Honor Among Thieves Read Free Page A

took the clockwork servant and the meadow sprite’s
cage with him, leaving the newly named Honor alone with her grief
and rage and a thousand clamoring questions.
    She knew she should plan for the task ahead and
puzzle out what had been done to her since the night she was stolen
from the forest. But try as she might, she could not move past a
single troubling thought:
    What else did Asteria, her sister and her queen, tell
the humans?

Chapter Two: The Gatherers’ Shadow
    In the city of Sevrin, people saw gatherers too
frequently to pay them much heed. No one spared more than a glance
to the man sauntering through the long shadows of Rhendish Manor.
And why should they, when a single glance sufficed to read his
nature and purpose?
    He wore a cutlass on his belt and affected the smirk
and swagger of a man who knew its use. Pirate gold winked from one
ear. A blue-and-white striped bandanna covered his hair. Perhaps
his appearance sounded a few discordant notes—his bright green
tunic quarreled with the red lining of his cloak—but the overall
effect sang in tune with Sevrin’s expectations.
    A less cautious observer might have noted that the
gatherer’s fine wool breeches had been cut to a taller man’s
measure. Discerning eyes might have perceived the gatherer’s
sun-weathered face was several shades darker than his ungloved
hands. Further study might reveal that he was several years younger
than he strove to appear.
    But anyone who might be inclined to take a second
glance had more interesting things to observe.
    They would see the slim, dark-eyed girl wearing a
servant’s hooded shawl and following at a proper half-pace behind
the Gatherer. They would see the well-filled sack slung over her
shoulder and wonder what grim trophies and foreign oddities it
might contain.
    They would not see Fox Winterborn, a street
thief who was still two seasons short of his twentieth-first
year.
    Fox had no reason to love the adepts who ruled
Sevrin. The banishment of magic weighed heavily on him, but its
official absence made people less inclined to question what their
eyes told them. Fox saw no reason why he should not take advantage
of this.
    He and his companion turned a corner into a grassy
square organized around a fountain pool, over which presided a
small marble dragon. As they passed the fountain, the apparent
maidservant tossed a small gold coin into the dragon’s open
mouth.
    Clockwork whirred softly behind empty stone eyes.
Clouds of fine mist burst from the statue’s nostrils. The girl
stopped and lifted her face to the cooling spray.
    Several small children rushed over to dance and
shriek in the water while mothers or nurses looked on with
indulgent smiles. One of the children, a sharp-eyed ferret of a
girl, leaned over the pool’s wall and stretched her hand out to
explore the dragon’s mouth. She snatched her empty hand out of the
water and turned to regard the hooded servant.
    The maidservant sent the child a wink as she slipped
the coin back into her pocket.
    In response, the child fisted a small, grubby hand
and held it up to display the bent-nail ring on one finger.
    “Cold iron,” she said in a tone full of puppy-growl
menace. “Away, foul sprite!”
    Fox caught his companion’s arm and hurried her away.
“Vishni, what did I tell you about spending fairy gold?”
    The girl lifted one dark eyebrow.
“‘ Don’t?’ ”
    He let out a huff that mingled amusement with
exasperation. “I’m serious. No one pays much attention to a child’s
stories, but the less we’re noticed, the better.”
    “Not the advice I’d expect from someone who’s tarted
up like Captain Pegleg’s parrot.”
    “People see the plumage, not the bird.”
    The implication of his words struck him like a
dwarf’s fist and stopped him midstride.
    Vishni grinned. “Having visions of fairy wings, are
we? Big, gaudy wings? Maybe a nice bright shade of orange, since
that’s the only color you don’t seem to be wearing.”
    “Don’t