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

– good, she’d not been noticed.
    She gently nudged the shutters back in place, careful to make sure they were in the same position she’d found them. The guards employed by better inns, such as this one, were former Kingsguard. They were well trained and observant. But so was she. Brenna had never been caught in her six years as a thief.
                  She listened to the steady breathing of the room’s single occupant and slowly matched her own breathing to his as her eyes adjusted to the near darkness.
    The room was on the second floor - one of the middle rooms - so there was only the one window that faced north. The narrow bed was pushed up against the east wall and a small dresser topped with a washbasin was wedged between the bed and the door.
    To her right was a small chair laden with what smelled like well-worn clothes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. So much for priests being closer to the One-God than the rest of us - the man’s clothing smelled like a mule wet down with cheap wine.
    The room’s occupant had left his pack leaning against the door, a country trick to try to foil anyone bent on opening the door. Brenna gave a silent snort of derision. Someone in the hall could snatch the bag and be gone with it in two breaths.  
                  Nothing in the room looked out of place so she focused on the sleeper. It seemed her information about this priest was correct and he’d overindulged in drink, as was his habit. His breath smelled sour and an empty bottle lay on the floor by his bed. A cup with a few drops of dark liquid still clinging to it stood on the washstand.
                  She silently padded over to the bed. By the throne! The priest was sleeping with one hand curled around the object she’d come to collect. He must be very determined to make this delivery to the High Bishop. But why was the High Bishop was collecting this for Duke Thorold of Comack?
    In the six years since she’d fled to Kingsreach she’d been prying into the duke and his affairs and according to her information he’d been quietly collecting similar weapons for a while. She had yet to figure out how to make him pay for her mother’s death, but she would, one day. For now, she stole goods destined for him. It was only a minor irritant for the duke, but Brenna had a secret satisfaction knowing he’d be furious if he learned that she was responsible.
                  Eryl’s description of the object was accurate, as always. She could clearly see the cracked red leather of the scabbard and the shine - pure gold, according to Eryl - of the knife hilt. On the crosspiece two red rubies winked dimly even in the dark room. Something about the knife felt old, ancient even, which Eryl had not mentioned. She briefly wondered if the other weapons Duke Thorold had collected were old as well. It was something to think about later, after she’d stolen this one.
    Brenna stood still and breathed softly in concert with the sleeping priest. She had only another hour or so before the pre-dawn sky lightened. She had to find a way to get the knife without disturbing the sleeper.
    The priest snorted softly and Brenna rocked back on her heels until he resettled himself. Her luck was holding – the slight shift of the sleeper had moved his grip from the knife hilt to the scabbard. She should be able to slide the knife out without waking the priest. She might lose some of her commission but that was a small price to pay for successful retrieval of the knife. Let Duke Thorold have the scabbard.
    After another silent twenty minutes without any movements by the sleeping priest, Brenna reached out to grasp the hilt of the knife.
    A shock of warmth ran up her arm and the hilt under her hand started to glow with a clear, white light. Startled, Brenna stumbled back, but instead of letting go of the knife she pulled the cursed thing from its scabbard. Eyes wide she raised the blade, which now shone