stared down at the fae, aware that he was making an ugly face—distaste, stress, confusion, why are you treating me like something more than a stain on the bottom of your boot—but not willing to wipe it off.
He was only alive because of Shining Talon, whose entire people had been done in by sorcerers. Sorcerers like Morien. Morien, whom Rags had led straight to Shining Talon’s doorstep, whose orders Shining Talon was now following.
At this point, if Shining Talon had been practical and killed him, Rags would’ve welcomed the sense it made.
He didn’t. Instead, he held up the bands of red fabric, draped like open wounds across his palms. “I know that these are not ideal, or uncontaminated by the Lying arts, but allow me to do what I may, in order to bring relief to you.”
“Why?” The question was out before Rags could stop it.
“Because, my lord Rags—”
Someone had to disabuse Shining Talon of this “lord” misimpression. Even if it was the only thing protecting Rags from Morien.
“Not a lord,” he said.
Shining Talon paused. “I was told—”
“I don’t care what you were told.” Rags turned his focus to one of the cuts on his thumb. “I’m a thief. A good one, but fuck it, that’s all. I came here to steal some kind of treasure, and I was tricked into it, made a bad deal, in service to your least favorite guy, Morien the Last. So quit it with the ‘lord’ shit. Unless you’re a condemned murderer, you outrank my sorry ass.”
The X’s at the sides of Shining Talon’s mouth twitched, then stilled, the only hint Rags’s words had hit home.
“I might be a thief,” Rags finished, “but I don’t lie.” Well, there had been a few times. “. . . much. Not enough to be a Lying One.”
Another twitch of the X’s. “Your honesty reveals a strength of character—”
“Ugh, enough.” Rags felt scratchy between the shoulder blades. “Do whatever you were going to do with those sorcerous cloths.”
Curiosity was the main cause of death for a thief, but Rags hadn’t managed to bury his. He’d grown up rubbing shoulders with Cheapside hawkers, selling hen’s teeth and gutter water as cure-ails.
Real magic was for the Queen and her sorcerers. So far, Rags wasn’t a fan.
Shining Talon went about his business, weird even by fae standards. It involved packing warm dirt onto Rags’s skin, which quickly cooled it, then tying the makeshift bandages tightly. The stinging faded. Rags’s hands felt unnervingly numb.
“Dirt isn’t supposed to be good for scrapes. You know that, right?”
Shining Talon didn’t look up as he replied, “Fed with the corpses and blood of my ancestors, this dirt is different.”
“Ew,” Rags said.
But his hands did feel better. Couldn’t argue with that.
Shining Talon’s job done, it was time to leave the ruins. Relief surged in Rags’s chest. He wanted out of this place. For good.
If Shining Talon harbored misgivings about departing, the only sign was a faint dulling of his features. He glowed less, and the color of the lights veining the walls in their unreadable patterns faded with him.
19
Rags
They traveled upward. Rags recognized each of the tunnels but didn’t have the opportunity to sit back and inspect his handiwork, appreciate the skill it had taken to get through them. He wasn’t in his profession for the glory.
He was in it because it was less pathetic than faking a limp and begging on a corner. Not to mention more profitable.
Rags wiped the dirt off the front of his torn shirt, noticed some bloodstains he hadn’t taken stock of before. Before he knew it, they were passing his old friend the first corpse.
“Pal of yours?” he asked Shining Talon.
“My brother,” Shining Talon replied.
That shut Rags up. He hadn’t been thinking about what kind of people left one of their own to sleep while their world, their way of life, burned down around them. Crass to ask what happened here when it was so obvious. Death, ruination, the fae wiped clean off the map.
Save for one.
Rags gulped. “What’d he do to get slapped with a punishment like that?”
Shining Talon looked confused. “Our family was always first in service to the crown. His assignment was an honor.”
Shining Talon didn’t share how he felt about his position, but fine. Rags didn’t need to know. He didn’t fully understand why he’d asked. Everyone already knew the fae were crazy.
Rags didn’t think about Shining Talon or his brother. Instead he focused on the treasures he was leaving behind and how rich they would have