had begged him to stay with her another day, saying she’d cook him a stew from the rabbit she’d caught in her snares that morning. Though his stomach had protested giving up such a fine meal, he’d kissed her quickly on both of her cheeks and embraced her tightly.
“I promise I’ll return the very next chance I get,” he’d told her.
If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t earn enough to pay the taxes owed on her small cottage. She’d be cast out by the lord of the land, and, like many poor women in the North, she’d be forced to become a beggar.
He’d never allow that to happen.
So he made his way quickly to the city, a treacherous journey across roughly hewn paths and dirt roads, through forests thick with criminals, stinging insects, and beasts with sharp teeth. He had no weapon—he wasn’t allowed to have one of his own—so all he had to aid him were his wits.
At the edge of the forest less than a mile from the city, Maddox’s pace slowed to a halt as he came across an old man lying next to a tipped-over wooden cart, his face and shirt bloodied.
“Boy . . . ,” the old man moaned, reaching out toward Maddox as he approached with apprehension. “Please—please . . . help me.”
“Of course I’ll help you.” He would never ignore someone in dire need like this, even though the sight of blood made his stomach lurch. “What happened here?”
The man’s white hair was sparse, his mostly bald scalp red from the blazing sun. “Thieves stopped my cart. They attacked me and left me for dead. Come closer. You must help me to my feet, help me get to the city.”
Maddox scanned the tree line, now nervous that thieves might be lying in wait. “What direction did they go?”
“Take my hand, boy.”
Maddox hesitated only another moment before he clasped the old man’s hand and helped him to his feet. “You’ve lost a great deal of blood.”
“Not nearly as much as you’ll lose if you don’t do exactly as I say.” The old man produced a dagger and held the sharp edge of steel to Maddox’s throat. “A trusting youth, aren’t you?”
Trusting. Or stupid. In Maddox’s experience, they seemed to be interchangeable when it came to many of his choices.
“Give me all your coin.” The old man’s lips peeled back from broken teeth. His breath smelled like rotting vegetables. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”
Stupid. So very, very stupid.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any coin on me.” Maddox grimaced as the man pressed the blade harder and warm blood trickled down his neck. “If you let me go, I promise I can get you plenty.”
“Promises don’t work for me.”
“You’ve obviously confused me with someone else, someone with coin to spare. Do I look like someone who carries bags of gold and silver with me?”
The old man peered at him. “You’re well dressed enough.”
Today he wore tailored leather trousers, a suede vest, and a fine shirt made from linen imported from across the Silver Sea. At first glance, Maddox Corso might be mistaken for the son of a lord.
Which made sense. These clothes had been stolen from the son of a lord.
“How old are you, boy?” the thief asked.
He hesitated before answering truthfully. “Sixteen.”
“Where is your family?”
“In the city up ahead,” he lied. “They’re the ones with the gold.” He racked his mind in search of a way to escape this predicament. “So tell me, do you lie in wait at the side of the road like this often? Is this a hobby or a profession? Is it profitable?”
His questions only got a jab from the blade to silence him.
Maddox then tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the man and nothing else. To will the thief into unconsciousness with the strange and nameless power inside him.
Unfortunately, his magic failed him today, which wasn’t surprising. It almost always did any time he actually tried to use it.
Another voice cut in. “What are you doing with my son?”
The old man wheeled around to face the intruder, taking Maddox with him. “Your son, eh? So it would appear your father has come looking for you.”
“So it would appear,” Maddox mumbled.
But Livius was his guardian, not his father.
Livius, who was dressed every bit as well as Maddox today beneath his long, hooded cloak, swept his gaze across the otherwise vacant road until it finally landed on the man’s overturned cart. One of his eyes, as always, was covered