded.
    Before she could tell him that she would sooner die
than do this thing, her hand stretched out and unlatched the cage
door.
    Traitorous fingers reached for the sprite.
    Tightened.
    And came away dusted with blue and gold.
    For a long moment she gazed at the tiny, crumpled
body of the fey thing she’d been forced to kill. Cold, murderous
rage filled her heart. No words came to her, but she lifted her
gaze and let Rhendish read what was there to see.
    The adept winced, but held his ground. “We both
needed to know, beyond question, that you will do what must be done
to further both our causes.
    “Come now,” he said when she made no reply. “I
understand this is strange to you, but surely your devotion to your
people is large enough to house all necessity. We can work together
for mutual benefit, perhaps in time become friends. Can we not
begin now? With your name, perhaps?”
    Whatever Rhendish’s opinion of magic might be, surely
he must know that names held power. She dared not yield more
control than he’d already taken from her.
    To her relief, the strange compulsion that enslaved
her hand could not reach into her thoughts or command her tongue.
She could defy him in this, if nothing else.
    “Honor,” she said, naming the one thing she was
determined to retain.
    He lifted one wheat-colored brow. “An unusual
name.”
    “Honoria, if you prefer formality,” she said evenly.
Since a clan name was expected, she embroidered the lie with,
“Honoria Evenstar.”
    The adept bowed. “Delighted to make your
acquaintance. I will have servants bring food and water. You will
need your strength for the fox hunt.”
    He