Thief (Brotherhood of the Throne Book 1) Read Free Page A

child,” Thorold said. “Too foolish to realize that there are so many ways to create fear.” And then he quickly stepped back and grabbed Wynne by the arm and yanked her up.
    “No!” Brenna reached forward and her hand brushed her mother’s arm for just a second before Thorold wrenched Wynne away.
    Holding her against his chest, he backed up into the doorway of the workroom. After a brief flash of panic, Wynne Trewen stopped struggling and lifted her head.
    “Good,” Thorold said as she quieted, unaware of the determination on his captive’s face. He smirked at Brenna. “I see the fear in your eyes at last. I was going to let your mother watch you die but now I see it will be much better this way.” Then he reached around and placed the knife against her mother’s throat.
    “Run Brenna,” Wynne Trewen said, her last words ever before the knife bit into her neck. With a cry Brenna lurched forward as blood fountained from her mother’s throat. Thorold yelled and stumbled backward into the workroom. He let go of her mother, who slumped to the floor, then he tripped and sprawled beside the old worktable.
    “Mama, don’t die.” Brenna dropped to the ground beside her mother. She grabbed her mother’s shawl and pressed it against the wound, trying to stanch the blood even as the healer in her recognized that it was too late - her mother was already dead. Brenna gently wiped the blood from her mother’s face and laid the soaked shawl across the spreading stain, covering the gaping wound in her throat. Her head bent, a great sob lodged in her chest and tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and looked up. The Duke’s prone form lay on the hard packed dirt, her mother’s bloody knife a few feet from his hand.
    “I’ll make you pay for this,” Brenna said. She staggered to her feet and took one unsteady step towards the Duke. Even as she wondered why he was on the ground, why he was so far away from his victim, he sat up, eyes dazed, and reached wildly for her mother’s knife. His fist closed on it and Brenna stopped. Knife held towards her, he got to his knees.
    Brenna’s chest heaved with grief and pain and hatred. As much as she wanted to hurt Duke Thorold, she knew she was no match for him physically. And her mother had told her to run, had sacrificed her life so that Brenna had this chance. She must take it, must make her mother’s death have some meaning.
    “Guards!” Thorold’s voice was as a croak. He lurched to his feet, blade pointed at her.
    She couldn’t retrieve her mother’s knife. Not now.
    “I will make you pay,” Brenna said as she backed away from him. “Someday.”
    With a quick look behind her she stooped to pick up her pack. She took a deep breath and looked at her mother’s face, relaxed and peaceful in death, before she turned and headed for the loft. She’d go out the window and across the roof to the woods. The dogs would have a hard time picking up her scent if she stayed high until she was into deeper snow. Then she’d head to Kingsreach and away from Duke Thorold’s lands. It was the largest city in Soule and she was good at hiding. Thorold’s men wouldn’t find her there.

two
     
     
    Brenna slipped in through the window, careful not to open one of the shutters too widely. She’d spent the better part of two days assessing the inn and knew that the leather hinge on the left-hand shutter was weak and caused the wood to scrape the windowsill. It was less than three hours before dawn and any noise would sound loud in the quiet night.
    From the window ledge she carefully eased one soft-soled foot after the other onto the floor. She took a quick look back at the courtyard. The stables sat silent, doors shut tightly against the cool, spring air. A weak light spilled into the night below where the kitchen backed out onto the courtyard. No doubt the baker was getting bread ready for early travelers. She saw no sign of the inn guards