word more certain of itself. Three silver eyes peered into Cab’s face.
Hello, master. Did I break you?
The lizard was talking to him. It wasn’t a surprise. It made all the sense in the world, as natural as breathing.
Did . . . I . . . break . . . you?
No. Cab simply didn’t know how to answer. Opening his mouth to speak a reply out loud seemed wrong, and he didn’t want to blunder in this. It felt too important for him to chance mistakes.
Cab squeezed his eyes shut. Pushed aside the flush of foolishness from his uncertainty, and concentrated as hard as he could on forming each word in his thoughts: Hello. There. Not. Broken.
Not broken, despite how close Queensguard life had come to breaking him.
If that hadn’t done it, nothing could.
Answering laughter, as sweet and high as an innocent child’s giggle. What are you doing? Why have you shut your eyes?
Cab opened them again, heat in his cheeks, too amazed for proper embarrassment. I’m not sure how this is supposed to work. Forgive me.
I would forgive you anything. Anything but death.
The world fell away beneath Cab’s back, swooping in a pitch of joy and belonging. It took him a moment to realize he was weeping. The lizard was licking his tears from the corners of his eyes.
I have waited so long for you, the lizard told him. So many of your short lifetimes. And I have missed you every moment of every year until we met. Hello, Cabhan of Kerry’s-End. I am the One Who Will Serve You. A pause. A flicker of fresh but sadder laughter as the lizard swallowed Cab’s tears, glowed faintly as a result. You are as attractive by flesh standards as I expected!
Compliment aside, Cab wanted an explanation for that part about serving.
Before he could request one, a figure darkened the opening in what remained of the barn door, and Cab’s instincts made him tense once more. “Who’s there?” he demanded in a croaky rasp.
Oh, these. The lizard didn’t appear disturbed. Cab found he trusted that more than his own instincts, and that realization didn’t disturb him by a fraction of what it should. The big one is Shining Talon of Vengeance Drawn in Westward Strike, last fae prince of Oberon the Black-Boned. The little one is Rags, who steals things. They are unimportant compared to me.
“Ah,” Cab said softly.
He had no problem believing it.
27
Rags
Rags didn’t know what he expected to see inside the barn. Shining Talon held him back from entering long enough that he wondered if One was in there devouring a still-living human, or something equally gruesome.
Rags settled for standing guard outside the ruined door with Shining Talon—not that he had a choice—telling himself it didn’t sound like devouring was going on. In fact, it was completely silent.
Was that worse?
“Don’t you want to know what’s happening in there?” Rags tried appealing to the thread of nosiness he knew lurked in the core of every heart.
Every heart except Shining Talon’s. He merely looked down his long nose at Rags.
“I was not chosen for my curiosity,” he said, like that explained everything.
“Does that mean your brother was chosen because he was real good at keeping watch?” Rags’s nose wrinkled, obscuring a wince. “Sorry.”
He couldn’t help sounding coarse. This was merely how he talked to other thieves in the Clave. He’d already figured the fae didn’t have gutters, so why would they have need for gutter talk?
“Ignore me,” Rags suggested when Shining Talon didn’t respond. “Just tell me when it’s time to steal something.”
“You speak the truth.” Hesitance hung like heat haze around Shining Talon’s words, almost as though he couldn’t believe Rags had been insightful. “My brother was chosen for his vigilance. My sisters for their wisdom and courage.”
“How many of you were there?” Rags asked, to distract himself from thinking about an entire family consumed by a greater purpose. Maybe it really was an honor. Shining Talon was still alive, and they weren’t.
Though that seemed like punishment to Rags.
“Five in total.” Shining Talon seemed to grow taller for a moment, swelling with pride. Then let some of the air out. “Though my sister Quick Heart—Black-Boned, Strong Hands Ready in Westward Strike—died in the war with the Lying Ones before her duties to the king could be fulfilled.”
“Oh.” Rags nodded, like he could possibly understand, then resolved to stare at the ground after that.
They kept their focus away from the barn until Rags’s twitchy impatience grew too overwhelming for Shining Talon to